Chapter 22 #2
Not because I’m trying to keep her ignorant.
Because there’s a difference between useful awareness and lighting up every nerve in her body over things I can’t prove are connected yet.
The last thing she needs is me walking into the kitchen and telling her I’ve got a bad feeling because a sedan slowed down and some idiot at a gas station noticed there’s a kid at the clubhouse.
That would only spike her fear. Wouldn’t help.
So I keep it in my own head for now while everything in me starts tightening up around the edges. By the time I get back to the clubhouse, I’m done debating whether the feeling is real enough to act on.
I find Logan in the garage with Dom, Shadow, and Blaze, all four of them pretending to work while mostly arguing over which part order got fucked up last week.
“Need eyes up,” I say without preamble.
That gets everyone’s attention.
Logan straightens from the workbench. “Why?”
I give them the list.
Sedan. Old man at the gas station asking too much. Unknown face outside the diner. Local deputy clocking the truck too hard. Nobody interrupts while I talk. That alone tells me my tone is enough to set the room right.
Shadow leans back against the wall, arms crossed. “You think it’s connected?”
“I think something feels off.”
Blaze opens his mouth, probably to make a joke about my charming instincts, then takes one look at my face and decides he likes breathing.
Dom pushes his glasses up and nods once. “I can pull traffic cams for the main roads if I get plate fragments.”
“I’ve got a partial on the sedan.”
“Send it to me.”
I do.
Logan thinks for about three seconds, then starts issuing orders the way good presidents do when the room shifts from speculation to readiness.
“Shadow, Blaze, widen the perimeter checks. Keep it casual.”
They nod.
“Dom, run the plate, see if the deputy’s had any recent calls out this way, and flag anything weird tied to the diner or gas station.”
Another nod.
Then Logan looks at me. “You keep doing what you’re doing.”
Which sounds suspiciously like he’s known exactly what I’ve been doing all along.
I don’t bother asking. My phone buzzes in my cut before I can say anything else.
Unknown number.
I stare at it once, then answer because there are only so many people likely to have this phone number and still show up unknown.
“Yeah.”
“Joker.”
Grinder. His voice comes rough through the line, all business and very little patience. The man did not become president of anything by enjoying long, emotional check-ins.
“Your pres says I should call you for an update,” he says.
I glance at Logan, who watches me without comment.
“Logan’s right here,” I say.
“He told me to talk to you.”
That shouldn’t land like it does.
I move a few steps away from the others, out into the bright heat just beyond the garage opening. “Then talk.”
“You got her?”
The question is simple. Not are they comfortable or is Lexi eating or how’s my daughter adjusting. Just: you got her?
I understand the language.
“Yeah,” I say. “I got her.”
A silence ticks by. Not distrust. Assessment.
Then, “Anything I need to know?”
Not yet, I think. Maybe soon.
“Not yet,” I say instead.
Another pause.
“She settling?”
That one hits stranger. Because it’s the first thing he’s asked that sounds like a father instead of a president.
“She’s sleeping some,” I tell him. “Kid’s doing alright.”
He exhales once, rough through the phone. “Good.”
The whole call lasts less than two minutes. It needs to.
Men like us aren’t built for long emotional updates, and there’s too much weight under the surface of this one already. Still, when I hang up, the conversation leaves a bad taste in my mouth for reasons I’m not especially excited to examine.
Because Grinder calling me directly is a reminder of facts I’ve been doing a real convenient job of pushing to the side.
Raven is his daughter. Lexi is his granddaughter.
They’re here because he trusted the chapter, not because he handed them to me personally and said do whatever the fuck you want.
And if he ever clocks exactly where my head is starting to go when it comes to them, he’ll probably remove my balls with farm equipment and sleep just fine after.
More importantly, Raven isn’t supposed to be here long term.
That’s the deal.
Temporary stay. Temporary safety. Until something more permanent gets figured out.
I know that.
Have known it from the start. Doesn’t mean shit though.
Not anymore.
That truth settles in while the phone is still warm in my hand, ugly and undeniable.
I pocket it and head back inside before I can dwell on what a terrible idea all of this is becoming.
Late afternoon, I find them in the side yard.
Raven is sitting in one of the old Adirondack chairs under the shade tree, one leg tucked under her, dark hair pulled over one shoulder, Lexi tucked against her side with Bunny in her lap and a book open across both their knees.
The kid is half-listening, half-pointing at the pages and making up her own version, which Raven is apparently allowing because she looks more amused than annoyed.
The scene is soft enough to punch holes in a man.
I stop dead at the edge of the porch. Not because they’ve seen me. Because for one sharp, ugly second, the thought of somebody taking them lands with the full force of something real.
Not abstract danger. Not “keep an eye out.” Not a problem for the chapter to handle if it shows up.
No.
I see it.
A car door slamming. A hand too quick. Raven looking up too late. Lexi crying out.
Gone.
The panic that slices through me is so sudden and so violent I actually feel my pulse jump in my throat. That gets my attention fast. Because I don’t panic.
Not like that.
I assess. I plan. I move. Panic is for men who don’t know what to do next.
But this?
This is different. This is my body reacting to the idea before my brain has a chance to put it into proper words.
I force myself to breathe once. Slow. Controlled.
Then I scan the yard automatically.
Gate closed. Perimeter clear. Prospect near the far fence line. No vehicles on the road. No movement in the trees.
Nothing immediate.
The feeling doesn’t leave. It just settles deeper.
Raven glances up then, sees me on the porch, and offers a small lift of her chin. Nothing dramatic. Just acknowledgment.
Lexi follows her gaze and immediately brightens. “Joker!”
I make myself move. Walk down the steps. Keep my expression neutral. Don’t let a single bit of what just ripped through me show on my face. “Hey, bug.”
The nickname slips out before I can stop it.
Lexi doesn’t even blink at it. She just holds up the book. “The bunny is lost.”
I glance at Raven. One brow goes up slightly at the nickname, but she doesn’t comment. That almost makes it worse.
“Is he?” I ask Lexi.
“Yeah. We finding him.”
Raven closes the book around one finger and says softly, “We’re handling the crisis.”
“Good,” I tell her, eyes still on the yard for one extra sweep before I make myself look back at her face. “Wouldn’t want to escalate.”
That gets me a quiet smile from her. And there it is again.
That dangerous, impossible shift in my chest every time she looks at me like that. Warm. Trusting. Unaware of how bad an idea it is.
I crouch down in front of Lexi just long enough to tap the edge of the book. “You let me know if the bunny situation gets worse.”
She nods solemnly. “I will.” Then she leans into Raven and goes back to the page like the world is exactly how it should be.
I stay there one second too long, looking at them.
At Raven’s hand resting protectively over Lexi’s ankle. At Bunny wedged between them. At the easy shape of their bodies under the tree. At the way my own mind has already started measuring threats in relation to them instead of the property, the chapter, or anything broader.
Whatever this is, it’s getting closer.
I can feel it now. In the road. In town. In the way people are looking too long. In the way my own skin won’t settle.
And I know enough to trust that feeling even when I hate it.
So I stand, tell Raven I’m heading back toward the garage, and walk away with one thought lodged hard and ugly behind my ribs.
Something is moving.
And when it gets here, I need to be ready first.