"This isn't funny."
"No, it's not." I lean forward. "But she's right. She makes her own choices. That's the whole point of what we do there, Cole. Consent. Agency. She's not asking your permission, and neither am I."
Cole scrubs a hand over his face. "Fine. Just... scheduling. Give me a heads up so I can be somewhere else. That's all I ask."
"That we can do," Gemma says, and there's a hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth.
"Deal," I add. "And maybe keep the PDA to a minimum when you're around."
"Now that I can get behind." Cole shakes his head, but some of the tension has broken. "Christ. My best friend and my sister. I'm going to need a lot more bourbon to get through this."
Gemma laughs, the relief audible in her voice.
The conversation shifts to logistics. How they'll navigate the rumor mill in a town this small. I let them talk, content to watch Gemma's face as the worry fades and something lighter takes its place.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, expecting a text from Nash or one of the other brothers.
It's Tate.
I read the message once, then again, my stomach dropping.
Craig Burns landed at Portland International two hours ago. Rental car heading south on 101. He's coming.
I'm on my feet before I finish processing. "Cole. Call Shaw, get him here now. Then Tate—tell him I need everything he can pull in the next hour."
Cole doesn't ask questions. He's already reaching for his phone.
Gemma's smile has faded. She knows me well enough now to read the shift. "Will. What is it?"
"Craig landed in Portland two hours ago. He's on his way."
The color drains from her face. For a moment she looks like the woman who walked through my door weeks ago—hollowed out, hunted.
Then something else flickers in her eyes. Not fear. Anger.
"Good," she says, her voice steady. "I'm done running."
I reach for her hand. "You're not running. And you're not facing him alone."
Cole ends his call. "Shaw's on his way. Tate's pulling traffic cam feeds."
I nod. The Brotherhood is mobilizing. Craig Burns has no idea what he's walking into… but he's about to find out.
12
GEMMA
He's coming. Two words, and all the progress I've made turns to glass.
My hands want to shake. My lungs want to close. Every instinct I spent four years developing screams at me to run, to hide, to make myself small and invisible and hope he passes by without noticing.
I don't do any of those things.
I sit at the booth in Ironside, surrounded by men who would die before letting Craig touch me, and I breathe. In through my nose, out through my mouth. The way the therapist taught me years ago, before Craig convinced me I didn't need therapy anymore.
Will's hand finds mine under the table. Warm. Steady. An anchor.
"Shaw's on his way," Cole says, ending another call. "Tate's got the traffic cam footage and is running the rental plates. We'll know where he is within the hour."
