Fastlane

Chapter thirty-six

Nadia

Being married to Riven Devereaux was surprisingly domestic.

Not in the normal way. Not white picket fences and dinner at six.

More like waking up to him cleaning blood off his rings in the kitchen sink while I sat on the counter eating dry cereal straight from the box.

Or him falling asleep with his hand wrapped around my wrist because somewhere in that brain of his, he needed to know I was still there.

Being married felt a lot like standing in the middle of a lightning storm and pretending the sky wasn’t seconds away from splitting open.

It was chaos and violence. It was exhilarating and dangerous.

Beautiful enough to make you stupid. And somehow, it was the happiest I’d ever been.

Two weeks in and I still caught myself staring at the ring on my finger like it might disappear if I looked away too long.

A simple silver band wrapped around my finger, still in mint condition because I went to drastic lengths to take care of it.

Mine matched his exactly. Same engravings and everything.

Mr. and Mrs. Anarchy. How stupid. How ridiculous.

How perfect. The Phantom clubhouse didn’t feel like enemy territory anymore.

Not when half my shit had taken over Riven’s room.

Not when his hoodie hung off the back of my chair and my boots sat beside his at the front door like we were some normal fucking couple playing house instead of two gang members committing social suicide.

It was late. Rain hammered against the windows hard enough to rattle the old glass while music played quietly somewhere upstairs. Shane and Skylar were out handling some shipment for the Phantoms, leaving the clubhouse unusually quiet.

Riven was asleep upstairs. Or trying to be.

We’d traded sleeping schedules, it seemed, with me finally being able to and him not so much.

Insomnia ate him alive most nights, and he’d run out of sleeping pills.

Some nights he’d stay awake until sunrise pretending he wasn’t waiting for his own brain to turn against him.

Other nights he’d hold onto me so tightly in his sleep it almost hurt, like some unconscious part of him thought I’d vanish if he loosened his grip.

I understood that feeling more than I wanted to admit. I sat cross-legged on the couch cleaning my gun while some shitty reality show played on the TV. Delia had stopped by and left it on earlier before disappearing to where she usually fucked off to with whiskey and cigarettes.

The front door knocked once. I frowned immediately. Nobody knocked in Stonebridge. Not unless they were stupid or trying to prove a point. Slowly, I reached behind me, fingers brushing the knife tucked into the waistband of my sweats before crossing the room.

The porch light flickered overhead when I opened the door.

Nobody there. Just a small brown package sitting dead center on the welcome mat.

No footprints. No car. No movement. A bad feeling settled low in my stomach instantly.

I crouched beside it carefully, eyes scanning the edges for wires, powder, anything suspicious, but there was nothing.

Still, my pulse had started climbing. The package was light.

Too light. I carried it inside, locking the door behind me before setting it carefully on the coffee table.

The TV noise suddenly felt too loud. The rain was harsher somehow.

Then, I opened it, and a burner phone stared back at me.

Cheap. Black. Brand new. No charger, note, or explanation.

Just the phone. Cold dread crawled slowly up my spine.

“Nope.” I immediately stood.

“Absolutely fucking not.” Every instinct I had screamed at me to destroy it. Toss it into the trash. Burn it. Pretend it never existed. Instead, I turned it on. The screen lit up immediately; one unread message waited for me.

UNKNOWN:

Your father belonged to us.

The blood drained from my face. Because I knew who sent this phone and these messages. I hadn’t thought of these people in years. I… I thought they were done with me. Another message appeared before I could even process the first.

UNKNOWN:

Attachments make you weak. Weakness gets people killed.

“What the fuck?”

The room suddenly felt too small. Then a picture was sent. Riven. Leaving the boxing gym this morning. Taken from across the street. If zoomed in close enough, I could see the tattoos peaking out from under his shirt. A third message appeared instantly.

UNKNOWN:

He dies first. The boy dies second. Then we drag you home ourselves.

My hands went numb. Boy? What boy? This had to be some kind of sick joke. Somebody fucking with me. There was no way.

Another image appeared. This time it was the Phantom clubhouse.

Taken tonight. The angle showed the living room window.

Me sitting on the couch inside. They were watching me right now.

Panic hit hard enough to make my lungs lock up.

I spun toward the windows instantly, heart slamming violently against my ribs as I searched the darkness outside.

Nothing. Just rain and empty streets. But somebody was out there.

Watching. Waiting. The floorboards creaked upstairs.

I shoved the burner beneath the couch cushion so fast I nearly dropped it right as Riven appeared at the top of the staircase. My chest

tightened painfully at the sight of him. Black sweats hanging low on his hips. Sleep heavy in his eyes. Dark hair messy from me dragging my fingers through it earlier. Beautiful. Alive. And suddenly terrifyingly fragile.

“There you are,” He muttered, voice rough from sleep. His gaze landed on me immediately, sharp despite exhaustion. Riven always looked at me like I was the only thing in the room worth seeing.

“What’re you doin’ down here?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Lie. His eyes narrowed slightly.

“You okay?” I realized too late I’d gone completely still.

“Fine.” Another lie.

He descended the stairs slowly, watching me too closely now. Reading me. Riven had always been disturbingly good at noticing changes in me, despite struggling so much to understand his own emotions.

“You look pale.”

“I’m trying something new. It’s called being goth.”

“No.” He stopped directly in front of me.

“It’s called something’s wrong.”

God, I wanted to tell him. Wanted to shove the burner into his hands and let him help me figure this out because that’s what married people were supposed to do. Share burdens. Trust each other. But all I could see was that picture of him, unaware of a

threat even I didn’t think existed. How foolish of me. He dies first. Fear lodged itself beneath my ribs like a blade.

“I’m okay,” I repeated, quieter this time.

Riven stared at me another long second before reaching for me anyway.

Because that’s what he always did. No matter how sharp my edges got, he touched me like he wasn’t afraid to bleed.

His arms slid around my waist, dragging me against his chest while his chin rested on top of my head.

Warm. Solid. Safe. My eyes burned instantly.

“You’re thinkin’ too loud again.” He murmured softly.

The lump in my throat nearly choked me. He didn’t know. Didn’t know somebody was threatening his life because of me. Didn’t know my past had finally found us. Didn’t know the universe was about to rip apart the only good thing I’d ever had. His fingers brushed the ring on my hand absentmindedly.

“Still can’t believe you married me.” He muttered sleepily. My chest physically hurt.

“You’re obsessed with me. Of course I married you.” A quiet laugh rumbled through him.

“True.” Then he tilted my chin upward gently.

“You sure you’re okay?”

His eyes searched mine carefully. And for one horrifying second, I almost broke. Almost told him everything. But if they were watching us now? If they could get this close, then I couldn’t risk it. So instead, I kissed him. Hard enough to distract him. Hard

enough to distract myself. His hands tightened around my waist instantly, pulling me closer while he kissed me back with that same desperate intensity he brought to everything involving me. Like loving me was the only thing keeping him alive. Maybe it was. Maybe that was the problem.

_____

The next morning, he left for Vegas. The fact that I let him go was the biggest mistake of my life.

That was the part that haunted me later.

Not the messages or the fucking threats.

It was the fact I stood in the doorway and watched my husband walk toward danger knowing full well I should’ve stopped him somehow.

Riven kissed me before leaving, one hand cupping the side of my neck while rain drizzled softly around us.

“Be here when I get back.” He murmured against my mouth. The words damn near shattered me. Because suddenly I didn’t know if I would be.

“I’m always here.” I lied quietly.

His eyes lingered on mine for a second too long. Like some part of him sensed something shifting beneath the surface. Then he left. And the second his taillights disappeared down the road, the burner phone buzzed from inside my pocket. I couldn’t breathe while pulling it out.

UNKNOWN:

Good girl.

Rage hit so instantly, I nearly threw the phone across the driveway.

Instead, I forced myself to calm down. Forced myself to think.

Maybe they were bluffing. Maybe if I ignored them long enough, they’d back off.

That hope lasted approximately six hours.

The message came while I was making coffee in the kitchen. A picture downloaded automatically.

The mug slipped from my hand and shattered across the floor. It was Riven. Collapsed beside a black SUV, blood soaking through his shirt. My knees nearly buckled.

UNKNOWN:

Next one kills him.

The scream that tore out of me echoed through the entire clubhouse.

_____

The hospital lights were too bright. Too white. Everything felt cold and distant and wrong. I sat beside Riven’s bed for eighteen hours straight without moving. Shot once through the chest. The bullet missed his heart by less than an inch. One. Fucking. Inch.

Machines beeped steadily around him while bandages wrapped around his torso beneath the blanket.

Bruises darkened the side of his neck and shoulder where he’d hit the pavement.

Every time I looked at him, rage and terror twisted together inside.

my chest until I couldn’t tell them apart anymore.

Because this was my fault. Olympus found me.

And now they were hurting him to control me.

Riven stirred weakly sometime after midnight, eyes barely opening before searching the room for me immediately.

Always me. When he found me sitting beside him, some of the tension left his face instantly.

“There… you are.” He slurred tiredly. I grabbed his hand carefully.

“I’m here.” His thumb brushed over my ring weakly before his eyes drifted shut again.

“I love you.” He whispered half-consciously.

The tears hit me so suddenly, so damn unexpectedly, I had to look away.

I didn’t cry, but sitting there beside my half-dead husband while Olympus tightened a leash around my throat?

I fucking broke. The burner buzzed again around three in the morning.

I already knew it would be bad before opening it.

UNKNOWN:

You were warned.

Another picture downloaded. This one of a baby boy with blonde hair and eyes that were so familiar. He was caged inside a crib, pacifier hanging out of his mouth as he sobbed so hard his little face turned red. My blood went cold.

He was alive. For now.

UNKNOWN:

Choose.

That was it. That was the exact moment something inside me died quietly. Because I finally understood the truth. There was no winning against something like this, evil people like this. Not yet. Not when they could reach every single person I loved. This was easy.

My gaze slowly lifted toward Riven sleeping in the hospital bed. His wedding ring glinted beneath the fluorescent lights. Two weeks married. That was all we got. Two fucking weeks. My vision blurred violently as I stood.

Don’t do this. Don’t fucking do this , I kept repeating in my head, but I already knew I would.

Because if I stayed? They’d kill him next time.

Slowly, carefully, I reached for his hand.

My fingers trembled uncontrollably while sliding his wedding ring free.

Even unconscious, he reacted slightly. Brows furrowing.

Fingers twitching like he felt the loss immediately. That nearly destroyed me.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered brokenly.

“I’m so fucking sorry.” Then I kissed his forehead one last time and walked out of the room before I lost the nerve to leave him.

_____

Riven

Pain dragged me awake slowly. My chest burned like somebody poured gasoline into the wound and lit a fucking match. I groaned quietly, trying to sit up before realizing something immediately was wrong.

“Nadia?” Nothing. I frowned instantly. The chair beside my bed was empty. Cold panic crept up my spine.

“Nadia?” I called again, but still nothing.

Then I noticed it. My left hand was bare; my ring was gone.

Every nerve ending in my body went ice cold instantly.

No. No. I grabbed my phone off the hospital tray with shaking hands.

Twenty-three missed calls from Shane. Twelve from Skylar.

Four from Delia. And one text message from Nadia sent two hours ago.

Daredevil:

I’m sorry.

That was it. My vision tunneled violently. No. No no no no.

I ripped the IV from my arm hard enough to spill blood across the sheets.

Nurses shouted somewhere outside the room, but I barely heard them.

Because she was gone. The drive back to the clubhouse was a blur of painkillers, rage, and pure fucking panic.

My stitches nearly tore open twice, but I didn’t care.

I only had one thought repeating in my head the entire time: find my wife.

By the time I stormed into LBC territory, I was seconds away from losing my fucking mind entirely as I marched into Spencer’s. Pop was inside. So were Abby and Deck. The second Pop looked up and saw me alone, something in his face shifted.

Like, despite how much he hated me, he knew something was wrong. He knew I wouldn’t have come here unless something was wrong with her. That destroyed the last fragile piece of control I had left.

“Where is she?” I demanded. Nobody answered immediately. Wrong fucking move. I slammed my fist into the nearest tool chest hard enough to dent metal.

“Where the fuck is my wife ?”