Chapter 10 #2
I hear Blaze in my head telling me I’d probably get judged by toddlers and dogs for the rest of my life. Maybe he’s got a point.
Raven’s voice comes quietly from above me. “Sorry.”
I glance up at her.
She looks mortified. Not because the kid’s being rude, but because she clearly thinks she’s somehow responsible for Lexi not immediately warming up to a giant tattooed stranger who just appeared in a locked room after dark.
That tells me a few things too.
I straighten slowly, rolling back to my feet. “Don’t.”
She blinks. “What?”
“Don’t apologize for your kid not throwing herself at strangers. That’d be weird.”
For one second, she just looks at me. Then the tiniest, strangest expression flickers across her face. Not amusement exactly. More like surprise wrapped around the ghost of it.
It’s gone so fast I almost think I imagined it.
Lexi, however, is still staring at me like I’ve personally offended her ancestors.
I incline my head toward the bunny. “What’s his name?”
That gets a response. The kid’s fingers tighten around the rabbit, and she says in a small, suspicious voice, “Bunny.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. “Creative.”
Raven makes a sound under her breath that might’ve been a laugh if she wasn’t so clearly trying not to.
Lexi’s expression does not change.
Tough crowd.
I stand fully and look back at Grinder. “You got bags?”
Raven answers this time too. “Just two.”
That’s not enough. It should be more.
A woman leaving home with a child should not be able to fit her life into two bags. But then again, if you’re running, you don’t pack for sentiment. You pack for speed.
That thought sits ugly.
I take them and head for the door. “I’ll load up.”
“I can help,” she says immediately.
I look back at her over my shoulder.
She lifts her chin, even in that ridiculous cap and wig, and I can see the pride there under all the fear and exhaustion. She does not want to be handled. Does not want to be another fragile thing men move around while telling her it’s for her own good.
Interesting. Also inconvenient.
“Can you carry a bag and a kid at the same time?” I ask.
She opens her mouth, probably to tell me yes on principle alone.
Lexi picks that exact moment to yawn and lean harder into her leg with Bunny still clutched to her chest.
I arch a brow.
Raven looks down at her daughter, then back at me, and I can practically watch the fight between pride and practicality happen behind those amber eyes.
Practicality wins, barely.
“I can carry Lexi,” she says.
“Then do that.”
I don’t wait for agreement. I just step into the hall and shut the door most of the way behind me.
The clubhouse outside the room feels different than the ones I’m used to in the same way all chapters do.
Familiar bones. Different skin. The low murmur of men downstairs, a TV somewhere farther off, the smell of coffee gone stale and cigarette smoke sunk into old wood.
A prospect near the end of the hall straightens when he sees me, then thinks better of whatever he was about to say and goes back to pretending he has somewhere else to be.
Good call.
The bags are in the small adjoining room they must’ve been using for overflow storage or maybe just to keep their exit cleaner. It takes me all of five seconds to locate them.
One duffel. One small backpack.
That’s it.
I stand there a second too long looking at them.
One bag for her.
One bag for the kid.
No extra tote. No box of keepsakes. No stack of folded blankets. No sign of a life interrupted beyond the fact that these two pieces of luggage look packed by someone who knew she might need to move fast and still somehow hoped she wouldn’t have to.
I hook both in one hand and head back toward the exit.
As I pass the common room, I catch a couple of Louisiana brothers glancing my way, then away. Not nosy exactly. Just aware. That’s probably as respectful as men like us get under the circumstances.
Grinder is waiting by the back exit when I get there, jaw set hard enough to crack teeth.
Raven stands a few feet away with Lexi on her hip now, the kid half-curled into her mother’s shoulder, Bunny trapped between them.
Up close like this, the disguise looks even more ridiculous.
The wig is too cheap to move naturally. The cap sits low.
The oversized shirt hangs off her frame enough to blur the shape of her body, but not enough to hide the fact that she’s beautiful anyway.
I don’t know why that annoys me too.
Maybe because the point is for her not to be noticed and something about her still catches the eye despite all of it.
Maybe because she looks too young to be carrying this much fear in her bones.
Maybe because I’ve been here less than twenty minutes and already know I’m going to be thinking about her more than I want to on the drive back.
I set the bags by the door and glance at Grinder. “Route?”
He hands me a folded piece of paper with two alternate roads marked in pen. “Take the one you need. If you think you’re being followed, you don’t come back here. You keep moving.”
“I know how to lose a tail.”
He nods once, accepting that.
Then his attention shifts to Raven, and something in his whole face changes. Not softer exactly. A man like Grinder probably hasn’t done soft in thirty years. But human. More father than president. He steps in close and puts one hand on the back of her head, pressing a kiss to the brim of her cap.
Raven’s composure fractures just slightly. Not enough to fall apart. Just enough that I see how hard she’s been holding it together.
“You call when you get there,” he says quietly.
She nods.
“If anything feels off—”
“I know.” Her voice is rougher now.
He exhales through his nose, jaw flexing, and looks like it costs him something not to keep going.
Then he takes Lexi from her long enough to hold the kid close. “Be good for Mama, sugar.”