That spurs me into motion. I stand, round the island, crouch in front of her, and gently turn her toward me, wiping her cheeks.
“It’ll be fine, Adora,” I say, keeping my voice calm.
She lifts her arm and threads her fingers through my hair. Fuck. I almost break. I’ve missed her soft touch so much. I’ve missedeverything.
“I need you alive more than I want them dead,” she rasps. “You can’t die. You’re not allowed to die. Not at the hands of the people who made our lives hell.”
She swallows, wets her lips, and steadies herself.
“Verdugos are strong. And there’s an army of them.” Her gaze hardens. “Do you have an army, Ghost?”
“I have several fucking armies, adorable,” I grin, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
That seems to bring her some peace.
There’s so much more I want to say to her, but I don’t get that chance. Just a few seconds later, my phone rings.
I don’t want to leave her like this — eyes wet, hands in my hair, heart cracked open. But my phone is still buzzing, the club is waiting, and war is coming.
I straighten slowly, putting space between us, trying to fucking breathe through the bad feeling in my gut.
Her kitchen light paints her in gold, and for one stupid second, I just want to throw her on my bike and run the fuck away. Lose ourselves in the world. Forget about club business and blood and a past drenched in pain.
“I’m coming back,” I say, even though the promise feels like sand in my mouth.
Gary shows up out of nowhere, meowing at her feet and grabbing her attention. I use the moment to turn away before my eyes can betray me. By the time my bike growls to life, the numbness I know all too well is settled deep in my chest.
The mask drops over my face before I even push open the front door of the clubhouse.
Brothers are sprawled all over the place, chilling. Or so it looks. I pay no attention to them, and they don’t pay me any either.
Bones is out of sight, but I know exactly where he is, so I don’t focus on that.
I make my way behind the bar, movements as casual as ever.
“Need a beer, Ghost?” Grizz smiles my way. “I’ll get you one.”
“Nah, it’s fine, Grizz,” I say, opening the fridge. “I can get it myself. You look busy as fuck.”
A chuckle shakes his shoulders. “Yeah. Runa bailed last minute.” He sighs and goes back to the papers spread across the bar. “I’ve got inventory to do. Gotta make sure we’ve got enough stock for the weekend. But now I’m stuck with cleaning and prep too.”
“That sounds rough,” I murmur, twisting the cap off my bottle and leaning against the bar.
He nods absently, eyes still scanning the list. “I keep telling you guys, I need more permanent help than Runa. She’s more club girl than bartender. She’s here to party. The bar’s just a side gig.”
“We’ll find you someone,” I say, taking a pull from my beer before setting it on the counter. “Don’t worry.”
In my peripheral, I catch Fang watching me from beside the pool table, eyes narrowed, fingers fidgeting with the cue stick.
This fucker.
Grizz taps his pencil against his chin, then scribbles a note. “Yeah, Bones has been—”
He never finishes.
In the blink of an eye, my hand clamps around the back of his neck like a vise. I slam his head into the edge of the bar with enough force that I swear I hear bone crack.
Lights out.
