Page 97 of Emmy's Ride

Austin listened without a word, his jaw tight, his hands clenched at his sides. I kept my eyes down, staring at the space between us, afraid to see his expression change—to see the disgust I felt for myself reflected in his eyes.

My voice wavered, but I didn’t stop. I told him everything. The Ghost’s voice in my ear, instructing me, breaking me down. The shameful pleasure I felt despite my hatred. How sometimes, when I closed my eyes, I imagined it was Austin touching me, guiding me.

And worst of all, how I had gotten off on it. How my body had betrayed me in the most sickening way.

“I wasn’t strong enough,” I choked out. “I thought I was, but I wasn’t. I let them get inside my head. And Javier—” I swallowed back bile. “I took him in my mouth?—”

Austin held me tighter. “He made you, Emmy. He fucking took from you. Don’t twist this shit around like you had a choice.”

I shook my head violently. “But I felt it, Austin. I—I got off. And I don’t know how to live with that.”

His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. Then he was cupping my face with strong, calloused hands, forcing me to look at him.

“That wasn’t you,” he growled. “That was them. That was him taking power where he had no fucking right.” His thumbs brushed away the tears that had started to fall again. “You survived, Emmy. You survived to come back to me, to us. And now you’re punishing yourself for it.”

I wanted to shove him away, wanted to scream that he didn’t understand, that he should hate me. But he didn’t let me.

“You’re mine,” he said fiercely, his forehead pressing against mine. “Nothing that happened in that fucking nightmare changes that. Nothing. I keep saying that, but you don’t listen. You think I see you any differently? That I don’t still love you?”

My breath caught. “You should hate me.”

He kissed me then. A sweet, deep kiss, as if he were trying to pull all my pain into himself, trying to make me feel what he felt. That I was his. That I was whole. That no matter what had happened, I was still the woman he loved.

I fell apart in his arms, sobbing into his chest, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping me from drowning.

Because he was.

But maybe I could start to believe that I wasn’t broken beyond repair.

Austin

I sat at my desk, flipping through the growing stack of paperwork that had been neglected while we were in Mexico. Club business, finances, shipment logs—things that should have been my focus, but my mind kept drifting. I couldn’t stop thinking about Emmy. About the way she moved through the compound like a ghost, silent and withdrawn. It wasn’t like her, and it sure as hell wasn’t sitting right with me.

My phone buzzed, pulling me from my thoughts. I glanced at the screen—Tank—and answered immediately.

“How’s he doing?”

“Better,” Tank said. “He’s awake more, talking a little. Doc says he’s healing faster than expected. He’s a tough bastard.”

I exhaled, some of the tension in my chest easing. “That’s good. He ready to come home?”

“Few more days. They wanna keep an eye on him, but he’s pushing to leave.” Tank hesitated before adding, “How’s Emmy?”

I leaned back in my chair, rubbing the back of my neck. “Not good.”

“Figured as much.” Tank sighed. “She’s been through hell, man. You getting anywhere with her?”

“No,” I admitted. “She barely looks at me.”

Tank was quiet for a beat. “You can’t let her sink into it, brother. She needs you to pull her out, even if she fights you on it.”

I knew that, knew it deep in my gut. But knowing and doing were two different things.

“What about The Ghost?” Tank asked. “Any movement?”

My jaw tightened. “Cole’s working his angles, but we both know this won’t be easy. The bastard’s careful. We’re gonna have to be smarter.”

Tank grunted. “Yeah, well, keep me posted. And don’t let Emmy shut you out.”

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