Page 27 of Burned in Stone
“Fuck.” My knees lock. My lungs forget how to work.
He’s here. In my bar. In my sanctuary. In the one place I’ve felt safe for the past year.
He’s wearing his uniform like armor, like authority, like ownership. Same military-short brown hair. Same cold blue eyes that used to catalog my flaws every morning. Same thin-lipped mouth that would curl in disgust when I did anything he didn’t approve of.
My blood doesn’t just turn to ice. It stops moving entirely. Every cell in my body remembers him. Remembers shrinking. Remembers apologizing. Remembers being less, always less, never small enough to satisfy.
Cash is beside me before my brain catches up to the fact that this isn’t just another nightmare. His hand settles on my lower back, warm and solid and the only thing keeping me upright.
“Breathe, angel,” he murmurs, but his eyes never leave the cops.
Gabriel’s gaze sweeps the room first, cataloging the leather cuts, the weapons poorly concealed under jackets, the general air of ‘fuck with us and find out.’ His backup flanks him like they’re entering enemy territory, which I guess they are.
Then he looks at me.
His eyes lock onto mine, and two years disappear. I’m back in his kitchen, being weighed before breakfast. Back in his car, watching him check the mileage. Back in his bed, lying still and quiet because that’s what good wives do.
“Mercedes.” He says my name like he hates it. Like I’m the tantruming child he’s come to collect. “We need to talk.”
“No, we don’t.” Somehow my voice doesn’t waver.
He approaches the bar, his backup close by. “You look... different.”
“You mean healthy?” Kya appears at my other side, wiping her hands on a bar towel. “Yeah, that happens when women get away from toxic assholes.” She doesn’t know much about my marriage to Gabriel, but she knows that much.
His eyes narrow. “And you are?”
“The owner of this establishment.” Kya’s smile is sharp as glass. “Also her friend. Also someone who doesn’t appreciate cops harassing my staff during business hours.”
“I’m not harassing anyone. I’m stopping in to see my wife.”
“Ex-wife,” I correct.
“Not until the papers are signed,” he says, that reasonable tone that used to make me doubt myself. “Which won’t happen. You took vows, Mercedes. Promised to honor and obey.”
“And I’m sure you promised the same thing,” Cash spits. “But here you are, showing up like a fucking cunt when she’s made it clear she doesn’t want to speak to you.”
Gabriel finally looks at Cash properly, taking in the bandaged knuckles, the protective stance, the way his hand hasn’t left my back. “Let me guess. The rebound?”
“The upgrade,” Cash corrects.
One of Gabriel’s backup snorts. “Upgrade to what? Biker trash?”
The temperature in the bar drops ten degrees. Every MC member goes still—that dangerous kind of still that comes before violence. Hawk stands slowly from his booth. Axel sets down his pool cue. Even Duck cracks his knuckles.
“Gentlemen,” Lee says, appearing behind the bar with the kind of smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’d think real carefully about your next words. You’re outnumbered, off your turf, and insulting family.”
“Family?” Gabriel laughs. “She’s not your family. She’smywife, and she’s obviously having some kind of mental break. Look at her—she’s gained at least forty pounds, covered herself in trashy tattoos, working in this dump?—”
“That’s enough.” Kya’s voice cuts through his tirade. “You’re done here. Leave. Now.”
“Or what?” One of his buddies steps forward. “You’ll call the cops?”
“No,” Bones says from his corner table, not even looking up from his beer. “We handle our own problems.”
Gabriel’s backup exchange glances. They’re starting to realize they may have miscalculated. Three cops against a bar full of bikers isn’t great odds, badges or not.
“Mercedes,” Gabriel tries again, going for reasonable. “Come. We’ll talk. Privately.”
