Page 48 of From the Ashes
After a moment, he releases me with a final squeeze, as if to remind me that he could’ve gone further. Then he turnsand walks back toward Noah, his voice shifting into something falsely warm, like nothing happened. A shudder runs through me as I finally breathe out. My hand, numb and tingling, reaches for my phone with a kind of desperate precision. I open Carter’s thread, my heartbeat roaring in my ears. I don’t overthink it and tap rapidly on the screen.
Lana
“Help.”
And I press send.
CARTER
I’m not sure Dr. Parks would approve of this.
Scratch that, I know for a fact he wouldn’t. But I haven’t killed the guy. Yet. So that’s progress, right? I’m not going to lie, I was already in her neighborhood when she texted. Actually, I was parked at the end of her street, engine off, half-hidden in the shadows. Just watching. Making sure she was safe. Therapy or not, nothing will ever rewire that part of me, the part that won’t stay away when the people I care about are in potential danger. Red washed over my vision the second I saw him step into her house. I kept my distance, waiting for a sign. And then she sent one. One word. Four letters that lit my blood on fire and set my pulse thundering through my chest. She needs me. Now. So much for the therapist-approved ideas about stepping back and letting her lead her own healing. That might’ve made sense in theory, but not when she’s calling for me. Not when he’s in her house. And there’s not much in this world that could stop me from walking in there and wrapping my hands around his neck. But I can’t lose it. Not yet. Making sure Lana and her boy are safe is my priority.
By the time I reach her house, I can hear white noise pulsing in my ears. I park my bike, kill the engine, and take the porch steps two at a time. The front door isn’t locked, and I step inside without hesitation.
Something’s off the second I step in. It’s too damn quiet, but not the peaceful kind. This is the kind of silence that hums with tension, thick enough to choke on. They’re all sitting at the dining table. Lana’s pale, too pale. That soft, golden skin I know by heart is now paper-white, almost see-through, like life's been sucked right out of her. Noah’s right next to her in his blue pajamas, small and silent, his little hands folded in his lap. And then I see him. Laid back in the chair as if he owns the fucking house. Same expensive suit, hair slicked back, shoes shining like he walked out of a damn commercial. Her eyes meet mine. Everything in me stills. Her pupils are blown wide, jaw locked so tight I can see the muscles twitch. She doesn’t say a word, nor have to. I know that look. It’s the same one I’ve seen on too many faces in the club’s basement.
Fear.
“Hey,” I say, softening my voice so I don’t frighten her son.
“Hey,” she echoes in a single breath.
Ben jerks to his feet, brow hardening in defiance. “What—what the hell are you doing here?” I hold his stare, calm and steady.
“Lana?” I let her name hang in the air, waiting for her order. She clears her throat, gaze sliding to Noah.
“Um…We—Noah and I are gonna go upstairs to play for a few minutes while you two catch up…” Her eyes bore into me. I nod.Got it.
Without waiting for Ben’s reply, she clasps Noah’s hand and guides him toward the stairs. Ben plants his fists on his hips, sizing me up as if we’re about to fight. I’m relieved the boy is gone; nothing good would come from him witnessing this. She’sshielding his peace and protecting her own as well. I wish I could hold her right now, but this isn’t the time. Now is my time to show her that I’ve got her back. That she can rely on me. Faces of my sisters and mom flash before me. Perhaps protecting Lana is fate, giving me a second chance to repair what happened. Her son looks just like her, by the way. Same thick chocolate hair and sweet little face. Hope I haven’t scared him.
“Lana!” Ben calls out, but she’s already gone. He pinches the bridge of his nose and sneers, “You gotta be kidding me.”
I stare at him, then jerk my chin toward the door. It’s better if they don’t hear us. Once he follows me outside, I close the door and take a deep breath to control myself. He’s Noah’s father, I can’t kill him. At least, not today.
“So, you don’t seem old enough to get this, but when you’re a grown man,” he smirks, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, “you don’t disturb a family who's having dinner.”
The guy crosses his arms, eyes sending daggers at me. The air is colder tonight, and I can almost smell the first scent of fall leaves blossoming. I look to my right, and my bike is parked in front of her house, with the Raven Sons logo imprinted on it. I notice a small droplet of water on a leaf behind him. He’s still talking. The droplet falls silently on the lawn. The street, her house, and the freshly cut lawn, they all remind me of what I used to picture as a dream life after I lost my family. I wish… I wish I could get there someday. I may never be. And perhaps the whole white fence dream will never happen, but…perhaps something else is waiting for me. And maybe, maybe if I don’t fuck it up, it’ll be a future with Lana, her son, and the club.
And maybethat’sthe dream.
Maybe that’s what I’ve been working for all these years without knowing. My chest fills with something heavy, intoxicating, only this time it’s not only for Lana or the passionI have for my club. This time it’s richer, fuller. And I recognize it instantly.
Protectiveness.
That’s what’s happening to me.
I want to protectthem.
Not just Lana. I want Noah safe too, even if I haven’t seen his face for more than two seconds. He’s half her; that’s enough for me.
Ben’s face turned a darker shade of red a few seconds ago as I was watching the lawn. He must be pretty pissed off right now by my lack of responsiveness to whatever he’s been mumbling. I inhale deeply, taking my time, just like I do with all my victims. Builds the anticipation, gets them all worked out. I look down at the ant before me, the little man is bouncing on his feet slightly, impatient, annoyed at me for interrupting what he thought was still his.
Then I scrutinize him with a look capable of freezing the blood of many men. Even the bravest one. Trust me, I’ve used it a lot, and I stopped counting the number of guys pissing themselves when they knew in whose hands they had been delivered.
Not the hands of the devil or a psychopath.
Nah.
