Chapter 8
Reina
Ace’s bike feels different in daylight.
Last night, I held on because I had nothing else.
This morning, I hold on because I want to.
My arms are wrapped around his waist, my cheek close to the back of his cut. His gray sweatpants are rolled at my waist, his shirt tucked under my jacket, and the warmth of him sits solid beneath my palms.
Steady.
Real.
Mine.
The thought slips in before I can stop it.
My face heats, and I press closer against his back.
Ace covers my hands for one brief second.
Just a squeeze.
My stomach flips.
The closer we get to Lovestone Ridge, the tighter my chest becomes. The town looks the same as always. Storefronts. Morning traffic. People starting their day like last night did not happen.
Everything is normal.
I am not.
Briggs is still out there.
That thought will not leave me alone.
He knows my face. He knows I saw enough. He knows I can identify the men who stole from the cartel and dragged their mess into my life.
Ace turns onto my street, and my arms tighten before I can stop them.
He slows right away.
His body changes under my hands.
Alert.
Ready.
I point over his shoulder. “The yellow house. Back unit.”
He pulls in behind the old two-story place where I rent my tiny one-room apartment. The bike cuts off, and the quiet afterward feels too loud.
My blue door waits a few yards away.
My basil pot is tipped beside it. Dirt spills across the concrete.
My stomach drops.
Ace gets off first, then helps me down.
His hands stay at my waist until my feet are steady.
“You okay?”
I stare at the door.
“I don’t know.”
Ace follows my gaze. Everything in him goes still.
“Behind me.”
This time, I do not argue.
I step behind him.
We move toward my door with his body between me and the apartment. My tote bumps against my hip as I dig for my keys. My fingers shake through lip balm, gum, my badge, my phone.
Finally, metal.
“I just need clothes,” I whisper. “Scrubs. Shoes. Ten minutes.”
Ace does not answer.
His gaze is fixed on the door.
I lift my key.
The lock waits in front of me.
Then the door shifts inward.
Already open.
My heart stops.
Ace’s arm comes across me fast, pushing me behind him.
The door yanks wider.
A man steps out of my apartment with a gun in his hand.
His face is pale. Sweaty. One sleeve dark with dried blood. His eyes land on me, and something ugly lights in them.
“You,” he spits. “Nurses are easy to track when you know where they work.”
Briggs.
The gun lifts.
Ace moves.
One second the weapon is pointed at me.
The next, Ace has drawn his own gun from beneath his cut.
The shot cracks through the morning.
I scream and duck behind him.
Briggs drops hard, clutching his leg. His gun skids across the gravel.
Ace kicks it out of reach and closes the distance before Briggs can crawl for it. He drives him flat, one knee pinning him down, his weapon steady in his hand.
“Move,” Ace says, voice low and brutal, “and the next one goes higher.”
Briggs goes still.
I cannot breathe.
My door is open behind them.
My home.
My tiny safe place.
He was inside. Waiting for me.
My knees fold, and I sink down beside the wall.
Ace’s head snaps toward me. “Reina.”
“I’m not hurt,” I say.
His eyes flash.
Right.
He hates thin answers.
I drag in a breath. “I’m scared. But I’m not hurt.”
His expression shifts. Hard edges easing only for me.
“Good girl.”
Even now, the words land warm.
Briggs groans beneath him, breath hissing through his teeth.
Ace keeps him pinned and reaches for his phone.
“Ghost,” he says. “Got Briggs.”
My fingers tighten around my keys.
Briggs is on the ground. His gun is gone. Ace is between us.
I still cannot breathe right.
Ace’s gaze cuts to me while he listens. “Reina’s place. Back unit on Marigold. He came out armed.” A pause. “Alive. Leg wound.”
Briggs curses under his breath.
Ace presses his knee down once.
Briggs goes quiet.
“Send brothers,” Ace says. “County too.”
He ends the call.
For a few seconds, there is only the sound of Briggs breathing hard and my pulse beating too fast.
My eyes keep going to my open door.
Ace sees.
“Stay there,” he says.
I nod because my legs are not ready to do anything else.
Engines roll onto the street a minute later.
Two bikes.
Then another.
Leather cuts. Hard faces. The Damned Saints patch.
They move without asking Ace for explanations. One takes Briggs from under him. One goes straight to my apartment. Another stops near me, close enough to help, far enough not to crowd me.
Ace comes to me.
His bandage is bleeding again.
I stare at the red spreading through white gauze.
“You’re bleeding.”
“I know.”
“You need to stop doing that.”
His mouth almost moves.
Then his hands come to my face.
“Breathe, Reina.”
I drag in air.
It shakes.
“Again.”
I do it again.
The Saint at my door comes back out. “Clear.”
Ace looks at me.
I take one step, then stop. He closes the distance instead.
His hands come to my face, and his eyes hold mine like nothing else exists.
“It’s done,” he says. “He doesn’t get near you again.”
My throat tightens.
His thumb brushes my cheek.
“Nobody touches you, Reina. Not while I’m breathing.”
The words hit somewhere deep.
Too deep.
“Ace,” I whisper.
His jaw flexes. “You’re mine to protect. Understand?”
I should be scared of how much I want that to be true.
I’m not.
I nod, and his forehead touches mine for one brief second.
“Good,” he says, rough and low. “Now let’s get your clothes.”
My hand finds his.
I believe him.