Chapter Nine
Britta
I couldn’t look away.
My hand was flat against the window, fingers splayed like I could somehow reach through the glass and pull him back inside where it was safe.
Where I could breathe.
Below me, State Street had turned into a scene out of one of those breaking news segments. The kind you watch from your couch and think, wow, that’s crazy, while never really believing it could be your life.
Police cars crowded the street, lights flashing in frantic bursts of red and blue that bounced off storefront windows and passing cars. Sirens had died down, but the echo of them still rang in my ears.
People were everywhere.
Standing.
Pointing.
Whispering.
Phones out.
Of course, their phones were out, because apparently watching someone almost get killed wasn’t enough; you had to record it too.
Yellow police tape went up, cutting across the street, officers ushering people back while trying to piece together what had just happened.
And in the middle of it all…
Swift.
Alive, moving, and talking.
My chest tightened.
The police had him now, one officer standing in front of him while another circled slightly to the side, like Swift might suddenly become the problem instead of the guy who’d just been shot at.
His hands moved as he talked—sharp, controlled, pointing down the street, back toward the building, explaining what had happened.
Even from three floors up, I could see the tension in his shoulders.
The way he held himself.
Ready.
Always ready.
God.
He could have—. I swallowed hard and pressed my palm harder into the glass.
He was fine. He was right there.
Then I heard the low, unmistakable rumble of motorcycles.
Four of them.
They rolled in fast and clean, cutting through what was left of the crowd like they owned the street.
And honestly? They kind of did. They parked in a line just outside the police tape, engines cutting one by one.
Twister.
Wheels.
Gramps.
Chewy.
Even from up here, I could recognize them.
The way they moved and carried themselves like they weren’t asking permission to be there.
They just were there.
I leaned closer to the window, wishing like hell I could hear what was being said.
Twister stepped forward first, his presence immediate, commanding. The officers noticed him. Swift turned toward them, and for the first time since this whole thing started, something in my chest eased.
Not all the way.
But enough.
“Come away from the window, Britta,” Tyson called.
“No,” I said, not even looking at him.
“Britta.”
I turned my head just enough to glance at him over my shoulder. “I’m not coming away from this window until I know that no one else is going to get shot at.”
He sighed.
I heard him move, then felt him beside me, his shoulder close enough that I knew he wasn’t going anywhere either.
We stood there together, watching.
The police shifted. One of them talked to Twister now. Swift stayed close, but not too close.
“You really landed in the middle of trouble,” Tyson said.
I rolled my eyes. “You say that like I meant for all of this to happen.” I glanced at him. “And for the record, Swift and the club did not plan for this either. They just came here to start over.”
“Yeah,” Tyson muttered, “maybe they picked the wrong town to do that.”
I looked back out the window. “I think this town might be the problem.”
He didn’t say anything to that. “I think their club should just shut up shop and leave,” he added after a second.
I turned to him fully this time. “You think that’s fair?”
“They stay, more people get hurt,” he said simply.
“They’ve done nothing,” I shot back. “And you think it’s right that the assholes of this town can just run them off?” I shook my head.
“Yeah, well,” he said, dragging a hand down his face, “I don’t think it’s fair. But I think them leaving keeps you from getting shot again.”
“They don’t want me dead,” I said. “I was just in the way.”
His jaw tightened. “And that makes this okay?”
I shrugged. “I think it makes it so they should stay and fight to be here. They have the same right you or I do.”
Tyson really looked at me then.
Not just a glance. Not just checking to see if I was okay. Actually looking. “What the hell kind of hold does this guy have over you?” he asked.
“He doesn’t have a hold over me,” I said quickly. Too quickly. “I just… I just…”
What?
Felt safer when he was around? Trusted him in a way that didn’t make sense? Couldn’t stop thinking about him even when I tried?
Yeah, none of that was coming out of my mouth.
Tyson chuckled. “I’ll let you get back to me when you come up with a better answer.”
I bumped my shoulder into his. “You’re being an ass.”
He scoffed. “I’m your brother. It’s what I’m supposed to do when you fall for some biker.”
I opened my mouth.
Closed it and didn’t argue, because arguing would mean I had something to defend, and I didn’t. Right?
I turned back to the window, my eyes finding Swift again down below.
Alive and unhurt.
My chest squeezed tight.
Maybe the biker did have a hold on me.