Chapter Four
Swift
It didn’t take much to move Britta back into her apartment.
No boxes. No hauling furniture. No back-and-forth trips that took hours.
Just one woman, one careful step at a time, walking through her own front door, and me grabbing my black duffel from the backseat.
That was it.
Tempi had shown up not long after we got settled. She’d brought food, talked too loud, hovered too much, and tried like hell to keep things normal. I respected it. Britta needed that.
We all did.
She’d stayed through supper, filling the apartment with noise and sarcasm and the kind of energy that kept things from feeling too heavy. But even Tempi couldn’t fight exhaustion forever. Half an hour ago, she’d finally left.
And Britta?
Britta had made it exactly three steps from the kitchen to the couch, kicked her feet up on the coffee table, and passed the hell out like someone had flipped a switch.
Now the apartment was quiet.
I stood by the living room window, one hand braced against the frame, the other holding a cigarette. I’d cracked the window just enough to let the smoke out, the cool night air slipping in and brushing against my skin.
State Street stretched out below, alive in that late-night way.
People moving. Cars rolling past. Laughter drifting up from somewhere down the block.
Normal.
Or at least what passed for it.
I dragged in a slow breath, the burn of nicotine settling into my lungs as I scanned the street like I’d been doing for the last hour.
Every face.
Every car.
Every movement.
Nothing stood out.
And that was the problem.
A knock sounded at the door. Sharp and unexpected.
My body reacted before my brain had time to catch up.
I turned, cigarette still between my fingers, eyes cutting toward the couch. Britta didn’t move. Didn’t even twitch. She was out cold.
Good. She needed the rest.
Today had taken a lot out of her.
Getting dressed. Walking. Talking. Sitting upright for more than ten minutes at a time. All things that used to be nothing, now they cost her.
I crossed the room quietly, setting the cigarette in the ashtray on the windowsill before I moved to the door.
Every muscle in my body was tight.
Alert.
Ready.
I didn’t reach for the handle right away. Instead, I leaned slightly and looked through the peephole.
Tyson, Britta’s brother, standing on the other side of the door like he owned the hallway.
He’d been around a couple of times at her mom’s place. Quiet. Watchful. The kind of man who didn’t waste words and didn’t trust easily. Especially not me.
He hadn’t said more than two words to me since we met. The way he looked at me said enough.
I unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door.
We just… stared at each other.
Same height. Same build. Same kind of energy. The kind that didn’t back down.
“Funny,” Tyson said, voice low and rough. “No one thought it would be a good idea to tell me she was moving back?”
I shrugged. “I guess Britta didn’t think it was important if she didn’t tell you.”
His jaw tightened. He tried to push past me, stepping forward like I wasn’t even there.
I moved and put my shoulder in his chest to block him. “She’s sleeping, brother,” I said evenly. “Come back tomorrow when it isn’t so late.”
That did it.
His eyes darkened, something sharp flashing there. “You really think this is something you want to do?” he growled.
We were toe to toe now. Close enough that if either of us decided to swing, it’d land.
I didn’t want that. Didn’t need that, but I wasn’t stepping aside either.
“Just come back tomorrow,” I said, voice steady. “She needs to rest. She’s been through enough shit.”
His lip curled slightly. “Yeah,” he shot back. “Shit your club brought to her.”
He wasn’t wrong. Not completely.
We didn’t know we were walking into a war when we rolled into Madison. We came to set up shop. Open the rage room. Make some money.
That was it.
We didn’t know there was a group already here that didn’t want anyone new stepping into their territory.
Didn’t know we were kicking a hornet’s nest.
Didn’t know Britta would get caught in the middle.
My jaw flexed. “We haven’t done anything that warrants people taking aim at us,” I said.
Tyson barked out a humorless laugh. “Yeah?” he said. “Well, I think you might be wrong, seeing as Tempi’s bar was torched and my sister was fucking shot.”
I held up my hands slightly. “I’m not looking to fight with you, man.” And I wasn’t. Not here. Not with Britta ten feet away, passed out on the couch. “If you need to come in that bad,” I added, stepping to the side, “go for it.”
I gave him the opening.
Left the choice up to him.
Tyson didn’t move. He just stood there, staring at me like he was trying to decide if I was worth the trouble.
He was pissed.
Anyone with eyes could see that.
But he was also smart. He wasn’t going to storm in here and wake her up just to prove a point. Not when she needed rest.
“I’ll be back in the morning,” he said finally. It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a warning.
I nodded once. “I’ll make sure I’ve got a pot of coffee on.”
He grunted, turned on his heel, and walked down the hallway.
I watched him go two doors down. Then the third. He pulled out his keys, unlocked it, and stepped inside.
Good to know.
I shut the door, locked it, and slid the chain into place. The apartment fell quiet again.
The TV cast a soft glow across the room, some late-night show playing low enough it barely registered.
Britta was sprawled across the couch, one leg bent slightly, the other stretched out. Her arm rested carefully against her side, even in sleep like her body knew not to push it.
Her hair fanned out around her face. Messy. Soft. Peaceful.
She didn’t look like someone who’d been shot. Didn’t look like someone who’d almost died.
She just looked like… Britta.
Something in my chest shifted.
I walked over slowly, stopping beside the couch. Watched her for a second longer than I probably should have and made sure her breathing was even.
Steady.
Then I leaned down and slid one arm under her knees, the other carefully around her back. I lifted her like she weighed nothing. She stirred slightly, a soft sound slipping past her lips as her head tipped toward my shoulder.
And then… her arms moved and wrapped around me.
Loose.
Instinctive.
Like she knew even asleep, she trusted me enough to hold on. My grip tightened just a fraction and I caught her scent as she settled against me.
Strawberries.
Sunshine.
Something warm and soft that didn’t fit in the world I lived in.
It hit me harder than it should have.
I carried her down the short hallway to her bedroom, pushing the door open with my shoulder. The room was dim, lit only by the streetlights filtering in through the window.
I crossed to the bed and lowered her down carefully.
She shifted again, a small moan escaping her as her body adjusted to the mattress, then she settled.
I pulled the covers up over her, tucking them lightly around her without jostling her shoulder.
Her hair had fallen across her face and I reached out, brushing it back gently.
She didn’t wake.
Didn’t move.
Just… slept.
I stood there for a second longer than necessary.
Long enough to make sure she was comfortable.
Long enough to make sure she was safe.
Then I turned and moved to the window. Pushed the curtain aside just enough to look out.
We were on the third floor. Good height. No easy access and no way someone was climbing up here without making noise.
I scanned the area below, the alley, the street, and the building across from us.
Nothing. Still nothing. Good. It needed to stay that way. I let the curtain fall back into place and stepped out of the room, leaving the door open.
I went back to the living room window, grabbed my cigarette, and lit it again. The flame flared briefly before settling. I took a drag, letting the smoke fill my lungs as I leaned against the frame and looked out over State Street.
Another stretch of hours where I didn’t sleep.
Didn’t relax. Didn’t let my guard down.
Because the second I did, that’s when something would happen.
And I wasn’t letting anything touch her again.
Not a bullet.
Not a threat.
Not a damn thing.
I exhaled slowly, smoke drifting out into the night, and settled in.
Another sleepless night.
Exactly where I needed to be.