Chapter 12 Ghosts #2
"Everything. Nothing." Tyler's hand was still in mine, our fingers loosely interlaced.
"The first time he criticized me, I thought he was trying to help.
He said my report writing was sloppy, that I needed to be more careful if I wanted to advance.
And he was right—the report did have problems. So I fixed them, and I was grateful that someone cared enough to point it out. "
He paused, seeming to choose his next words carefully.
"Then it was my clothes. My friends. The way I spent my free time.
Always framed as concern—he just wanted what was best for me, he just wanted me to reach my potential.
And I believed him, because why would someone who loved me lie?
Why would he spend all this time trying to help me if he didn't have my best interests at heart? "
I thought about Danny, about the way addiction had crept up on him the same way. Small compromises that became bigger ones. Choices that didn't seem like choices until it was too late to choose differently.
"By the second year, he'd isolated me from everyone else.
My friends weren't good enough, my family didn't understand our relationship, my colleagues were jealous of my success.
The only person I could trust was Marcus.
" Tyler's laugh was bitter. "And that was exactly what he wanted.
A partner with no outside support, no one to tell me that what I was experiencing wasn't normal. "
"How did you finally see it?"
"The Chen investigation." Tyler shifted slightly, and I felt the tension running through him.
"We were supposed to be taking down a trafficking network, but the case kept stalling.
Witnesses disappeared. Evidence went missing.
Every time we got close to something real, some bureaucratic obstacle would appear out of nowhere.
I started to suspect that someone inside the Bureau was protecting Chen. "
"And it was Cross."
"It was Cross. He was taking money from the network—not just Chen, but the whole operation.
The same people who killed your brother were paying my partner to look the other way while they moved drugs and people across state lines.
" Tyler's voice hardened. "When I figured it out, when I finally put the pieces together, he tried to convince me I was wrong.
Gaslighted me for months. Told me I was paranoid, that the stress was getting to me, that I needed to take a break and get my head straight. "
"But you didn't believe him."
"I wanted to." The admission seemed to cost him something.
"That's the worst part. Even after everything he'd done, part of me wanted to believe that I was wrong.
That the man I'd loved for three years wasn't actually a monster.
" Tyler turned to look at me, something raw in his expression.
"Sarah was the one who helped me see the truth.
She looked at the evidence I'd gathered and told me she believed me. She was the only one."
The weight of that hit me differently now, after everything we'd gone through to rescue Sarah. She hadn't just believed Tyler—she'd risked everything on that belief. And Cross had tried to kill her for it.
"Is that why you took the Chen case?" I asked. "To get away from him?"
"Partly. Sarah arranged for me to transfer to the Chen case officially, to get me out of Cross's direct orbit.
But I was also looking for something else.
" Tyler's thumb traced absent circles on the back of my hand.
"I'd spent three years with someone who made me feel small.
Who made me doubt everything about myself, including whether I deserved to be happy.
I needed to find out who I was without him telling me. "
"And who are you?"
The question hung in the air between us. Tyler was quiet for a long moment, his eyes searching my face.
"I'm still figuring that out." His voice was soft.
"But I know I'm someone who wants this. Whatever this is between us.
I know I'm someone who's tired of running, tired of hiding, tired of letting fear make my decisions.
" He reached up, his fingers brushing my jaw.
"I know I'm someone who looks at you and feels something I haven't felt in years. "
"What's that?"
"Safe." The word was barely a whisper. "Which is ridiculous, given that you're a biker enforcer who could probably kill me with your bare hands.
But when I'm with you, I don't feel like I have to be anyone other than who I am.
And that's... that's more than I ever had with Marcus. Even at the beginning."
I leaned into his touch, feeling the warmth of his palm against my skin.
The garage had gone golden around us, late afternoon light slanting through the windows and catching the dust motes that hung suspended in the air.
Everything felt suspended—the two of us frozen in this moment, balanced on the edge of something neither of us could take back.
"I'm not going to hurt you." The words came out rougher than I intended, but I meant every syllable.
"I know." Tyler's smile was small but real. "That's what makes it terrifying."
I kissed him.
Not hard, not desperate—just a press of lips, a question and an answer.
He responded immediately, his hand sliding from my jaw to the back of my neck, pulling me closer.
His mouth was warm, soft, tasting faintly of the coffee he must have grabbed before coming to find me.
The kiss deepened slowly, both of us taking our time, learning the shape of each other.
His other hand found my chest, fingers spreading over my heart like he was checking to make sure it was still beating.
I could feel my pulse hammering against his palm, betraying how much this affected me despite my attempts to stay steady.
My own hands had moved without conscious thought—one cupping the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair, the other gripping his hip hard enough to leave bruises.
When we finally pulled apart, we were both breathing harder than the kiss warranted. Tyler's eyes were dark, his pupils blown wide, and I could feel the evidence of his response pressed against my thigh where he'd shifted closer.
"We should probably talk about what this means." Tyler's forehead rested against mine, his breath warm against my lips. "Set expectations. Be mature and responsible."
"Probably."
Neither of us moved to do any of those things.
"I don't do casual." Tyler's voice dropped, serious beneath the surface warmth. "I need you to know that. If this is something, it has to be real. I can't survive another person treating me like I'm disposable."
"You're not disposable." The fierceness in my own voice surprised me. "And this isn't casual. I don't know what it is yet, but I know what it isn't."
Relief flickered across his face, mixed with something that looked like hope.
"Okay." He kissed me again, brief and firm. "Then we figure it out as we go."
"Together."
The word had become a promise between us. A commitment that meant more than either of us was quite ready to say out loud.
We pulled ourselves together eventually, standing on legs that had gone stiff from sitting on concrete for too long. The sun had shifted significantly—we'd been in the garage for hours, lost in conversation and grief and whatever was building between us.
Before we left, I crossed to the Shovelhead, pulling Tyler with me by the hand.
The bike sat there waiting, patient as always, Danny's dream frozen in time.
Dust had gathered on the chrome—I'd neglected her these past few weeks, too caught up in everything else to do the regular maintenance Danny would have insisted on.
"After he died, I couldn't touch it." I ran my free hand over the partially assembled engine, feeling the cold metal beneath my fingers.
The surface was rough in places where rust had started to creep in, smooth in others where Danny had already done the finishing work.
"Couldn't even look at it most days. Finishing the build felt like accepting that he was really gone. Like I'd be erasing him somehow."
Tyler stood beside me, silent, letting me talk.
"But it wasn't just that. It was also...
" I had to stop, find the right words. "Every time I came in here, I saw his failure.
Or what I thought was his failure. This bike was supposed to be his fresh start, his proof that he could build something real.
And he'd abandoned it, just like he'd abandoned everything else. That's what I told myself."
"But he didn't abandon it."
"No." I traced the line of the gas tank, remembering Danny's hands doing the same thing—his voice excited as he described the custom paint job he wanted, the way the chrome would catch the light, the sound the engine would make when she finally roared to life.
"He didn't abandon anything. Someone took all of that from him.
And finishing this bike isn't accepting his death.
It's honoring what he was trying to build. What he wanted to become."
"Then we finish it." Tyler squeezed my hand. "When the dust settles from all of this. We finish the bike together."
I looked at him—really looked, taking in the dust and exhaustion and determination that marked his face.
This man who'd survived manipulation and corruption and a firefight in the desert.
This man who'd sat with me through the worst grief of my life and offered nothing but steady presence.
Who'd shared his own ghosts in return, trusting me with the broken parts of himself.
"Cherry red," I decided.
Tyler blinked. "What?"
"The paint. Danny wanted cherry red. I always told him black was classic, but—" I shook my head. "It's his bike. His dream. He should have it the way he wanted it."
Tyler's smile was soft, understanding. "Cherry red it is."
I took one last look at the Shovelhead—at the engine Danny had partially rebuilt, at the frame he'd stripped and prepped, at all the potential waiting to be realized.
Somewhere out there, the people who'd killed him were still breathing, still running their operations, still thinking they'd gotten away with murder.
They hadn't. They just didn't know it yet.
The garage door creaked as we pushed it open, stepping out into the late afternoon light. The compound was quiet around us—most of the club still recovering from the morning's chaos, the wounded being tended to in the medical bay, everyone processing what had happened and what would come next.
Ghost was sitting on the clubhouse porch, his crutches propped against the railing beside him. He'd probably been there all day, watching, waiting. When he spotted us emerging from the garage, something in his posture shifted.
"About time." His voice carried across the distance. "Sarah's awake and asking for Tyler. Says she's ready to talk."
Tyler glanced at me, a question in his eyes.
"Go." I squeezed his hand once, then let go. "I'll catch up. Need to clean up first."
He nodded, understanding what I wasn't saying—that I needed a moment alone before facing the next crisis, before putting on the enforcer mask and focusing on strategy instead of grief.
He pressed a quick kiss to my jaw, too fast for anyone watching to be sure what they'd seen, and headed toward the medical bay.
I watched him go. Watched the way he walked, the set of his shoulders, the particular grace of a man who'd survived more than anyone should have to and kept moving forward anyway.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, expecting a message from Hawk about the debrief.
Unknown number. Two lines of text.
You should have let him die in that desert. Now I'll have to kill you both.
No signature. None needed.
I stared at the screen for a long moment, feeling the cold thing in my chest settle deeper.
Cross had seen us together during the firefight.
Seen the way I'd thrown myself between Tyler and his bullet.
Seen the way we'd moved as a unit, protecting each other, fighting as one.
And now he was making his intentions clear.
The smart thing would be to tell Tyler. To tell Hawk. To bring this to the club and let them help assess the threat, plan a response, watch my back. That was what the club was for—you didn't face danger alone when you had brothers at your side.
But Tyler had just spent an hour telling me about Cross's manipulation.
About how Cross had isolated him, controlled him, made him doubt his own judgment.
If I showed him this text right now, after everything we'd just shared, it would put Cross right back at the center of his thoughts.
It would let Cross's shadow fall across the fragile thing growing between us.
I wouldn't give him that power. Instead, I memorized the number—probably a burner, probably untraceable, but worth checking anyway—and deleted the message.
I'd tell Hawk later, in private. Let the club handle the tactical response.
But Tyler didn't need to know about this right now.
Not while he was still raw from his own revelations.
Not while we were both trying to figure out what this thing between us could become.
Cross wanted to drive a wedge between us. Wanted to make me afraid, make me pull away, make me protect myself by pushing Tyler out.
He'd miscalculated.
I pocketed the phone and headed for the showers, a plan already forming in the back of my mind. Cross thought he could threaten the people I cared about and walk away clean. He thought his FBI training and his network connections made him untouchable.
We'd burn it all down. Together. And Cross would be the first thing to catch fire.