Page 20 of Welded Defender
The words scrape out of my throat before I can stop them.
Joon exhales through his nose, expression grim. “That’s what I figured.”
We stand there under the lift, the smell of oil thick in the air, silence stretched tight as wire. Rage licks at the back of my tongue. Whoever did this didn’t just want to rattle her—they wanted her stuck. Stranded on a mountain pass, in a snowstorm, with no one around to help. The thought makes my stomach twist.
“Jesus,” I mutter. “She’s lucky she made it here at all.”
Footsteps echo faintly across the concrete. Too light to be Wes or Becket.
I turn, and there she is.
Marcy stands at the edge of the bay, one hand braced against the doorframe, eyes wide and locked on the car above us. Her face has gone pale, lips parted just slightly. She heard everything.
Shit.
“Marcy,” I say carefully, straightening. My rag hangs useless in my fist.
Her gaze flicks from me to Joon, then back again. “You said… tampered?” Her voice wavers, soft but sharp enough to slice through the garage noise. “You mean someone did this on purpose?”
Joon starts to answer, but I lift a hand, stepping toward her. “We don’t know for sure?—”
Her head shakes fast, brittle. “Don’t lie to me. Please.”
The plea hits heavier than a shout.
I scrub a hand over my jaw. “We found a cut in the line. Clean cut. It wasn’t wear and tear.”
She swallows hard, arms wrapping around herself. “So it wasn’t just bad luck. It was him.”
My chest tightens. The name doesn’t leave her lips, but I know exactly who she means.
“I’ll fix it,” I tell her. “We’ll replace the line and check everything else, top to bottom. He won’t get another chance to touch this car without me knowing.”
But that doesn’t soothe the storm brewing behind her eyes. She’s not thinking about fuel lines or car parts anymore. She’s thinking about how close she came to being stranded on some mountain road in the freezing dark. About how calculated it was. Her breath comes quicker, shoulders hitching. I see it—the edge of panic creeping in.
“Marcy,” I murmur, soft but steady, stepping close enough that she can hear me over the hum of the shop lights. “Look at me.”
Her eyes flick up, glassy but sharp.
“You’re here,” I say. “You made it here. He didn’t win. You’re safe now.”
For a second, the only sound is the ticking of a cooling engine across the bay. Then she nods, tiny, like her neck barely wants to move.
“I need…” Her voice cracks. She clears it, tries again. “I need some air.”
“Of course.” I gesture toward the side door. “Go ahead. Take all the time you need.”
She slips past me, moving fast, like the walls are closing in. She shoves the door open, and cold air rushes in for a heartbeat before it clicks shut behind her.
I stay planted where I am, fists opening and closing, rage coiled tight beneath my skin.
Joon’s voice cuts through the silence. “She needed to hear it eventually.”
I sigh. "Doesn’t mean it had to go down like that."
He shrugs, exhausted. “Truth doesn’t wait for the right moment.”
I exhale hard and glance at the side door again, wanting to chase after her, drag her back inside, swear I won’t let him get near her again. But I know better. Right now, she needs breathing room more than she needs me shadowing her every move.
