She takes the pills gratefully, wincing as she swallows.
"You can take the bed," I tell her, nodding toward the bedroom. "I'll crash on the couch."
She looks like she wants to argue, but is too exhausted to form the words. I guide her to the bed, pull back the covers for her, and help her slide between the sheets. Her small body is nearly engulfed by my king-sized bed.
"I'll be right outside if you need anything.” I back toward the door.
"Hawk?" Her voice is small in the darkness. “Thank you for this. All of it.” She yawns before continuing. “It’s been so long since anyone took care of me, and… I’m probably a huge burden, but I want you to know that it…well, it feels really nice to be cared for.Reallynice.”
Arrow to the heart. That’s what her words are. I don’t know her story. Yet. But what I do know is that this is a woman who should be cared for and treasured every day of her fucking life. I could give her some bullshit response about doing the right thing, about basic human decency.
Instead, I tell her the truth, “Count on it. From now on, you got me standing between you and whatever fucker thinks he can put his hands on you. I’m your protector now. Your defender. Your shadow. Your guard dog.”
I’m not even sure she hears me. By the time I’m done declaring myself her personal Rottweiler, her eyes are closed and her breathing is deep and even. She’s sound asleep.
I watch her for I don’t know how long until my phone buzzes. Cipher.
I close the door quietly, move into the other room, and settle on the couch.
"Got your intel," he says without preamble. "APB out for Aria Gallo, eighteen years old. Apparently mentally unstable, possibly a danger to herself. Her uncle is concerned for her wellbeing."
"Her uncle," I repeat. “Lemme guess, Vincent Carducci?”
"That's him. The request came through Detective Mark Russo, a personal friend of the family. He's leading the search."
Those puzzle pieces are screaming to connect. Something shady’s going on, and I'd bet my last fucking dollar Russo is deep in the middle of it.
"You still there, brother?"
Before I can answer, another voice comes on the line.
"Hawk? What’s going on?” Ghost. My club president. Because, of course it is.
I rub my forehead with my thumb and forefinger, trying to ease some of the tension. Ghost knows everything that goes on in the club and most of what goes on outside of it. Why would I think for even a second he wouldn’t find out about my request to Cipher?
“You want to tell me why you're asking about an APB on some crazy chick I’ve never heard of?” Ghost barks out.
I stare at the bedroom door thinking of Aria in there sleeping in my bed. Her dark hair spread across my pillow like spilled ink. Her bruised face and battered body. The tension in her features, even in sleep, like she's bracing for the next blow. The fear in her eyes when she saw those police lights.
"Because she's mine."
The words hang in the air like a challenge. A declaration.
"She's what?" Ghost's voice sharpens. "Explain."
I run a hand down my face, scratching at the hint of stubble on my jaw. “My ol’ lady. She's going to be my old lady."
Silence stretches across the line. Finally, Ghost speaks.
“How long have you known her?"
"Don't matter." And it doesn't. Something clicked into place the moment I found her in my little sister's bedroom, something I can't explain. All I know is I’ll kill anyone who tries to take her from me.
"She's mine,” I repeat.
More silence. Then Ghost sighs.
"Christ, Hawk. You sure about this?"
