6. Close Range
SIX
CLOSE RANGE
CRUSHER
The Civic Banquet Hall door clicks shut behind us, muffling violins and political bullshit. We step out into the cool night air, but it might as well be smoke because we’re both still burning.
Nevaeh stands on the steps, arms crossed, chin tilted like she’s facing down a firing squad. I should be getting her the hell out of here. But she’s not moving.
“You’ve made your point,” I say. “Let’s go.”
She doesn’t budge. “I’m not going to the clubhouse.”
I grit my teeth. “Nevaeh, someone from Iron Cross was just inside whispering threats. Duke’s still watching us, probably waiting for the first crack in my armor. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. More threats are hanging over your head than you know.”
“Then don’t give them one,” she fires back. “But don’t think I’m hiding behind your walls like some damsel while you clean up what I helped start.”
I step closer. Not touching her. Not yet. “It’s not about hiding. It’s about breathing long enough to keep fighting. You think I’m trying to protect you because I don’t respect you?”
Her eyes flash. “No. You’re trying to protect me because you’re scared. Of me. Of this. Of what it means to need someone who doesn’t play by your rules.”
She’s wrong. She’s right. Hell, I don’t even know anymore. All I know is if something happened to her, I’d tear this city apart until it bled. And that pisses me off more than anything.
“I’m scared of watching another person I care about bleed out in my arms,” I snap. “Forgive me if I’m not eager for a rerun.”
She blinks, just once. That wall she wears like war paint slips for a breath, and something raw glints in her expression. She turns, walks a few paces toward the sidewalk, arms wrapped tight around herself now, but it’s not cold.
“Crusher,” she says without looking back. “I can’t pretend I’m sorry I wrote the article. But I didn’t write it to hurt you.”
“You just didn’t care if it did.”
That lands harder than it should, and I hate that I’m the one who said it.
“I cared too much,” she says quietly. “That’s the damn problem.”
We stand here in silence, a breathless stretch of tension between us.
Her scent, spice, and stubbornness wrap around me like a noose. Her dress clings to her body in a way that’s got my fists curled at my sides, and I’m trying to remember that this is war, not whatever the hell my body is thinking right now.
“I should take you to the clubhouse,” I say again, softer now. “Steel’s going to want eyes on you.”
“I’m not club property, Crusher.”
I almost laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Yeah. You’re worse. You’re a headline with teeth.”
“And you’re a man who wants me to disappear before someone gets too close.”
I turn away, run a hand through my hair. The street is quiet, but not safe. I can feel the eyes, the tension stretched like barbed wire between buildings. We’re out in the open.
I walk toward my bike parked down the block. She follows, heels clacking sharply and unbothered. Every step she takes is a challenge.
“You getting on or walking back in there?” I nod at the bike.
She eyes it like it might bite. “Where are we going?”
“Somewhere eyes aren’t crawling up our necks.”
She considers it. Then she swings her leg over behind me and settles in. Her hands wrap around me, setting my body on fire.
I tamp the lust down as the engine growls to life under us, and I take off down the road, cutting through the dark with Nevaeh pressed close but still worlds away.
I throttle the bike harder while a sinking feeling sits in the pit of my stomach. We got away from there easily. That’s never a good sign.
A flash of headlights catches my mirrors. A car is following too close, too steadily to be some average driver out on the road this late at night.
We have a tail.
I shift gears, take a sharp right onto a quieter street, then another right. The car follows every turn I take.
Nevaeh stiffens behind me. She knows.
Finally, after three turns, I lose the tail. At least I hope I do. But I haven’t taken Nevaeh home yet. Instead, I pull into a gas station off M20 and kill the engine.
She slides off the bike, her hair is wild from the wind, and fire in her eyes. “You think they followed us?”
“I know they did,” I state.
“So what now?” She asks. Nevaeh’s trying to stay calm, but the edge in her voice is real.
“I’m staying with you tonight.”
She shakes her head. “Crusher…”
“I’m not asking.”
Nevaeh throws her hands up in frustration. “You can’t just stand guard outside my place like some outlaw gargoyle!”
I shrug. “Watch me.”
“Are you always this stubborn?”
“Only when someone’s life is on the line.”
Nevaeh’s mouth opens like she’s going to argue again, but then something falters in her expression. She’s tired. Not just tonight tired, but bone-deep, soul-heavy tired. The kind that creeps in after years of pretending no one else had to protect her.
She nods once. Small. Reluctant. “Fine. But you stay outside.”
“Wouldn’t dream of coming in unless you ask me.”
That earns me a flicker of a smirk. It fades quickly.
Twenty minutes later, I park my bike across the street from her apartment. No lights on, no movement. I scan the windows. Memorize the layout. Count the exits.
She pauses at her door and looks back once.
“I meant what I said,” she calls out.
“So did I,” I say.
She disappears inside.
I settle in.
I’m not leaving. Not again.
Last time I did, she vanished, and the whole world tilted sideways.