Page 3 of Break Me

The creek doesn’t answer. It just keeps moving, indifferent, carving its way through stone like it always has.

And maybe that’s the worst part. How the world keeps going even when yours stops.

I take a slow breath, meaning to turn back. But something shifts.

A flicker in the mist.

A ripple that doesn’t belong to the current.

And then I see her.

She’s standing barefoot in the middle of the stream. White cotton clings to her legs, the hem of her dress fluttering in the moving water. It’s the same dress she wore the night I promised her forever. Her hair hangs in loose, dark waves that trail down her back. The air bends around her, like even the wind doesn’t want to touch her.

“Raven,” I say, my voice breaking through the quiet.

She turns at the sound.

God, that smile. It hits like sunlight through storm clouds. Familiar. Impossible. The kind of smile that made me believe in things I didn’t have any right to.

“I wondered when you’d come,” she says softly.

Samuel

The shop is loud enough to drown out most things, but not her.

Raven’s laugh cuts through the clang of tools and the rumble of the bay doors the way sunlight slices through storm clouds—too bright, too warm, too damn dangerous for a man like me. I grit my teeth and pretend I don’t hear it, but my hands slow on the wrench anyway.

Of course she picked today to show up. Raven’s the last damn person I need to see after a night like last night.

We were supposed to do a simple pickup on the south end of Ashbourne. In and out, ten minutes, no drama. Instead, the idiot on the other end decided to inch his hand toward his waistband. I saw the glint of his piece, and I took him down. Knox knocked a weapon out of the hand of another guy. Then, everything blew up.

Shouts.

Scrapes of gravel.

Someone swung beside me. They landed a boot to my ribs that I didn’t feel until this morning. One wrong move and someone would’ve been on the ground with a hole in their chest. That’s how close it got. After that, it was the ugly kind of work. Knees, elbows, fists. The kind of hits you throw because backing down isn’t an option. My knuckles split when I introduced a man’s face to the concrete. The sound hasn’t left my head since.

My hands still sting when I flex them. My shirt still smells like smoke and sweat, and there’s dried blood, some mine, some not, caught in the crease between my thumb and forefinger. I didn’t bother scrubbing it out. Didn’t see the point. Adrenaline was pumping through my veins, so I came straight to the garage. I needed something to do with my hands.

And now she’s here. Like the universe wants to see how much I can take before I break something I shouldn’t.

“Knox’s sister just walked in,” Mouse mutters, nodding toward the front office like I somehow missed the shift in the room’s gravity.

Knox. My best friend and the President of Blackwater MC.

“Yeah? And?” I say, keeping my eyes on the stripped carburetor in front of me.

“And Knox is watching you like a hawk.” Mouse leans in. “Maybe you should actually use that wrench you’re holding.”

I don’t look up.

I refuse to give Mouse the satisfaction.

But I can’t deny the change in the air. It’s subtle, familiar. The same way it always happens when Raven walks into a room. I grit my teeth and keep turning the bolt that doesn’t need to be turned.

“Hey, Wolf,” she says, all easy warmth and trouble wrapped into two words.

I glance up and take in her long, dark hair braided over one shoulder, cheeks flushed from the cold, eyes sharp enough to make a man forget how to breathe. Around us, every prospect snaps to attention, like they’re standing in front of the damn President. Being Knox’s little sister keeps them in line. But even without him, Raven’s never needed anyone to guard her.