“Cobra.”
“I heard you.”
“We’ll find it.”
I stare through the windshield, through Joker, through the road ahead.
The man in the alley had his hand over her mouth. A knife at her throat. He knew I was with her. He knew enough to mock it. He knew enough to use the fight as cover. That wasn’t luck. That was planning. They adjusted. They watched. They waited for one opening, and for one second, they had her.
My hand tightens carefully against Olivia’s side. Carefully, because I won’t hurt her. Carefully, because if I let the full force of what’s moving through me out, something breaks.
“Cobra,” Logan says again, harder this time.
“What?”
“You come back. You don’t hunt blind.”I don’t answer. “Brother,” he says, voice dropping. “You bring her back. We regroup. We do this right.”
Olivia’s gaze stays on me. Trusting. Tired. Hurting. Alive. That’s the only thing that keeps me from telling Logan no. “Fine,” I say.
The call ends.
Joker’s eyes meet mine in the mirror. He heard enough. He always does. “Lost it?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
His smile is gone now. “Unfortunate.” That word from Joker means something else entirely.
Olivia’s fingers curl against my shirt. “They got away?”
I look down at her. I don’t lie. I won’t ever lie to her. “Yes.”
Fear flickers through her eyes. Then guilt.
I hate that more. “No,” I say.
Her brows pull faintly. “I didn’t—”
“No.”
She closes her mouth. Good. Not because I want her quiet. Because if she starts blaming herself right now, I might tear the seats out of this cage with my bare hands.
Joker turns onto the road leading back to the clubhouse.
The lot will be lit when we arrive. Doc will be waiting. Logan will be pissed. The women will hover. The men will look at me and see the crack in control I haven’t put back together yet.
Let them.
The van is gone. The men are gone. But this isn’t over. They had her once on a street. Almost had her in the alley. There won’t be a third time.
I look down at Olivia, at the bruising already beginning near her throat where the knife pressed, at the shadow of pain behind her eyes, at the way she’s still trying to stay awake because I told her to. The rage doesn’t burn. It freezes.
Hard. Clear. Permanent.
Fuck.
This isn’t over.
Cobra doesn’t speak to me the entire way back to the clubhouse. Not one word. That shouldn’t bother me as much as it does. Silence is part of him. I know that already. It’s one of the first things I learned, right alongside the fact that he notices everything and moves like violence is less a choice and more a language his body speaks fluently. But this silence is different.
