Page 84 of A Witchy Spell Ride
I took ten minutes where no one could see me and watched Selene from the doorway like a sinner at confession. She moved through the room differently now, not small, not loud, just certain. The petal hadn’t shrunk her; it had brought her spine into focus. She caught me looking and didn’t look away. The corner of her mouth kicked up, private. I pushed off the jamb and went to her.
“You keep staring,” she said sotto voce, “people will talk.”
“Let them,” I said.
She bumped her shoulder into my chest, casual and intimate. “We’re going to be okay.”
“We are,” I said, because I’d chosen the only version of the story I could live with.
Then I pulled my phone and replayed the file Cross had sent me, one more time. Selene in my shirt. Barefoot. Barefaced. Picking up a petal and turning her chin up to a lens like it owed her an apology.
“Get ready,” she said, straight to the man who’d tried to script her.
Because I’m not scared anymore.
I slid the phone back into my pocket and felt something settle where the drum had been beating.
Later, I’d take positions and call colors and walk a man into his mistake. Later, I’d do what I was made to do.
Right now, I touched her wrist with two fingers and felt the steady thrum that matched mine.
“Ready?” I asked again because the ritual mattered.
“No,” she said. “Go anyway.”
So, we did.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Selene
I wasn’t supposed to hear them talking.
But the door to the war room was cracked open, just enough and I’d learned long ago that in this club, if someone leaves a door ajar, they either want you to hear… or they’re underestimating how quiet you can be.
Cross’s voice was low but clipped. Focused. “Name’s Adam Lane. Not real, but the face is. Got a partial match tied to a dating app profile she interacted with once. One dinner. No second date.”
I froze.
“Adam Lane.”
Him.
I barely remembered his last name until that moment. He was… normal. Too normal. The kind of man who called you ma’am and asked before leaning in. But there was something behind his eyes. Something I didn’t trust.
He hadn’t touched me.
Hadn’t said anything wrong.
But my gut had screamed no.
So, I ghosted him. Deleted the app. Never looked back.
Until now.
Until Cross’s next words hit like ice water down my spine. “He’s still in the Quarter. Different car. Rented under another fake name. But it’s him.”
A sound rumbled through the room I felt more than heard—Ghost. A growl that lived under words.
