Chapter 2
Chapter Two
The next day…
Ashland
I sit up in bed, my heart pounding, adrenaline firing through my veins. It takes a minute to reorient myself.
I'm not in the alley. I didn't just fucking witness a kidnapping I couldn't prevent.
I'm… home.
And I saved her.
I fucking saved her.
I lie back on my bed of pillows and draw in a deep breath. Closing my eyes, I can still see her, small and helpless. The worst part about being who I am and knowing what I know is that I can't retreat into a world of ignorance. I know exactly what those men were gonna do to her .
But she isn't your sister, or your cousin, or your friend. You're not related. You don't even know who the fuck she is.
I stare at the window, the blue light of early morning filtering through the sliver beneath the shade, and roll over. I need to get back to sleep. I punch the pillow and close my eyes, but as soon as I do, I see her struggling, their filthy paws on her, their…
I try to will it all away, but it's useless.
Why the fuck do I care?
I don't. I fucking don't.
I draw in a breath and try to calm down again. I don't know how or why, but for some reason, I can't. I'm fully awake now.
I don't really sleep anyway.
I reach for my phone on the bedside table to check in with Seamus and the lot, and I find myself pulling up the name of the taxi company that took her home. Scrubbing a hand across my brow, I stare at the number.
Makes sense. I want to make sure she got home safe, though, doesn't it?
Aye.
Ten minutes later, I've got her address.
Fifteen minutes later, I'm in the car, driving to her house .
I don't want to stalk the girl… I just want to make sure she's safe.
I sit in the shadows beneath a low-hanging maple as I watch her get into the car and head to what I'm guessing is school. But before she does, I see an older woman from next door call out to her, waving a handful of mail that must've been delivered to the wrong address.
“Bianca! Dear, this came to my house by mistake.”
Bianca.
Something in my chest locks into place. Her name fits her. Delicate. Beautiful. Real.
She's not just the girl anymore. She's… Bianca .
Fuck .
I should stay away. She deserves to forget last night. But I don't, not straight away. I head home and focus on my work, the kind that requires putting my fist through things that deserve it. I make calls, pull strings, and track down every lead I can on those two bastards from the alley.
By evening, I've got names. Dead ends, both of them—low-level muscle, the kind you hire when you want something done quietly and don't care much if it gets done right. No family connections. No known affiliations. Just two arseholes who took a job and picked the wrong fucking alley .
Which means whoever hired them was careful enough to keep themselves clean.
I stare at the wall, my jaw tight. Nameless men don't move on their own. Somebody pointed them at her specifically—somebody who knew where she'd be and when, somebody who wanted her and didn't want to be traced back to it.
The question gnaws at me. Why her? She doesn't fit the profile of a random grab. Too visible. Too… everything.
I don't have an answer. I don't like not having an answer.
All the more reason to keep an eye on her.
I get a box of takeaway for dinner, then shovel it down without tasting it.
I train until my knuckles are raw and bleeding.
I have another fight that night and sweep the floor with the bastard, an easy feat when I imagine the two faces of those fuckers from last night in front of me.
Every punch lands harder than it should.
Every hit is for her, even if she'll never know it.
And on the way home…
I drive instead of walking and find myself sitting outside her house at midnight.
Bianca's house.
Just once more. Just to make sure she's safe. Just to make sure they never come back.