Chapter 3 Bellamy
BELLAMY
The steel door clicks shut behind me as I step out of Marty Vega’s office into the late-afternoon heat rippling off the warehouse asphalt. I slide my sunglasses down from the top of my head to the bridge of my nose and thumb out a text with my free hand.
All good. Heading back.
Tell Beckett to stop eating the good cereal.
I hit send, shove the phone into my back pocket, and turn the corner and collide with a wall of heat and muscle.
“Shit. Sorry.” I stumble back a step, but a hand closes around my bicep, steadying me before I can hit the ground. Not rough or claiming. Just the kind of instinctual reach.
The apology dies on my tongue when I look up.
Blue eyes. Charged, familiar, and impossibly close. For a split second, my brain refuses to cooperate. I shouldn’t be surprised to see him—I saw him a few days ago. But this is different. No shadows and adrenaline.
And a face I’ve spent years trying teaching myself not to miss.
Gage fucking Calloway.
He’s leaning against the sun-baked brick like he belongs there, one foot braced behind him, sunglasses pushed low on his nose. His hair’s a little wild, like he’s been raking a hand through it for hours. And he’s looking at me like I’m a flashbang that went off in his chest.
For a second I forget how lungs work.
His fingers stay curved lightly around my arm, the heat of them burning straight through my skin.
“Bellamy,” he says. My name is low in his mouth. Pressed carefully. Like a bruise he’s testing to see if it still hurts.
My heart slams hard enough to echo.
“What—” I manage, choking on my pulse. “The fuck?”
A slow breath leaves him, like he’s been holding it since the second I walked into him. He tilts his head, the corner of his mouth catching on something that might be humor—or might be worse.
“It’s been six years,” he murmurs, “and that’s the first thing you say to me?”
My stomach drops. There it is. The hit I didn’t brace for.
I pull back. His hand falls away immediately—no resistance, no protest. He lets me go like he always did.
“Fine.” I cross my arms, putting space where my body still feels him. “What are you doing here? Are you following me?”
He huffs a soft laugh and scratches his five o’clock shadow. “Call it a happy coincidence.”
“I don’t believe in coincidences.”
His jaw ticks. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I remember.”
He pushes off the wall and steps closer—slow enough that I almost miss it until he’s right there. Inches away. Heat rolls off him, and sunlight catches on the faint stubble along his jaw. And I hate that I notice.
His hand lifts, hesitating for half a breath, then his index finger hooks the bridge piece of my sunglasses and drags them down to the tip of my nose.
He wants to see my eyes, I realize.
He always did.
And when he does, something flickers across his face—surprise, relief, a softness he’d deny until the day he dies.
“I fucking knew it,” he whispers.
The words land like a confession. Or a wound. Or a wish I never let myself keep.
My breath stutters. Sweat gathers between my shoulder blades and slides down my spine. For one terrifying, reckless second, I feel myself tipping forward—like I could fall straight into him and let every stupid, teenage feeling drag me under.
Which is exactly why I straighten my spine and slam the door on all of it.
“You left without a trace,” he says, quieter now. “And now you’re back, and that’s what you lead with? What are you doing here?”
Every soft place in me hardens at once. The walls slam back up, cement pouring into the cracks.
“Seems like a reasonable question, considering where we are.” I flick my gaze to the side, a subtle nod to Marty’s warehouse.
He studies me, something unreadable sparking behind his eyes. “I never thought I’d see the day you were pulling a job. And on a yacht, no less.”
I bristle. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugs one shoulder, and that familiar half-grin tugs at his mouth. Dangerous, boyish, impossibly charming. The exact grin that preceded every terrible, perfect decision of my teenage life.
“Sixteen-year-old Bellamy on a yacht? Sure, sunbathing on yachts, not robbing ‘em.”
My jaw drops as indignation rises like a tidal wave. “Oh, so I’m the sunbathing type?”
“Yeah,” he says without hesitation, stepping closer. “Pretty much. I bet you still look good in a bikini.”
Heat spikes beneath my skin so fast I want to crawl out of it.
“Oh my god.” I shove my sunglasses back up my nose. “You’re impossible.”
He grins wider. “You missed me.”
“I didn’t.”
He lifts a brow. “Liar.”
I swallow hard and look away because he’s right. He’s always been able to see pieces of me I never meant to show.
“So,” I say, steadying myself. “You still haven’t answered my question. What are you doing here?”
Something shifts. The grin fades. Hesitation settles into the crease between his brows. Then he exhales, and something reckless curls around the corner of his mouth.
“You know what?” He rubs the back of his neck, like he’s arguing with himself and choosing chaos anyway. “Fuck it.”
My pulse ticks faster.
“My brothers and I have been casing every fence within a hundred miles. Someone lifted a score out from under us.” His gaze locks onto mine, sharp and searching, like he’s trying to read me from the inside out.
“We split up today to see if we could find out who.” He gestures around the industrial park.
“Lucky for both of us, I found you first.”
My pulse lurches. “Is that a threat?”
“Not from me.” He lowers his voice and shuffles a step closer. “Come to the house tonight.”
My breath catches. “What?”
He exhales a soft laugh that curls warm through my stomach, damn him. “Coco’s throwing a party at the house. Music, drinks, food—the usual circus.” His eyes skim my face like he’s reacquainting himself with every freckle. “Come by. Talk. Or yell at me. Or… I don’t know. Just be there.”
I step back because I have to—because my internal balance is shot and I don’t trust my feet. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Probably not,” he agrees. “But come anyway.”
That smile hits exactly where it always used to—low in my stomach, sharp and familiar. The dimple in his left cheek flashes, the one that used to knock logic clean out of my head. Memory claws at me, greedy and relentless, dragging me toward summers that feel like someone else’s life.
My pulse stutters. I blink, trying to swallow the sharp, stupid spark that flares in my chest. “Why? So you guys can ambush me over the yacht?”
That earns me a real laugh—full-bodied, unguarded. Bright enough to steal the air out of my lungs. God, I forgot he laughed like that. Like sunlight breaking.
He must see something in my face because the sound cuts off, and he steps closer, voice dropping. “No one’s going to hurt you. If that’s what you’re worried about.”
I fold my arms tighter. “And why’s that? You going to protect me now?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “If you need it.”
I needed it then I want to scream. Where were you then?
My heartbeat stutters once, then barrels forward with reckless speed. I look away, force air into my lungs, stitch myself back together. “I can take care of myself.”
“I don’t doubt that.” His eyes move over me—steady, assessing, not a hint of judgment. “So bring anyone you want. Your sister. Your brother. Your… whoever.” A slow smile curves. “Just not a boyfriend.”
I raise a brow. “And what about a husband?”
He chokes. Actually chokes. “Husband?” His sunglasses slip a fraction of an inch down his nose, disbelief snapping across his features. “Holy—Bell, you’re married?”
I take two slow steps backward, sliding my sunglasses up firmly until the world turns glossy and safe again.
Heat flickers low in my stomach as a grin curls at the edges of my mouth.
It’s sharp and bright, riding the line between playful and unhinged.
The kind of grin that says I’m not the same girl you knew.
“I guess you’ll find out tonight.”
His mouth parts, surprise and something hotter flashing in his expression, but I’m already turning away, letting the sun swallow me before my legs decide to betray me.
“Bellamy,” he calls, low and rough, my name scraping through me like an old wound remembering how to ache.
I don’t stop.
Not until I’m safely behind the wheel of my SUV—hands shaking on the steering wheel, heart pounding like I sprinted the whole way.