20. Stone
I walk her out myself.
All the way to Rasmus’s car, my hand firm at her lower back, not guiding so much as anchoring. Claiming. I feel Rasmus’s eyes on me, sharp and assessing, and I don’t shy away from it.
Lex pauses before getting in, like she’s waiting.
I give her exactly what she’s waiting for.
I hook a finger under her chin and pull her to me, kissing her slow and deliberate, deep enough that there’s no mistaking it for casual. No mistaking it for anything less than intent. Her breath stutters against my mouth, her hands fisting in my shirt for just a second before she remembers herself.
When I pull back, I rest my forehead against hers. “Text me,”I murmur. “When you’re done.”
Her eyes are bright when she nods.
I straighten and step back, only then letting her go. Rasmus looks at her, then at me, something unreadable passing over his face.
Good.
The car pulls away, and I stay there longer than I should, jaw tight, watching until it disappears down the road. Every instinct in me wants to follow. To sit beside her. To keep the world from touching her at all.
Duty drags me back inside.
I call church. Immediately.
The room fills fast—chairs scraping, boots on concrete, that low hum of men switching from idle to business without a single word needing to be said. The Romanians are first on the table. They’ve been sniffing around too long, smiling too easily, pushing for a sister charter in Eastern Europe like it’s already a done deal instead of something earned inch by bloody inch.
Riot lays out their last ask—territory maps, “shared logistics,” a few numbers that don’t line up the way they should. Bruiser follows, calm as a surgeon, pointing out the inconsistencies in their story, the promises that changed shape every time they opened their mouths.
I listen, but only halfway.
Because I don’t need much convincing.
Truth is, I didn’t need any after what Lex told me—after the look on her face when she repeated what she’d overheard, after the way her voice shook even while she tried to sound steady.
“They come here today,” I say, cutting through the back-and-forth. “We end it.”
The room goes quiet in that particular way it does when a decision lands final. No drama. No threats. Just done. The kind of clean line you draw once and don’t revisit.
They show up midmorning, all slick confidence and bad cologne, sliding into the long table like they already own the place. The air carries that sharp tang of ego and entitlement, the kind that makes men think the world bends because they say so. I don’t offer them a drink. Don’t offer them time. Every second wasted is a second they might start thinking they can get what they want.
“We’re not moving forward,” I tell them flatly, voice calm, measured. “At this moment, Broken Halos isn’t interested in establishing a charter in Eastern Europe. Not a good fit.”
Bogdan —the leader of the group— laughs, the kind of laugh that assumes negotiation is on the table. I don’t blink.
The laughter dies.
They push once. I shut it down again.
I keep my posture relaxed. After what Lex told me yesterday—the trafficking, the betrayal, the way they’re using the Broken Halos name as a shroud for their rot—there is no deal.
The Romanians aren’t stupid. They saw Lex interrupt the sit-down yesterday. They saw me walk away from a negotiation just because she whispered in my ear. In my world, that makes her a target.
She’s safe at the university right now, but that doesn’t matter. These men have long memories and longer reach. I have to erase the target I put on her back yesterday. I have to convince them she was a fluke—just another girl who got too bold, and one I’ve already replaced.
Which is why, when they linger, their eyes sharp and measuring, I do something that tastes like ash in my mouth.
I look at the bar.
I signal one of the club whores—attractive, practiced, and enough to sell the lie. When she reaches me, I don’t hesitate. I hook an arm around her waist and pull her onto my lap, right into the space Lex occupied.
It’s a performance.
I let my body lean back, projecting the image of a man who has already moved on. I let the girl laugh a little too loud against my neck, let her move like she belongs there. To the Romanians, the message is clear: That girl yesterday? She wasn’t special. She was just first in line. I need them to see Lex as a ghost, a name I’ve already forgotten, not the woman who holds my life in her hands. If they think she’s disposable to me, they’ll find her useless to them.
I feel the girl’s mouth drift toward mine, and I don’t pull away. I keep my eyes on Bogdan, watching the suspicion die in his gaze, replaced by a dull, familiar respect for a man who treats women like property.
No weakness here. No woman worth touching in any meaningful way.
And then she leans in, lips brushing mine in a light, teasing kiss.
Nausea twists in my gut. Every instinct tells me to pull back, to reject it, but I stay. I can’t let it show. This isn’t for her. It’s for Lex. For her safety. For the image I have to project to the Romanians: that Lex is just another woman, nothing more.
My body rebels against the act, every nerve screaming betrayal. But my mind is cold, calculating. This is temporary. This is strategy. I can taste the lie and feel it in my stomach, but I clamp down on every other impulse.
All I can think about is Lex. Her smaller frame pressed against me last night, effortless and real. The way she looked at me like she was seeing something I haven’t let anyone else see. The way she trusted me without trying.
I let the woman pull back after a beat, laughing lightly as if nothing happened. My jaw tightens. My body still trembles—not from desire, but from the weight of doing something I never wanted to do, but something I’m willing to do to keep Lex safe.
Across the room, Bruiser catches my eye.
He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move toward me. Just shifts his weight once, sharp and deliberate, and taps two fingers against his thigh — a signal so small no one else would notice. It’s the kind you don’t use unless it matters.
My jaw tightens.
I give nothing back. Can’t. The Romanians are still watching, still measuring, looking for cracks. If I move now, if I break the rhythm, they’ll start asking questions I can’t afford to answer.
So I stay where I am.
And whatever Bruiser is trying to tell me has to wait.
Once the Romanians finally leave, I shove the woman off my lap and tell her to find someone else. My skin crawls where she touched me.
I need air.
The door shuts behind them, their voices fading down the drive, and the tension in the room loosens just enough to breathe again.
I’m already pushing back my chair when Bruiser is there, close, his voice pitched low.
“Lex came back,” he says.
My chest tightens instantly.
“She saw you,” he continues, eyes flicking briefly—briefly—to the woman still lingering too close. “Saw you with her.”
Something cold settles in my gut.
“She said if you weren’t outside in five minutes, you’d never see her again.”
The room seems to tilt.
Bruiser meets my eyes. “That was thirty minutes ago.”
I don’t say anything. I just move.
I shove through the front door, the cold air slamming into me as I scan the lot — the wall beside the entrance, the shadows near the bikes, the place she would’ve stood if she was still waiting.
“Lex,” I call, sharp and low.
No answer.
I move farther out, pulse pounding, eyes cutting through the darkness again and again like I’ve somehow missed her.
She’s not here.
The realization hits hard and hollow, like the ground dropping out from under me. Panic surges, clawing up my chest. I stand there for a second too long, breathing wrong, staring at an empty space that should’ve been her. Then I turn back inside.
Ink and Neon are at the bar, drinks in hand, relaxed enough that something in me snaps clean in half.
“Where is she?” I bark.
They straighten immediately.
Ink answers first. “She came back inside. We had eyes on her until then.”
“And then?” I growl.
Neon shifts. “We stood down. She was back on club ground.”
My hands curl into fists.
“You were told to keep eyes on her,” I say slowly, every word vibrating with barely contained fury. “Not until you decided she didn’t need them.”
“She wasn’t alone,” Ink says quickly. “Bruiser had her. We thought—”
“You thought wrong.”
The words tear out of me.
The bar goes quiet.
“Get Cyber,” I snap. “Now.”
No one argues.
Moments later, Cyber’s appears with Ink, eyes scanning the screen of his phone with purpose.
“Already on it,” he says. “Tracing now.”
The seconds stretch. My foot taps, hard and relentless, until—
“Got her,” Cyber says. “She’s not at the airport.” He teases.
Relief slams into me so hard it nearly knocks me sideways.
“Where,” I demand.
He gives me the address. It's residential, close by.
“She’s safe,” Cyber adds. “She's inside. No distress indicators.”
I close my eyes once, jaw locking tight.
“Send it,” I say. “And keep your eyes on it.”
“Done.”
I grab my jacket, already moving for the door again — this time with direction, with purpose, with the full weight of what I nearly lost crushing down on my chest.
Because she didn’t leave town.
She just left me.
And I’m not letting it end like that.