Chapter Eight
Asher
Juliet moved through the flower shop like she belonged to every inch of it.
She was at the prep table with her sleeves rolled up, hair clipped back, lips pressed together in the way she did when she was concentrating. Tiny, precise movements. Adjusting the angle of a bow. Snipping a thread. Stepping back to evaluate like she was judging a piece of art.
She’d told me she needed to finish “a few things.”
That had been an hour ago.
I didn’t rush her.
I leaned against the counter near the register and watched her work, letting the stillness settle in my bones. Most nights, my world was the noise of engines, voices, and the constant low tension of being responsible for men who didn’t always think past the next five minutes.
I liked watching her. Not in a hungry way, though that was always there, steady under my skin, but in a way that made me respect the hell out of her.
She didn’t do anything halfway.
She didn’t pretend things didn’t matter.
And she didn’t stop just because she was tired.
“You’re going to burn yourself out,” I said finally.
She didn’t look up. “I’m fine.”
“That’s what people say when they’re not.”
That got her to glance over her shoulder, eyes narrowing slightly. “Are you lecturing me right now?”
“No,” I said. “I’m observing.”
She huffed softly and went back to tying the ribbon. “Observation noted, but it’s Valentine’s week, and I had this hot biker come in and need a crap ton of flowers. I might be a little stressed, but I’m good.”
“Hot biker, huh?” I asked.
Her cheek flushed, and she couldn’t hide her smile. “I mean, I would have to be blind not see it.”
“Good to know you like what you see,” I smirked.
The next few minutes passed in quiet.
The clock ticked.
The cooler hummed.
The night outside stayed still.
Then, the sound hit like a slap.
Squealing tires.
Not normal traffic. Not someone braking at a light. The kind of squeal that meant speed, recklessness intent.
My body moved before my mind finished processing.
I turned toward the large front window that faced the street, muscles locking as I scanned the glow of the streetlights.
Two motorcycles tore past the shop.
Fast.
Close enough that I caught the flash of chrome and the unmistakable silhouette of cuts on their backs.
Chrome Warriors.
My blood went cold and hot at the same time.
“Juliet,” I said sharply.
She looked up, eyes widening at my tone.
Before she could move, one of the riders twisted at the waist, arm swinging back, and something dark flew through the air.
A brick.
It hit the large front window with a vicious crack.
Glass exploded inward.
The sound was violent. Sharp. Like the shop itself flinched.
Juliet screamed.
I crossed the space in two strides and grabbed her, pulling her down and away from the front, shielding her with my body as shards of glass tinkled onto the floor.
The bikes roared off, the sound fading fast, leaving behind a ringing silence broken only by Juliet’s breathing.
“Hey,” I said, voice low. “Look at me.”
Her hands clutched at my shirt, fingers shaking. “Oh my God—”
“I’ve got you,” I said firmly. “You’re safe.”
She tried to look past me toward the window.
I tightened my grip. “No. Stay with me.”
Her eyes were wide, shiny, and locked on my face like she was trying to anchor herself to something solid. “They—They threw a brick,” she breathed.
“I know.”
“Why would they—”
“Because they want a reaction,” I said. “Because they’re cowards.”
Her throat worked. She swallowed hard. “My window…”
“I’ll take care of it,” I said. “Right now, you’re safe.”
I guided her farther back toward the prep area. The front of the shop looked like a crime scene with the shattered window, flowers and ribbon dusted with glittering fragments.
Rage flared in my chest, hot and controlled. I forced it down. This wasn’t the time to let it show.
Juliet’s breathing was still uneven.
“Can you sit?” I asked.
She nodded stiffly, letting me ease her onto the edge of a stool by the prep table. Her hands trembled in her lap.
I crouched in front of her. “Any cuts?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Check your arms.”
She glanced down, brushing her hands over her sleeves. No blood. No obvious injury.
Good.
I exhaled slowly. “You’re okay.”
Her eyes flicked to the broken front window again, and her face crumpled for a second into shock. “This was my mom’s shop,” she whispered, voice breaking. “They—They didn’t have to—”
I cupped her face gently so she couldn’t get lost staring at the damage. “They did it, but they are going to pay for it. Everything is going to be okay.”
She blinked hard. “I feel stupid for being scared. It’s just a window, but…”
There was no doubt about it. Juliet had a right to be afraid, but I was there to make sure nothing else happened to her.
Her breath shuddered. “I hate this.”
“I know.”
I pulled my phone out, keeping my movements calm. “I’m calling the cops.”
She nodded, swallowing hard.
I dialed, giving the dispatcher the address, explaining what happened: two motorcycles, a brick through the window, suspects fled, likely gang-related. I kept my voice even, controlled. Juliet didn’t need to hear panic in me. She needed to hear certainty.
When I hung up, she was still staring toward the front.
“They’re going to come back,” she whispered.
“No,” I said. “Not tonight.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’m here,” I said simply.
I saw it in the way her shoulders dropped a fraction.
I stepped away just long enough to call Moore.
He picked up immediately. “Talk.”
“They threw a brick through the flower shop window,” I said. “Two bikes. Chrome.”
There was a beat of silence so still it felt dangerous. Then Moore’s voice came back hard. “Those fucking idiots.”
“They didn’t touch her,” I said. “She’s not hurt.”
“Good,” he snapped. “I’m sending Cookie and Blaze now. They’ll watch the shop and board it up. You stay with her.”
“I was going to.”
Moore’s tone sharpened. “After you talk to the cops, you take her home. You stay. You hear me?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m taking her home and staying with her.”
“Good,” he said again, then added, colder, “Chrome wants to play stupid games, they can win stupid prizes.”
I didn’t respond to that. Not because I disagreed. Because Juliet was right there.
I ended the call and slipped my phone away.
Juliet’s gaze lifted to me. “Your… president?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“He’s pissed,” I said honestly. “And he’s sending help to board up the window and stand watch here.”
Her eyes widened. “They’re coming here?”
“Cookie and Blaze,” I said. “They’ll handle the shop. We’re not staying.”
Her mouth opened like she wanted to argue.
I didn’t let her.
“You’re going home,” I said.
Her brows drew together. “Asher—”
“Juliet,” I said, keeping my voice firm but not sharp. “This is not me trying to control you. This is me being clear. That window is broken. The street is exposed. And I’m not leaving you in a place that just got hit. I’m not leaving you.”
She stared at me for a long moment, then exhaled slowly. “Okay.”
The word was quiet, but it carried a choice.
I stepped closer again, touching her shoulder. “I’m staying with you tonight.”
Her lashes fluttered. “You don’t have to.”
“I know,” I said. “I’m doing it anyway.”
Something in her expression softened, the fear still there but layered now with something else. Relief. Maybe a little disbelief.
We heard engines outside a few minutes later.
Blaze and Cookie. They parked in front of the shop.
Cookie stood on the other side of the shattered window. “Jesus.”
Blaze’s jaw tightened as he looked at the damage. “You two good?”
Juliet nodded, voice small. “Yeah.”
“We’re good, man. She’s just shaken up.”
Cookie’s gaze flicked to me, then to Juliet again, softer this time. “We’ll handle it. You’re safe.”
Blaze moved toward the broken window, already pulling out his phone. “I’ll grab plywood.”
Cookie nodded at me. “Moore wants you out of here.”
“I know. I’m taking her home after the cops,” I said.
Cookie’s grin was humorless. “Good. Because if you don’t, I’ll drag you.”
Juliet let out a shaky laugh that sounded more like a breath than humor, but it was something. A crack in the fear.
We waited for the police in the back of the shop, away from the broken glass. Juliet sat with her hands wrapped around a cup of water I’d poured for her. I stood close enough that she could lean into me if she needed.
When the officers arrived, I walked them through what I saw: two bikes, patch silhouettes, brick thrown, direction they fled. Juliet answered questions too, voice steadier than I expected.
That strength in her never surprised me anymore.
When the officers finally left with promises of a report and “we’ll keep an eye out” I turned back to Juliet.
“Ready?” I asked.
She glanced at the shop, eyes tight. “I hate leaving it. I don’t even know what to do about the window.”
“You’re not leaving it alone,” I reminded her. “Cookie and Blaze are here. It’s being boarded up. It’ll be standing tomorrow.”
She nodded slowly.
I held my hand out.
After a moment, she took it.
And as we stepped carefully around the glittering shards of glass toward the door, she squeezed my fingers like she was making a decision that mattered.
She looked up at me outside, breath fogging in the cold air, she said quietly, “You really meant it, didn’t you?”
“Meant what?”
“That you’re not going to leave me.”
“Every word I say, I mean, doll. You’re going to learn that firsthand.” Then I guided her to my bike, because I wasn’t letting her drive with her hands still shaking, and took her home.
And I didn’t leave.