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A surge of protectiveness washes over me, fierce and unwavering. It’s the oath I’ve taken without speaking—a vow to shield her not just from the world’s cruelty but from the doubts that linger like specters in her mind.
“Cheree,” I say, the name a promise in itself, “we’ve both been dealt shitty hands. But together we’re holding aces now.”
She laughs softly, and I feel her body relax against mine. “JD,” she says, her voice steady now, “wherever this road takes us, I’m with you. All the way.”
“Damn right,” I reply, the corners of my mouth lifting in a grin that’s all-wolfish pride and raw affection. “You and me, we’re rewriting our story—one where the monsters don’t win.”
And there it is—the unspoken pledge between us. We are two souls tempered by fire, soldered by secrets and scars. As New York’s concrete jungle encases us, our spirits soar above it, untethered, bound only to each other.
Chapter Six
Cheree
We weave through the side streets of New York. JD sits next to me, and I lean into him. He feels strong and safe.
“Trust me,” he whispers, as though he can read my thoughts.
And despite everything screaming inside me, I do. Because JD, with his scars and brooding silence, has become my compass in a world where every direction spells danger.
In this city of millions, we’re alone but together. And somewhere between the alleys and the strangers, we start to vanish into the concrete jungle.
Every motorcycle that passes us or the sound of one has my heart hammering within my chest. JD’s grip on my hand is my lifeline, keeping me steady.
“Do you think they are here?” I whisper, barely daring to look over my shoulder.
“Don’t let your imagination get the best of you. No one knows where we are.”
We drive into an alleyway, the stench of garbage and decay assaulting our senses. Here, the Defiant Men MC can’t just ride up on us, he’s right they don’t know where we are. And yet, this maze of backstreets could easily become a trap.
As we move, I can’t shake the feeling of being watched. It’s as if the buildings themselves are alive, windows dark eyes tracking every step we take. The occasional roar of a motorcycle cuts through the night air, too close for comfort, sending shivers down my spine.
I feel like I’ve been running on adrenaline and fumes since we left Texas. Part of me wants to run and keep going but a bigger part of me wants to stop and put down some roots.
“I won’t let them get you,” JD promises, the fierceness in his tone belying the calm exterior. “You’re mine to protect.”
“JD—” I start, but he silences me with a look.
“Later,” he says, the word like a command.
We round a corner, and the world falls silent for a heartbeat, the urban jungle holding its breath. A false sense of security settles over me. But it’s an illusion, shattered by the unmistakable sound of motorcycles converging from multiple directions.
“Shit,” JD hisses as he accelerates.
Alleys blur past, as JD yanks the wheel left, then right, a twisted dance through New York’s arteries.
“Here,” he breathes out, and I follow his nod to a narrow gap between buildings.
My heart hammers against my ribcage, every beat echoing the thrum of motorcycles that haunt us. JD’s hand is firm on my leg as he kills the engine and turns off the headlights. It’s in these moments, when the world narrows down to the space between one heartbeat and the next, that I realize how much I’ve come to rely on him. How deeply I’ve sunk into this bond between us, forged in adrenaline and danger.
We emerge onto a street lined with flickering streetlamps, their glow feeble against the encroaching dusk. The city’s pulse is frantic here, people swarm like ants unaware of the predators circling. But JD’s eyes scan the chaos with a predator’s precision, and I mimic his vigilance, searching for the telltale signs of our pursuers.
I feel it then—the prickle on the back of my neck, the instinctual warning that screams through my veins. “They’re here,” I whisper, voice barely carrying over the cacophony of city life.
JD doesn’t question it; he doesn’t need to. We turn down a side street as the sound of engines seems to be right upon us.
“Subway,” JD says, the word slicing through the tension. It’s a gamble, a dive into the bowels of the city where we might lose them—or get trapped.
“Let’s do it.”
