Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 41664 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41664 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
I leaned against my bike, my arms folded and boots planted in dust and pine needles. The Harley ticked behind my hip, cooling while heat came off it in slow waves that made the air shimmer. The leather of my cut lay open over a T-shirt soft from too many washes, humid air trapped under it, but I didn’t shrug out of it. I didn’t take off my cut in places like this. It felt wrong, like leaving the front door open.
My mind wandered to Lark, and for the hundredth time, I wondered if I should have brought her with me. But I knew she was safest with my brothers right now. Over the past few days, another itch had formed in my brain. The marshals had contacted Kane again, attempting to persuade him to help convince me to stay away from Lark. Predictably, he’d told them to fuck off.
I’d already patched all the holes in Lark’s ledger anyway. But that itch…it was persistent. Then this morning it hit me. What if the marshals hadn’t been the only ones tipped off by my intrusion into the database? If someone had been sitting at the gate, waiting for a chance to ride in on the coattails of another breach—
The growl of Alanna’s little sedan reached me before I saw the headlights, interrupting my thoughts. It was a tired sound, the kind of engine that had lived past its good years and now limped along out of sheer stubbornness. She rounded the bend, tires crunching gravel, and pulled up beside the bike. The car gave one last rattle before shutting down, headlights dying slow.
Alanna’s ride had been on my list to fix for six months. She kept moving it to the bottom of hers.
I stayed where I was, arms crossed, watching her push open the door. She stepped out with her bag slung across her shoulder, dark hair pulled back in a messy bun that hadn’t been planned so much as surrendered to. Her sneakers scuffed the dirt. She’d dressed simple—jeans and a soft-looking gray T-shirt—but she had our mother’s posture, that stubborn straight spine, even when the world made her bend. She also had our father’s steady gaze, but everything else was all hers.
When she saw me, her eyes softened the way they always did, then narrowed in the same breath.
“Thought I told you to get new tires,” I muttered as she came closer, unfolding my arms just long enough to pull her in.
The hug was tight, harder than I meant it to be. Tension lived in my chest these days, and I hadn’t figured out how to unclench. My hands curled against her back, protective in a way I hadn’t grown out of, even when she did.
She pressed her face into my chest for a beat, then leaned back, rolling her eyes. “Nice to see you too.”
My mouth tipped up—couldn’t help it. “I’m full of charm.”
“Full of something,” she shot back, sliding free but not going far. She leaned against the car door, and the dying light painted her cheek with a gold stripe.
“Those tires hit a wet patch, and you’ll be kissing guardrails,” I pointed out.
“Bossy,” she retorted. “Still, after all these years.”
“Genetics.” I shoved my hands into my pockets. “If our parents didn’t want me looking out for you, they should’ve raised less stubborn kids.”
She laughed, short and real. “Less stubborn? You broke into a federal database at sixteen. They probably had a point.”
I grinned. “I wasn’t caught.”
“You were recruited, which is kinda the same thing.”
“Semantics.” The corner of my mouth pulled a little sharper because the memory lived bright. The northern side of Tallahassee felt like a different state when you were born into it—hotter, quieter, and with rules that made less sense. I’d learned early that some doors stayed closed unless you picked them. When I was seventeen, I picked Kane’s.
Kane had been twenty-four, already dangerous in ways that put other men at ease because the danger was on their side. Tatum—Edge now—was twenty-two with green eyes that looked at you like he’d already built the rifle that would end your day if you needed it ended. Drift was the same age, quiet where the other two were loud, with fists like anchors and a jaw like he’d carved it with his own hands. They weren’t a club yet.
I’d slipped past a firewall Kane paid a contractor too much to build, left a note that read do better, and went about my night. The next afternoon, all three stood on my parents’ porch while I tried to look like I was not home, not me, and definitely not the kid who moved through code like it was air. My mother had answered the door and gone pale at the sight of men who looked like trouble but smelled like the kind that paid cash and didn’t apologize. My father came down the hall with his jaw hard.