Page 21 of Stitch & Steel
Not the gun. Her memory.
The way her eyes glazed over for a second too long when I teased her. The way she asked me—again—if I’d seen her late husband’s dog tags, even though we buried them with him ten years ago.
I saw the flicker behind her smile. The fear she tried to bury with sass and cast-iron eggs.
It settled like lead in my gut as I rode back down the mountain.
This wasn’t just about club business anymore.
This was about two women in a cabin, too far from help, and one of them already forgetting what safety felt like. The other too stubborn to admit she might need someone.
And somehow, I’d become the only line between them and chaos.
“Go back to bed. I’m going to double check all the windows and doors. I’ll be out front in the truck.”
“You’re going to sleep in there?”
“I’ve slept in worse places.”
“Please, take the couch. I insist.”
“Are you inviting me to sleepover?” I winked despite holding a double barrel shotgun.
“I’ll crack you over the head with a frying pan if I catch you sneaking into my room.”
“Baby, I don’t sneak. When I come, it’s by invitation.”
Her whole face turned red at the double meaning. She sputtered something before turning away.
“Prospect!” I barked the moment I stepped onto the clubhouse porch the following morning.
Tex scrambled out from the back garage, wiping grease off his hands. “Yeah, brother?”
“You got guard duty.”
His eyes lit up. “Finally.”
“Don’t get cocky. You’re not protecting the clubhouse. You’re going up the ridge. Cabin on Harlan’s Peak.”
He sobered fast. “You meanthecabin? Gran’s?”
“That’s right. Sit in your truck. Keep an eye on the place. You see anything strange—any movement, engine noise, animals acting weird—you callme.”
He nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Bring snacks. Stay awake. If I find you sleeping on duty, I’ll gut you with a fishing hook.”
He swallowed. “Copy that.”
I turned to head inside—but I didn’t make it more than a few steps before my boots stopped cold.
It wasn’t enough.
Tex meant well. Kid was loyal. Fierce in a fight. But he wasn’t me.
And if things kept escalating the way they were, if Red Vultures or whoever the hell was sniffing around actually made a move, then Gran and Bella didn’t need a prospect.
They neededme.
