Chapter Four
Marci
Silence swallowed the apartment. A heavy, choking kind that pressed against my ribs and filled every breath with dread.
I stood in the center of the small living room, arms wrapped tight around myself, staring at the dead lights.
Everything had shut off -- the ceiling fan frozen in place, the TV silent and the screen black.
When I’d gone to sleep, I’d still had power and a landline.
I’d also woken to realize my cell had died because I’d forgotten to charge it.
I’d cursed myself for forgetting the charger at work, but panic drowned out every rational thought.
Someone was out there.
A shadow moved earlier near the edge of the lot, a shape lingering too long behind the old fence.
I’d seen someone walk past the building before -- strange men drifted through this part of town often -- but nobody kept coming back.
Nobody stared up toward my window and stood perfectly still. Nobody watched.
My stomach knotted. Every instinct screamed danger. I’d locked the door and checked every bolt. Again. Again. Again. My fingers scraped metal as I twisted the chain once more. Still didn’t feel secure.
A soft creak came from somewhere in the apartment. The kitchen floor settling, maybe. I backed toward the hallway, chest tight, breath uneven. The drywall felt cold under my palm. Sweat slicked my spine and the urge to bolt fought against the terror that froze my legs.
Think. Move. Hide somewhere safer.
Where? A closet? Too obvious. The bathroom? A single flimsy lock between me and someone determined to get in. My mind spiraled. Walls closed in. Every dark corner felt alive.
The morning was silent. No TVs from neighbors. No traffic. No dogs barking. Nothing. Like the whole city held its breath.
“Stop,” I whispered to myself. “Don’t break again. Not tonight.”
But the fear that lurked beneath my skin since the day I ran suddenly unfurled sharp claws. Memories slammed into me -- his fists, his voice, the bruises he left where no one would notice them. He’d promised he’d find me. Promised I’d regret leaving. Promised nobody would protect me.
Was that a footstep outside the door?
No. No. No.
My pulse hammered. Dizziness washed over me.
I pushed away from the wall and rushed toward the window.
Curtains remained shut, but I tugged a corner aside an inch.
Darkness swallowed the yard. One flicker of movement against the mailbox.
A figure shifting weight like someone trying not to draw attention.
My throat closed. Tears stung.
Someone really was watching.
The building’s front door squeaked down below. Heavy boots thudded inside the stairwell. A slow climb -- one step at a time. Like a predator savoring the scare before the kill.
I stumbled backward until I hit the couch. My knees nearly buckled.
The footsteps stopped right outside my door.
A knuckle hit wood. Firm. Measured. Not a frantic pounding -- a controlled strike that said Open up.
“Marci!”
The voice punched straight through fear.
Ace.
My body sagged in relief so intense everything shook. I scrambled to the door, fingers fumbling over cold metal, chain rattling as I unhooked it. The final lock clicked, and I yanked the door open.
Ace filled the frame, shoulders broad, stance braced like he expected violence on the other side.
His face was a mix of fury and fear, his jaw tight, breath rough.
The dim emergency light in the hallway lined his figure in a fierce outline.
He scanned me from head to toe, hands flexing like he needed to touch me to make sure I was real.
I didn’t last a second. I broke.
A sob ripped out before I could swallow it. Heat spilled down my cheeks and my vision blurred. Fear, relief, everything collided so hard my knees went weak.
Ace reached me faster than air. His arms banded around me, strong and grounding. He backed us into my apartment while his boot kicked the door closed behind him. Locks clacked as he worked one-handed, never releasing me from his hold. His heartbeat thudded hard against my cheek.
“What happened?” His voice rumbled low, control stretched thin.
Words tangled behind panic, but I forced them out. “Someone’s out there. Watching. The lights went out. Landline died. My phone’s dead. I didn’t know what to do.”
His breath hissed through clenched teeth. The anger wasn’t aimed at me. It drenched every syllable directed toward whatever threat lurked outside.
“You should have called me sooner.”
“I tried. No power. No phone.” My voice cracked.
He cursed under his breath, then cupped the back of my head. That hand held steady gentleness that shouldn’t belong to a man covered in ink and muscle built for violence. His thumb brushed damp skin beneath my eye.
“How long?” He didn’t ask Are you sure? He trusted me.
“A while. I was asleep and then realized the power had gone off. I’m not entirely sure of the time it happened.”
He nodded once, sharp. Then he moved past me toward the window. A tight shift of his shoulders showed the shift from comfort to threat assessment. He parted the curtain enough to see the yard. His breathing slowed, deliberate and controlled, eyes narrowing as he searched the shadows.
“Don’t see anyone.” He didn’t relax. “That doesn’t mean no one came.”
I hovered near the hallway, arms wrapped around myself again. Without him standing close the fear crept back under my skin, cold and invasive.
Ace turned toward me. His gaze softened a fraction when he noticed the trembling I tried to hide. He stepped close again, his hand brushing my chin upward.
“You’re coming home with me.”
Every part of me agreed before my brain caught up.
“I -- what about my things?”
“They’ll still be here tomorrow. You’re not staying another second.”
No room for arguments. No room for doubt. His protectiveness felt like a fortress built around me.
He took my hand, warm and strong, and led me to the door. I grabbed only my purse, fingers numb as I clutched the strap. We moved through the hallway like shadows -- quick, careful. He kept me in front of him but close enough he could reach me in a heartbeat.
The stairwell groaned under our steps. My breath puffed out short and shallow. Ace’s presence kept me from breaking again. He watched everything. Eyes tracking corners, shadows, exits. Dominance rolled off him in waves.
Outside, the street had returned to normal noise -- a car passing far down the road, someone’s TV playing somewhere. A trick. A lie. Because fear still waited, hidden.
Ace guided me to his bike. Chrome gleamed under the sunlight. Leather seat cold against my fingers as I steadied myself. He handed me a helmet, fastening the strap himself. His knuckles brushed my throat and a pulse jumped under skin neither of us could ignore.
“Stay close. Hold on tight.” His voice dropped quieter, like a vow spoken in darkness.
I climbed on behind him, knees bracketing his hips. My arms slid around his ribs. He reached down, covering my hands, pulling them tighter against him.
“Good.”
The engine roared to life -- loud, angry, alive. He looked over his shoulder once, checking I was secure. Then we shot forward.
Wind slapped my cheeks and tore through loose strands of hair. The world blurred. Streetlights streaked past as Ace pushed speed limits toward his territory -- a place where danger wasn’t welcome. His back was solid beneath my hold, every muscle coiled, ready to strike.
I pressed my face against him, eyes closed against cold air, letting the vibration of the bike drown out the leftover panic. I inhaled the scent that clung to him -- smoke, leather, a faint hint of something earthy and warm. Safety had a smell. I’d never known that until now.
He rode like demons chased us. Maybe they did. But none would ever get through him.
He didn’t speak until we pulled up to a small house inside the Savage Raptors compound.
Ace killed the engine and swung a leg over. He held out his hand. I took it before my mind could form a doubt. He tugged me close, his hand settling against my lower back as he walked us to the door, unlocking it fast.
Inside, he guided me toward the living room, always one step ahead but close enough his arm brushed mine. My pulse hadn’t slowed. Fear lingered. But something else stirred beneath it -- adrenaline, gratitude, desire I didn’t dare name.
His door clicked shut behind us. The locks slid into place. Then he turned, arms crossing his chest as he looked me over again. A silent evaluation.
He’d nearly lost me to panic. He knew it.
“I don’t want you scared like that again.” His voice dropped to a growl that curled heat low in my stomach. “Someone fucked up today.”
“What if --” My throat tightened. “What if he found me?”
Ace stepped closer. His fingers tipped my chin up. My heart slammed.
“He isn’t getting near you.”
A promise. Deadly. Absolute.
I swallowed, not sure what to do with the surge of emotion that climbed my chest. Relief so big it hurt. Trust I shouldn’t give so easily. Attraction that only grew sharper the longer he held me in that gaze.
“I don’t have to stay here.” The words came thin. A test. A shield.
Ace huffed a quiet sound. Almost a laugh. Zero amusement.
“Sweetheart.” His thumb brushed my cheek. “You think I’m leaving you alone?”
I didn’t. I needed him here too much.
“I’m not a burden?” I whispered.
“No. You’re under protection.” His hand slid to cradle the back of my head, guiding my forehead to rest against his chest. “There’s a difference.”
My breath shook against his shirt.
He held me until tremors eased, until my breathing matched his steady rhythm. Warmth seeped into bone, pushing fear out inch by inch. When he finally spoke again, his voice stayed quiet but sharp enough to cut steel.
“If anyone watched your place today, I’ll find him.” A pause. “And he’ll regret stepping near you.”
Emotion surged -- half terror at the promise, half fierce gratitude that someone finally fought on my side.
I tilted my head back enough to meet his gaze. “Why are you helping me?”
His jaw ticked once. His hand slid down to my shoulder, fingers tracing a line that felt like a brand.
“Because I don’t like the idea of you hurting. Because you didn’t deserve what happened before.” His breath brushed my hair. “And because someone needs to fucking protect you until you can breathe without fear.”
I wanted to argue. But words jammed in my throat.
Ace stepped back only long enough to guide me toward the bedroom.
“You’ll sleep here tonight. I’ll take the chair.” His tone brooked zero disagreement.
I knew better than to waste breath arguing when safety wrapped itself in the form of a biker built from fury and loyalty.
I eased onto the couch. The cushions embraced my tired body. He grabbed a blanket from a nearby shelf and draped it over me -- gently, like I might shatter. His fingers brushed my wrist. Electricity shot through nerves still frayed from fear.
“Close your eyes,” he murmured.
“But it’s morning.”
“And you’re tired. So, sleep.”
I did.
Not because I felt brave. Because for the first time in forever, I felt safe enough to try.
Sleep didn’t come right away. My gaze found him in the morning light -- his big frame in the chair beside me, sitting forward, elbows on knees, eyes locked on the door.
Guarding me.
A man like him didn’t make promises lightly.
I believed every one.