Page 76 of Wings
I didn't have to say the name. Gabe's expression darkened, understanding immediately. His hand moved to his phone, already texting someone—probably Duke or the prospects on security duty.
"Could have been anyone," I said weakly, wanting it to be true. "Lots of people have bikes like that."
"Maybe." But he didn't sound convinced. His arm came around me, protective and possessive. "Let's get you home. I'll check the security cameras."
I let him guide me to the truck, his vigilance both comforting and confirming my fears. If Gabe was taking it seriously, it wasn't just paranoia.
If Alex knew about us, if he'd been watching . . .
"Hey." Gabe's voice cut through my spiral as he helped me into the truck. "Whatever that was, whoever it was, it doesn't change anything. You're mine. Protected. Safe."
I nodded, wanting to believe him. But as we pulled out of the lot, I couldn't shake the feeling that our perfect night had been witnessed by someone who'd want to destroy it.
The contract was signed. Our dynamic was official.
But the past, it seemed, wasn't done with us yet.
Chapter 14
Wings
Theweightofheragainst my ribs pulled me from sleep—not the familiar press of her body, but the desperate clutch of her fingers twisted in my shirt, holding on like I might disappear if she let go. Three nights since we'd signed the contract, and each one she'd migrated closer, until now she was practically underneath me, her breath warm against my chest through the thin fabric.
I studied her face. Peaceful. The anxiety lines that had lived between her brows for weeks had finally smoothed out. Her lips were slightly parted, and her breathing was soft and even.
Moving required tactical precision. I started with my fingers, gently prying hers loose from my shirt one at a time. She made a small sound of protest, burrowing deeper against me, and I froze. Waited for her breathing to steady. Then continued the extraction, inch by careful inch, until I could slip a pillow into my place. She immediately curled around it, pulling it close with the same desperation she'd shown me.
Something in my chest went tight watching her.
Her morning routine had become my meditation. First, clothes laid out on the chair—soft pink panties with tiny hearts that made her blush, her scrubs, ready for work, a pair of comfortable socks. Each item placed with care.
In the kitchen, I assembled her breakfast smoothie. Vanilla protein powder (she'd never remember it on her own), frozen berries, spinach hidden under banana to mask the taste, a splash of the almond milk she preferred. The blender would wake her, but not for another twenty minutes. Perfect timing for her to wake naturally, find her clothes waiting, and emerge just as breakfast was ready.
The daily note came next—a new protocol we'd added after she'd mentioned feeling disconnected during long shifts. Today's message came easy: "My brave girl saved three lives yesterday. Today she only needs to save one—her own. Eat your lunch, drink water, and remember Daddy's so proud of you. -W"
I folded the paper into a butterfly, a skill learned from YouTube at 2 AM when I couldn't sleep. Placed it on top of her clothes where she couldn't miss it. These little rituals mattered.
My phone buzzed as I headed back to the kitchen. Unknown number. I almost ignored it—too many spam calls lately—but something made me look.
The image loaded slowly, pixels filling in until my blood turned to ice.
Kiara's car in the hospital parking lot, shot from maybe thirty yards away. Recent—I recognized the scrubs she'd worn two nights ago, visible through the windshield as she bent over her phone. The timestamp showed her break time, when she always called to check in.
No message. Just the photo. Just the proof that someone had been watching her, close enough to see what she was wearing, tracking her patterns.
My fingers moved with trained efficiency. Screenshot first, evidence preserved. Then block the number. But before I could even process, another buzz. Different number.
"She looks tired."
Buzz. Another number.
"Night shifts are dangerous."
Buzz.
"Accidents happen."
Each from a different burner phone. Each more direct than the last. My jaw clenched hard enough to crack teeth as I screenshotted everything, building the case file that was becoming inevitably necessary.
