25. Alexandra
The clubhouse was winding down in that slow, familiar way — chairs scraping back, voices fading, the clink of bottles being collected. People drifted off toward their rooms or out into the cold night, engines starting one by one. Cole had gone for a ride with Bruiser to clear his head. I’d kissed him goodbye at the door, watched his taillight disappear, told myself not to feel the hollow that always followed.
His parents had just left too. His mom hugged me like she meant it, his dad nodded at me like I’d passed some quiet test. I was still riding that warmth when the knock came.
Not the casual kind. Not the kind that belonged here.
It was sharp. Deliberate. Official.
Conversation died instantly.
Ink looked up from the bar. Neon straightened. Someone near the door muttered, “What the fuck?”
I felt it in my gut before I ever saw them.
When the door opened, the night air rushed in — and with it, two men in dark jackets, badges already out, eyes scanning the room like they were inventorying assets.
“Immigration and Customs Enforcement,” one of them said. Loud enough to carry. Calm enough to be practiced. “We’re looking for Alexandra Ionescu.”
My name hit the room like a dropped glass.
Every muscle in my body locked.
I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I knew that. I have papers. Enrollment. A visa that was not only valid but boringly correct. I’d done everything by the book — almost obsessively so. But fear doesn’t care about facts. It crawls anyway.
Ink’s gaze flicked to me. So did Neon’s. Bruiser wasn’t back yet. Cole definitely wasn’t.
I stepped forward before anyone else could speak. “That’s me.”
The agent’s eyes sharpened. Like he’d just found what he came for.
“Identification,” he said.
“I—yes,” I replied, my fingers suddenly clumsy as I reached into my bag. “I’m here legally. I’m a student. I have—”
“Ma’am,” the second agent cut in, already moving closer, “we’ll determine that.”
That word — determine — made my skin prickle.
I handed over my passport, my visa, my university paperwork. He barely glanced at them before passing them to his partner, who was already shaking his head slightly, like he’d made up his mind before walking in.
“Tip says you overstayed,” he said flatly.
“That’s not possible,” I replied, my voice steadier than I felt. “My visa is valid. I’m enrolled full-time. You can call the university.”
“We will,” he said. “But right now, you’re coming with us.”
“What?” I took a step back. “No. You can’t just—”
A hand closed around my arm.
Too tight. Too sudden.
I sucked in a sharp breath. “Please don’t touch me.”
“Ma’am, don’t make this difficult,” he said, fingers tightening, already pulling me toward the door.
The room erupted.
“Hey!” “Get your fucking hands off her.” “That’s not how this works.”
But the agent didn’t care. He was bigger than me, stronger, used to compliance. My heart slammed against my ribs as panic finally broke through.
I was being taken. Papers or not.
The door banged open again.
Cole.
He came in like a force of nature — jacket half-open, helmet still in his hand, eyes locking onto the scene in half a second. Me, being dragged. A hand on my arm. Fear on my face.
Something in him snapped.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
The room seemed to shrink around his voice.
The agent barely had time to turn before Cole was there, grabbing his wrist, yanking his hand off me with violent precision.
“Touch her again,” Cole said, voice low and shaking with barely leashed fury, “and I will break you.”
“Sir, step back,” the agent barked. “This is a federal matter.”
Cole stepped forward.
“That’s my old lady,” he said. “And you don’t put hands on her. Ever.”
Ink and Neon moved in behind him. Bruiser appeared at his shoulder like he’d been summoned by instinct alone. The air went thick, electric, one wrong move from chaos.
“She’s here legally,” Cole continued, every word clipped and deadly calm. “You don’t get to drag her out like she’s nothing.”
The agent holding my paperwork didn’t even look up.
“That’s not your call,” he said flatly. “And you don’t get to interfere with a federal investigation.”
Cole’s arm tightened around me, possessive and protective, like he was physically anchoring me in place. I could feel his heartbeat — fast, furious — under my cheek.
“She’s not going anywhere,” he said. “You want to verify something, you do it without touching her.”
The first agent stepped closer.
“Sir, I’m going to need you to step back.”
Cole didn’t.
Instead, he shifted — just slightly — putting himself fully between me and them.
That was the moment everything tipped.
The agent reached for Cole, hand closing on his jacket.
And Cole snapped.
It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t wild. It was fast and terrifyingly controlled.
He wrenched the man’s arm away from him and shoved him back hard enough that he staggered into a chair. The room exploded with sound — shouted warnings, someone yelling Stone’s name, glass clattering to the floor.
“Stone!” I cried, panic ripping through me.
“Don’t touch her,” he roared, lunging forward again as the second agent drew his weapon — not aiming, but raised, commanding.
“Hands up! Now!”
Ink and Neon surged forward instinctively before Bruiser barked, “BACK. ALL OF YOU, BACK.”
Cole froze — not because of the gun.
Because I was clinging to him.
“Cole,” I whispered, my fingers digging into his jacket. “Please.”
For half a second, I thought he might listen.
Then the agent he’d shoved came back swinging, baton already out, and Cole moved again — pure instinct, pure fury — striking first.
The baton hit the floor.
So did the agent.
The sound that followed was sirens.
Someone had already called it in.
The next moments blurred into chaos — local police flooding the room, guns drawn, shouting overlapping commands. Cole was slammed against the wall, forced to his knees, hands wrenched behind his back.
“No!” I screamed, fighting to get to him, arms catching around my waist as someone pulled me back.
The cuffs snapped shut with a final, awful sound.
Cole didn’t fight them.
Didn’t look at the agents anymore.
He looked at me.
“Baby,” he said, voice rough but steady. “Listen to me.”
My chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself. This is my fault, my mind screamed. I brought this here. I put him in their hands.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, barely sound at all.
“No,” he said immediately, fierce. “Never that.”
They hauled him up, dragging him toward the door. I tried to follow, but someone caught me around the waist, holding me back as the room dissolved into chaos.
“Stone!” I cried — the name tearing out of me because others were listening, because it was the only armor I had for him.
He twisted as much as the cuffs allowed, eyes locked on mine, everything else falling away.
“Alexandra,” he said, lowering his voice despite the noise, “you stay here. You don’t talk to anyone else. I’ll handle this. Bruiser, get Cyber on it.”
Only then did I whisper it — the name meant just for us.
“Cole,” I breathed, breaking. “Please.”
For half a second, his face softened completely, like the world narrowed to just us.
Then one of the agents stepped between us.
“This isn’t over,” the man said, cold and precise. “We’ll be back.”
My stomach dropped.
“You might be legal,” he continued, eyes dragging over me like I was a file already flagged, “but we’ll verify everything. Visas. Enrollment. Addresses. One inconsistency, one mistake—”
He leaned in, voice low enough that only I could hear.
“If your paperwork isn’t spotless,” he said, “you’re gone.”
Cole surged at the sound of it, rage flashing sharp and wild. “Don’t talk to her—”
“Move,” the agent snapped, shoving him forward.
“I love you,” Cole said over his shoulder — not loud, not performative — just for me.
They dragged Cole out the door.
Sirens cut through the night.
Then silence.
I stood there shaking, arms wrapped around myself, the echo of hands on my skin still burning, my heart lodged somewhere in my throat.
They hadn’t forgotten about me.
They’d just decided Cole was the bigger problem first.