Chapter 6 #2
My pulse stutters, then kicks hard, fear thick and molten in my chest. I promised myself I would never put myself in this position again.
I turn and head straight for my room.
Is this your sense of humor? Because it sucks.
I whisper it to the ceiling the second I’m inside, the door closing behind me with a soft click that feels louder than it should. Whoever is in charge of my fate must be laughing his ass off right now.
I start pacing, hands fisting at my sides.
I could pack, if you could even call it packing when everything you own fits into a bag, but where would I go? My car won’t start. I have exactly ten dollars of tips in my pocket left from the other night, not enough for a motel, not enough for a decent, warm meal.
I’m stuck.
If he ever finds out who I am… what I’m tied to…
My stomach turns.
He could use me as bait to get to Russel. Or worse.
I shake my head. Nope. Not going there.
The urge to give up claws at me. To just stop fighting. I’m tired of always fighting just to lose. I solve one problem only to be hit with something worse. I just want to lay down and let the worst happen, grab a bottle of whiskey and let it numb everything until I disappear inside it.
I stop pacing, pressing my hands against my temples.
Was this how Mom felt when she started drinking and taking sleeping pills?
No .
I straighten slowly.
I’m never going there.
Even if I have to crawl out of this hole using my teeth, I won’t give up.
I refuse to be like her.
? ? ?
Dexter
The door clicks shut behind her, and the sound lingers longer than it should, settling into the quiet like something unfinished.
For a moment, I don’t move.
I stand there with the coffee mug still in my hand, staring at the spot where she was just standing, her words still hanging in the air like they haven’t quite decided to leave yet.
I hate all MC members.
Simple. Clean. Final.
I let out a slow breath, dragging a hand over my jaw as I turn back toward the counter, but it doesn’t shake loose the way I expect it to.
It sticks.
That’s annoying.
It shouldn’t matter. It never has before.
People judge. They always have.
I lean my hands on the counter, fingers pressing into the wood, jaw tightening.
But it’s not the words.
It’s the way she looked at me.
Like she already knows what and who I am.
Like she’s seen enough to decide and doesn’t need anything else.
Something shifts low in my chest, sharp and familiar in a way I don’t like.
I’ve seen that look before.
Teachers.
Principals.
People who thought they had me figured out in five seconds flat.
I was always too much, too loud, too restless.
Too different .
Like there was always something off in me that needed fixing. Something wrong that didn’t quite line up with everyone else.
I drag a hand over my face, exhaling through my nose, trying to shake it off.
Doesn’t matter.
She doesn’t know me. Doesn’t know what it took to get out.
Or how hard it is to stay gone.
My grip tightens for a second before I force it to loosen again, pushing away from the counter, pacing once across the kitchen before I even realize I’m doing it.
Restless.
Always.
I exhale slowly, forcing it down before it builds into something else.
Black and white.
That’s what she wants.
Something simple. Something clean.
Something that makes people easier to place.
But life doesn’t stay in neat lines. It shifts. Bleeds. Lands wherever it wants whether you like it or not.
I stop near the window, staring out at nothing, but her face flashes through my mind anyway.
That look on her face.
Certain of my entire identity.
Like I didn’t even get a say in it.
Something tight pulls low in my chest.
I shut it down.
She’s not wrong to be careful.
I’ve seen enough to know that.
But being careful and being right aren’t the same thing.
I drag a hand through my hair, forcing my thoughts back into something I can actually control.
This doesn’t change anything.
She’s here because she needs a place to stay.
That’s it.
Three months.
A job. A roof. Enough money for her to get back on her feet.
Then she’s gone.
Out of my space. Out of my routine. Out of whatever the hell this is that keeps pulling my attention back to her whether I want it to or not.
My jaw tightens.
I’ll help her out. My mama raised me better than to turn my back on someone that needs help.
But that’s where it ends.
I nod once to myself, the decision settling in.
She stays behind the walls I build.
Because that look…
I’ve spent years learning how to ignore it.
And I’m not about to start caring again.
? ? ?
Alexis
By the time the light starts to fade, I’m still sitting on the edge of my bed.
I don’t remember how long it’s been since I walked out of the kitchen, only that I haven’t moved much since. The room has shifted around me slowly, the pale morning light turning softer, dimmer, until it slips into that quiet gray that comes just before night settles in.
I’ve spent the whole day going over it, turning every possible option over in my head, searching for something I might have missed, some way out that doesn’t end in disaster.
But no matter how many times I go through it, it always circles back to the same place.
Nowhere.
My car won’t start. I have barely any money left, no friends I can call, no family I can run to without dragging them into something worse.
My fingers curl into the blanket beneath me as that thought settles in, heavy and suffocating.
Because here… as much as I hate admitting it, at least I know what I’m dealing with.
An ex-MC member.
Michael’s Legion.
The name alone should be enough to send me running, and for a second… it almost was.
But I’m still here.
And that sits wrong in my chest, sharp and heavy, like something I can’t quite breathe around.
I hate that I’m even considering staying.
Hate that, in the end, survival is louder than pride.
With a tired sigh, I push myself up and step out into the hallway, the quiet of the apartment wrapping around me again. I move slowly, listening out of habit, half-expecting something to shift, to change, to remind me I don’t belong here.
Nothing.
Just silence.
I make my way into the living room, and for the first time, I really take it in.
It’s… lived in.
A big screen TV dominates one wall. Video game consoles are stacked neatly beneath it. Framed photographs sit on shelves and surfaces, Dex with people I assume are his family. I move closer, curiosity tugging at me despite myself.
There’s Summer in a wedding gown beside Cas. Penny smiling next to him. Dex with the man I saw at the bar the other night, same face, different energy, like opposite sides of the same coin. And next to them, a smug-looking guy with a girl who has light brown hair and Dex’s eyes.
How many siblings does he have?
My gaze drifts to Dex himself, dressed in an all-black suit. The man irritates the hell out of me, but I can’t deny he looks good, especially in that damn suit. I look away quickly.
That’s when I see the bookshelf.
I freeze.
“No way.”
I cross the room and carefully lift one of the figurines, my breath hitching as recognition slams into me. My fingers trace the familiar shape.
“Bet you don’t know what you’re holding there, Tinker.”
His voice is low, close enough to make me jump.
I turn to find him changed, black T-shirt, jeans, barefoot. His hair is a mess, and for some reason that makes my cheeks warm.
I shake my head, annoyed with myself, then smirk at him.
“You mean Rocket?”
For a split second, his eyes widen. Then the scowl is back, sharp and suspicious.
“How do you know Rocket?” He tilts his head, stepping closer.
I look down, focusing on the figurine in my hands.
“Guardians of the Galaxy is my favorite Marvel movie.”
“All right, who told you to prank me?” he growls.
“What?” I blink.
“Who told you to say that to me? Was it Penny? Or that asshole brother of mine, Cas?”
I shake my head, genuinely confused. “I never even met your brother…” I let out a small laugh, but his look tells me he’s serious.
“You think you’re the only Marvel fan on the planet?” I ask.
“No,” he says slowly, his eyes sweeping over me, mocking. “But you sure don’t look like one.”
“Well, didn’t anybody teach you that looks can be deceiving?” I fold my arms over my chest, the figurine still in my hand.
“Okay,” he says, amused now, though something in his expression hasn’t fully let go of the suspicion. “Let’s pretend you know Marvel.” He steps closer, his scent wrapping around me, grounding and dangerous all at once. “Why is that your favorite movie?”
“The music and how it’s woven into the story,” I say without thinking. “The wanting to escape through it. The way they form a found family. The way they tease each other to death but still have each other’s backs no matter what.” I shrug. “And mostly because of Rocket.”
His brows draw together.
“He went through hell and back,” I continue more quietly, “and he didn’t let it break him. He let it form him.”
Dex shakes his head slowly.
“I can’t believe it.”
I laugh. “Why, because I’m a woman?” I plant my hands on my hips. “Rocket and Groot are the best characters Marvel ever created.”
He’s quiet for a moment.
“No way, that’s Iron Man… and I still don’t buy that you know them,” he murmurs.
With a sigh, I turn around and tug my hoodie up, revealing the tank top underneath and my tattooed shoulder. Rocket and Groot stretch across my skin.
“Fucking shit,” Dex whispers.
Before I can pull the fabric back down, I feel it, the shift in the air, his attention sharpening, the space between us tightening.
Then his fingers trace the tattoo.
The touch is light, almost careful, but it sends heat straight through me, sharp and unexpected, stealing my breath for half a second.
“When did you get this?” he asks quietly.
“My brother went to college in September,” I say, staring at the wall.
“We used to have Marvel marathons together.” I clear my throat.
“He called me Rocket because…” I shake my head slightly.
“Let’s just say we didn’t have an easy life, and I kind of took the brunt of it.
We got the same tattoo the day before he left. ”
His hand gently pulls my hoodie back into place.
“I call him Groot,” I add with a small smile. “Because he was a pain in the ass as a kid, but now he’s taller and stronger than me. And just like Rocket only has Groot… I only have Mason.”
When I turn back, Dex is close.
Too close.
His eyes search my face like he’s seeing me for the first time.
“Not true. Rocket ends up having an entire squad as a found family.”
That’s true…
but not my story.
Suddenly, he lifts his pant leg.
I suck in a breath.
There, inked along his shin, is the entire Guardians team.
“Looks like we do have something in common after all,” he smirks, then lifts his other pant leg, revealing Iron Man.
“And a thousand somethings that make us opposites,” I reply, stepping around him to go sit on the couch.
He follows and drops down beside me.
“I think I want to make a list,” he says, grabbing a controller.
“A list?” I turn to look at him, his scent filling my nose and making me want to lean closer.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“Yeah. Of things little Tinker has or doesn’t have in common with me.”
I roll my eyes just as he holds out a controller.
“You play?”
I hesitate, then sigh and take it. “Yes.”
The game starts. Minutes pass.
I absolutely destroy him.
When I win, I fist pump and do a little dance before I can stop myself.
I turn to find him watching me, amusement dancing in his eyes, that wicked smile tugging at his lips.
“Would you look at that,” he says. “You love these games. That’s two things we have in common.”
I set the controller down on the small table and get up.
“I’m going to my room,” I say, already turning away, my chest tight, my thoughts loud and tangled.
Another MC member.
Another man tied to that world.
Only this one… isn’t just any of them.
He’s connected to Michael’s Legion.
Russel’s greatest enemy.
My stomach twists.
I don’t know if that makes me safer…
or puts me in even more danger.