Page 3 of Diesel
But it was Tom.Old, grizzled Tom, still in his slippers and a flannel coat, holding a baseball bat in one hand and a flashlight in the other.His eyes went wide when he saw her.
“Sophie?”
Her knees gave out.
He crossed the distance fast, catching her before she hit the floor.
“I’m okay,” she whispered, breath hitching as the tears finally came.“I’m okay.”
Even as she said it, she knew it wasn’t true, but at the very least she was alive.
****
Tom’s apartment stillsmelled like sawdust and coffee, like the hardware store he used to run before he handed over the keys to Sophie’s flower shop.
The heater kicked in with a groan, warming the space in bursts as she sat curled on the worn corduroy couch, a quilt draped around her shoulders.
Sophie wrapped her fingers tightly around a chipped mug of tea, but she hadn’t managed a sip yet.She was still shaking.
Tom came back from the kitchen, a second mug in hand, and sat heavily in the armchair across from her.He didn’t say anything at first.Just watched her over the rim of his cup, eyes narrowed in quiet worry.
“I won’t stand for this,” he said finally, voice gravelly with anger.
Sophie nodded, though her gaze remained fixed on the swirling steam rising from her tea.She willed herself to breathe, slow and deep.The adrenaline had burned out, leaving her drained and hollow.Her hands trembled despite the warmth.She focused on stilling them, clenching her fingers tighter around the mug.
“They’ll do something,” she said after a moment, unsure if she believed it.“The police took our statements.I gave them the security footage.”
Tom snorted.“And you think they’ll do a damn thing?”
She looked up, startled by the bitterness in his tone.It wasn’t like him to sound so ...cynical.
“They have to,” she said, but even as the words left her lips, she felt doubt.
The footage had shown three hooded figures.No faces, just shadows and silhouettes.And the sheriff wasn’t known for doing more than the bare minimum, especially when it came to break-ins.Her stomach turned.Tom leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
“Look, Soph.I know you want to believe the law’ll take care of this.But that shop is yours.You built it from nothing.And I’m not about to sit back while some punk kids wreck it for fun,” Tom stated.
He reached for the phone on the end table and thumbed through his contacts.
Sophie’s breath caught in her throat.“Tom?”
“I’ll handle it,” he said, not looking up.“I know a couple of guys.”
A cold shiver ran down her spine.
She knew what he meant.Not just “guys.”Not just old friends from the neighborhood.He meant the Iron Sentinels.The local motorcycle club.The ones who didn’t ask permission.The ones people in town nodded politely to, then hurried away from.
Everyone knew they were the real authority in Steelhaven.The police kept their distance.The mayor never said a word about them, not even during elections.
People called them dangerous behind closed doors.But they also kept the drug dealers out, shut down creeps, and made sure no one messed with the people they cared about.
Tom had once ridden with them, back before he opened the hardware store and settled down.She’d seen the old photos tucked into his bookshelf.They featured a younger, tougher version of Tom leaning against gleaming bikes, wearing a patched leather cut.
He made the call.She tried not to listen, but the apartment was too small.
“Beast?”Tom’s voice dropped low and serious.“It’s Tom Barrett.I’m callin’ in that favor.”
Silence stretched as he listened, and Sophie stared at the mug in her hands, heart thudding.She shouldn’t feel conflicted.She wanted someone to help.She was scared and furious and violated, but something about the word “favor” stuck in her ribs like a sliver of ice.
