Page 54 of Brotan

"You're gonna fight anyway, aren't you?" he asks.

"Quinn wants blood," I tell him, standing. "Mine. Not yours. Not the town's. Not Maya's."

"And that's your call to make?"

"Damn right it is." I grab my leather jacket and head for the door. Diesel's waiting in the hallway, arms crossed.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" he demands.

"Taking a ride." I try to move past him, but he blocks my path.

"Bullshit. You making a run for it? Going straight to Quinn?"

"Jesus Christ, D. Back off." I meet his eyes, keeping my voice steady. "I need to clear my head. And there's someone I need to see."

"Who?"

"Old friend. Owe him an apology."

Diesel's eyes narrow. "Gus?"

I don't answer, which is answer enough.

"That old bastard won't be able to talk you out of this either," he warns. "You ride out of town, and I'm calling Hammer. Club vote says you stay, you stay."

"I heard Hammer. One day." I put a hand on his shoulder. "Just need some air. Been breathing nothing but smoke and your sorry ass since that clinic went up."

Diesel studies my face, his eyes tracking every micro-expression, every lie I'm not saying. Finally, he steps aside. "One hour. You're not back, I'm coming to find you."

I nod and head toward the door. One hour should be enough for what I need to do.

* * *

The bike roars beneath me as I tear down the empty road toward Gus's place. Without Maya's weight against my back, the machine feels unbalanced, wrong. Empty. I'd gotten used to her arms around my waist, her cheek pressed between my shoulder blades, the whisper of her breath against my neck. The perfect fit of her body against mine.

It's funny how fast you can get used to something good. How the absence of it carves a hole in you that nothing else can fill.

It didn't take long to almost believe I could be more than what the camps made me. More than a weapon. More than a fighter. Almost.

Quinn's reappearance is the universe's way of reminding me what I am. What I'll always be. The surprise was Maya—the way she saw through my walls, the way she touched my scars without flinching, the way she made me want things I had no right to claim.

And look what it got her. A burned clinic. A threat against her life. A monster who'd rather push her away than risk seeing her hurt.

Gus's cabin appears around the bend, nestled among pines. I park the bike and take a moment to gather my thoughts.

The door opens before I reach the porch. Gus stands in the threshold, shotgun braced against his shoulder. Standard greeting.

"You look like shit," he calls out, lowering the weapon.

"Feel worse," I admit, climbing the steps.

His eyes scan past me, searching the treeline. "Where's the doc? You two back to squabbling?"

"New York." I move past him into the cabin.

Gus follows, leaning his shotgun against the wall. "Thought she'd last longer. Girl had the stuff for it."

"I sent her back." The words scrape my throat raw.

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