Page 24 of Crusher's Illusion

“You’re not sleeping down there,” she says.

I pause, hand on the chair. She doesn’t say it like a come-on. She says it like a dare. “It’s a king,” she adds. “I won’t bite.”

I don’t answer. Just take off my boots, kill the light, and climb into bed. I stay on my side. My body’s wound tight enough to crack steel.

Her breathing is soft, measured. Her presence hums through the dark like static before lightning. She’s not even touching me, and still, I feel branded. The scent of her, the heat of her. She’s a furnace behind me, and I’m trying not to melt.

“You still mad at me?” she whispers.

“I’m not mad.”

She shifts. I feel the bed dip, her body closer. “You’re something.”

I exhale through my nose. “I’m trying not to touch you.”

A pause. “Don’t,” she says quietly.

“Don’t touch you?”

“Don’t try not to.”

I freeze. Those four words land like a lit match to dry grass.

But I don’t move. Because if I do, it’s over. And I’m not putting her in that kind of danger. Not the kind that comes with my hands, my mouth, my warpath of a life.

“Goodnight, Nevaeh,” I say, voice low and uneven.

She’s quiet for a moment. Then, “Goodnight, Crusher.”

Neither of us sleeps. Not when the line between safety and danger lies right down the middle of the bed.

TWELVE

FRACTURED LINES

STEEL

The lock clicks into place with a finality that vibrates down my spine. Church doors closed. Gates sealed. Phones in lockdown protocol, burners only, signals scrambled. No one in, no one out, unless they bleed Saints colors or bring intel we can use. It’s a routine we’ve drilled but rarely enforced.

Which makes it worse.

When the lockdown comes, it doesn’t feel like protection. It feels like war.

Throttle’s securing the gate, City’s doing a sweep on the server room, and Rock’s pacing again. If he makes one more lap around the Chapel table, I’m going to staple his boots to the floor.

Draft, Rampage, and Hurricane are on a stock run, making sure we have enough food and liquor for however long this lasts. Honor is somewhere in the Clubhouse with August, Collateral Damage, and the prospects, making sure everything is secure and the Honeys understand why no one leaves or comes in. Some of the Honeys are already tense. A few are crying. One of them asked City if the lockdown meant war. He didn’t answer.Just handed her a drink and went back to checking the cam feeds.

Lockdown doesn’t just squeeze the enemy. It squeezes us too. We’ll see what cracks first.

“We’re live on six channels,” City’s voice is tight. “And the chatter’s shifting. Word is that Iron Cross met with two more outlaws from Bay City. Some are sniffing around, trying to figure out if Nevaeh’s still with us.”

“She is,” Rock grunts. “At Crusher’s place.”

Tension is thick in the air.

I nod slowly, not surprised, just tired. “He called in at dawn. After the way everyone here has treated her, he took her to his loft for her sanity. He kept his eyes on her all night.”

Rock slams a fist onto the table. “We’re locking shit down, and he’s out there playing house?” He says it like a betrayal. But I know what he’s really asking. How far would anyone go if it were their woman’s life on the line? Since none of us has one, this will be a test of loyalty and trust.