Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Adalynn
The fear is gone, replaced by pure anger.
Who does he think he is, arbitrating our survival?
What right does he have to meddle in my business and eavesdrop on my brothers?
His smug claim that we're doomed without his help hits me like a slap.
It doesn't scare me anymore. It just makes me see red. That paralyzing dread I felt earlier is gone, incinerated by pure, hot rage. I step right into his space, refusing to let his size or those club patches intimidate me. I jab a finger into his chest, right against the heavy embroidery of his insignia. My hand stings, but I don’t pull back.
I hold his gaze, pushing every ounce of defiance I have into my stare.
“You don't know a damn thing about my past, my family, or what we’ve survived,” I growl, locking eyes with him.
My voice vibrates with fury, not fear. Behind me, Amelia shrinks against the wall, her face pale with terror.
This stranger thinks he can manage my life, but he's wrong.
I'm the one protecting them, and that's a promise I'm keeping.
“You’re right, I don’t,” he seethes, his glare intense. “But I’ve pieced together enough from what those boys said.”
“They talk too much,” I mutter, glancing back at the bathroom door. My chest tightens. It's sickening how easily we’ve blown our safety, all because of a few reckless words in a public place.
"They're young and they're terrified," he declares, stepping closer.
His deep voice cuts through the tension as he defends the boys.
His expression is stern and unyielding, but the truth in his piercing eyes hits me hard.
My anger vanishes, and I'm forced to finally face the panic I've been running from for so long.
"We’re all scared," I admit, the words dragging out of me like a ragged breath. His stare hits me hard, shattering the last of my defenses. My heart slams against my ribs, a wild drumbeat of the same terror I’ve carried since everything fell apart.
Standing in front of this stranger in his leather cut, I feel completely exposed.
The weight of keeping my siblings safe presses down on me, stealing my air as the fear threatens to swallow me whole.
“What’s your game plan?” he asks, looking perturbed. “You gonna keep running, praying for a miracle?”
My gaze drops to the sidewalk as I acknowledge, “I don't know,” the words tasting like bitter ash on my tongue. The reality is that we are entirely running on empty—our dilapidated sedan has barely a hundred miles left before the tank runs dry, and the grab-bag we keep safe in the car contains under a thousand dollars to sustain the four of us. Back on the highway, we adopted the name Brownstone to confuse anyone tracking us. A cheap alias offers no real protection for Carter, Amelia, and Noah if the assholes who murdered our parents find our trail. I meet his gaze, my knuckles white as I grip the bag. Every instinct screams that I am trapped—staying here means being found, but trusting him feels like a dangerous game I can’t afford to lose.
Closing the final bit of distance between us, he leans down into my face with a question I cannot answer. “Who's chasing you?” The intense proximity of his massive frame seems to steal the remaining oxygen around us, trapping me inside my personal bubble with his commanding aura.
His stare shatters my walls, and I choke out, "I don't know.
" It’s a hollow, terrifying truth. Carter forced me to face it, and it feels hopeless.
My parents were blue collar workers, for fuck's sake. They weren't criminals. Still, someone executed them and is now hunting us across state lines. Initially, that was more of an assumption on my part than anything, however, they found us once, and my gut says we’re loose endings and they’re going to want to eradicate them.
The only things I know for sure are the sound of splintering wood, the heavy thud of boots on the floor, and the fact that the people chasing us won't stop until Noah, Amelia, Carter, and I are dead.
He towers over me, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly register that vibrates through the space between us. "What are you going to do when they catch you?" he demands.
His tone leaves no doubt that they'll find us, twisting my stomach and pushing me to face the nightmare I’ve been running from. He's dragging the truth out of me, highlighting just how futile this escape really is.
In search of whatever solace I still have left to offer, Amelia edges closer and squeezes my hand, her small fingers shaking violently against my palm.
The faint warmth of her touch grounds me, strengthening my resolve against the grim reality he’s laying out.
“They’ve already tracked us down once, and we managed to slip away,” I counter, tilting my chin up in a desperate show of strength.
Even to my own ears, it sounds like a hollow boast born of pure survival instinct, but I refuse to let him see how perilously close we came to complete destruction.
He lets out a sigh and glances away for a second.
When he looks back, the intensity in his eyes makes me feel small.
“You got lucky,” he says. “But luck runs out the second your gas tank hits empty. What’s the plan for when they catch up?
Because you aren’t outrunning anyone with three kids in the back. ”
My throat tightens. Words fail me. The reality of our situation hits hard.
We’re out of options. I’m not trained for this nightmare.
I’m just a terrified sister trying to keep my siblings safe with nothing to help us.
Outrunning these murderers feels impossible.
I don’t know how to fight people who stalk children across state lines without mercy.
Amelia leans into me and takes my hand with trembling fingers.
The suffocating weight of keeping them alive leaves me gasping for air.
My legs give way, and I collapse onto the curb.
The rough, sunbaked concrete bites through my jeans, but I don’t feel the heat.
I’m shivering so hard my teeth click together, a frantic vibration that has nothing to do with the temperature.
It’s ridiculous. The air is sweltering, ladened down with the scent of diesel and dust, yet I’m freezing from the inside out.
It’s as if I’ve been on an adrenaline high since everything happened and suddenly, all of it disappeared when faced with the harsh reality that I’ve been playing a fool’s game thinking I can evade a group of hardened killers.
Then his hands settle on my shoulders. They’re strong and solid, like anchors.
My first instinct is to fight him off, to shove his grip away and force myself upright, but I’m too drained.
I’ve got nothing left. He doesn’t push or pull.
He just stands there, providing a steady weight that keeps me from folding into a heap on the ground.
I hate that he’s witnessing this. I hate that I’m breaking down in front of a stranger.
I’m supposed to be the fortress for the kids, the one made of stone, and this crack in my armor feels like a death sentence.
“Shit,” he mutters, not like he’s annoyed, but like he’s bracing for impact. “Take a deep breath.”
I try, but my throat is closed tight, dry as dust. My vision flickers at the edges.
I can feel Amelia’s small fingers digging into my arm, and I feel a sudden spike of shame.
I’m supposed to be the one keeping us afloat, not the one drowning in the middle of a breezeway.
The biker, this wall of leather and muscle, is standing over me.
Is he the trap? Or is he the only exit? I don't have the time to debate it.
“Look at me, Adalynn,” he firmly orders. His tone deepens, leveling into something authoritative yet surprisingly gentle. “Just match my breathing. In. Out.”
I don't have the energy to ask how he knows my name.
Instead, I just stare at him, focusing entirely on the scent of his jacket—old oil, road wear, and sweat.
I force the breaths to stop my body from shaking, knowing that if I fall apart right now, we are completely finished.
Beside me, Amelia clings to my side, while over by the restroom door, Carter and Noah remain frozen like statues of pure fear, watching intently to see if I will find a way to hold it together or if I will finally snap.
“That’s it. Keep going.” His voice is a low rumble, steady. I don't try to think, I just latch onto the rhythm—in, out. My chest is still tight, like a fist around my lungs, but the air finally starts to move. I’m breathing.
“T-thank you,” I stammer, the words barely audible over the rush of blood in my ears.
As the tremors finally begin to subside, I lean into the grounding weight of his presence, finding a fragile stability in the silence between us.
I pull myself back from the brink, my eyes immediately drifting toward my siblings to gauge the damage my collapse has caused.
Carter moves away from the bathroom door, calling my name. He sounds terrified—his voice cracks, and he’s frozen there, eyes wide as he stares at this guy looming over me. Noah’s huddled right against him, and both of them look like they’re waiting to see if I’m about to fall apart.
“Everything’s fine,” I lie. My voice sounds thin, brittle, but I force it out. I wave the boys over, trying to make it look like this is just a normal, everyday encounter. I need them close—if I can’t see them, I can’t protect them.
Tucked into Carter's side, Noah stays low as they both keep their eyes down.
They give the man a wide berth, stepping carefully to avoid him as if he were a live tripwire.
Carter watches the guy intently, as if expecting him to draw a weapon at any moment.
Circling around us, the boys huddle tightly behind Amelia and me.
We stand there completely frozen, a tense knot of people under his suffocating stare.
Carter steps in front of me, putting himself between the biker and the rest of us.
He is doing that thing where he forces his shoulders back, trying to be the man he is not yet.
“Who are you?” he asks. His voice isn't the growl he wants it to be, just a shaky, uneven mess.
He is terrified, and I can see and feel the fear radiating off him, but he is still standing there, refusing to move an inch.
Seeing him try so hard to be strong for us is almost harder to watch than the fear itself.
He doesn't budge. He just keeps staring at Carter, his face unreadable. The silence in the lot turns dense. It presses down on us, muffled only by the distant hum of highway traffic. Amelia stays pressed against my side. Her small, shaking frame is a constant reminder of what’s at stake.
I just stand there, waiting to see what he does next.
Breaking the convoluted silence, a low, rumbling chuckle rises from deep within his chest. His gaze shifts away from me, settling on Carter with a fresh sense of respect for the fourteen-year-old kid who stood his ground despite his trembling hands.
Suddenly, the tension breaks, and the air doesn't feel quite so deadly anymore.
“Name’s Dodge,” he says, finally introducing himself. His voice is deep and steady, and for the first time, it doesn't sound like a threat. It sounds like a lifeline.
“What do you want with us, Dodge?” he asks, gulping. “We don't have anything. No money, no ransom. If you think you're getting a payday out of us, you're looking at the wrong people.”
Dodge throws his head back as a booming laugh escapes him. When he quickly recovers his composure, all traces of amusement vanish from his expression. Looking straight at Carter, he remarks, “Kid, you’ve got some brass balls.”
Scrambling to my feet with a hammering heart, I shove Carter behind me as panic flares.
Is this guy about to snap just because Carter talked back?
I quickly jump between them, holding my hands up to look as unthreatening as possible, hoping he won't take offense to the gesture.
“He didn't mean any disrespect, Dodge,” I say.