Page 44 of When Love Found Us
A slow, lethal burn coils in my chest. I know exactly how this plays out. A man like him doesn’t stop until he gets what he wants—or until someone stops him first.
“What should be my next move?” I ask because leaving isn’t an option. Not yet.
“Wait,” Sanford says. “Boss thinks we might be able to take out a few rats while we deal with him. Make it look like a deal gone bad when we eliminate him.”
I exhale through my nose, forcing myself to keep my head clear. “Fine. But let me know the second they get closer.”
Sanford is quiet for a beat, then sighs. “Just so you know, my brother-in-law is stepping in. He’s got a few assets nearby, and they’ll keep an eye out in case you need backup.”
I nod, even though he can’t see me. “Good. Thank you for . . . this. I might be calling for a few more favors.”
“That’s what family is for, kid. You got us, okay. Don’t let that fucking pride get in the way,” he says before ending the call.
I slip my phone back into my pocket, my gaze still locked on the street.
Waiting isn’t my style. But if Winston thinks he can just take her back like she’s something he lost, if he thinks I’ll stand by and let it happen . . . he’s about to learn the fucking hard way that I don’t wait forever.
ChapterNineteen
Atlas
Work was exhausting.
Five clients and a couple of walk-ins for my first day was probably a lot. I didn’t finish until almost eleven, but even while I was tattooing, sketching, dealing with the usual, my mind wasn’t in it. Not really.
Because every time I stepped away for a break, I found myself checking on Blythe.
Making sure she was eating the small meals I left for her. Listening for any sign that she was still upstairs. That she hadn’t disappeared while I wasn’t looking.
I tell myself it’s just a precaution— that I’m not worried—just being practical. Though I know that’s bullshit.
When I finally head upstairs, the apartment is quiet. Too quiet.
I scan the space as I walk through, my pulse kicking up with every empty room I pass. The kitchen. The bathroom. The guest room. Nothing. It’s not until I reach the last door—my door—that I pause.
When I push it open, she’s there. A slow exhale slips from my lungs, easing in my chest before I can stop it.
She’s curled up on my bed, legs tucked under her, flipping through a book she must’ve grabbed from the shelf. My shirt hangs loose on her, my sweatpants pooling around her ankles. She looks impossibly small in them, swallowed by fabric that was never meant for her.
But fuck if I don’t like it.
She glances up when she hears me, her eyes wary at first, like she half-expected me to be someone else. Like she still hasn’t fully let herself believe she’s safe.
“You’re back,” she murmurs.
I nod, leaning against the doorframe. “And you’re still here.”
She shrugs, shifting against the pillows. “Figured I’d stay at least long enough to finish this chapter.”
I huff out something that might be amusement, stepping inside. “Good book?”
Her lips twitch like she wants to smile but doesn’t let herself. “You tell me—I mean, it’s yours.”
“It’s good.” I toe off my boots. “How are you feeling?”
She shrugs, setting the book aside. “Fine.”
I raise a brow.
