Page 100 of Shadowed Obsession

I tuck it into the back of my pants like I've watched Bane do before, and then I settle Hunter in front of her, tucking him in tight and making sure he's safe. The red UTV is made for two people and the blue one really isn't. There's no way the three of us would fit on it together.

“Are you coming too, Eve?” he asks, his voice muffled behind the helmet.

“I'm right behind you, Hunter. Be a good little muffin for Nan, yeah?” I slip my purse off my head and put it over his, resting the front against his chest. “Flopsy is in here, so protect this, okay? And hold on tight.”

I lean forward and kiss the top of his helmet, wishing I'd thought to do that before I put it on him. I have this sickening pool of dread growing inside of me that I can't shake.

“Evangeline,” Dixie whispers, her lips trembling, and regret eyes swimming in her eyes. “I'm sorry.”

I take a step back and nod. “I'm fine. Everything will be fine.”

Maybe if I say it enough, it'll be true.

42

EVANGELINE

I thoughtI'd faced my moment. This illusive moment in time where you're faced with the toughest circumstances of your life. The stakes are the highest they've ever been and the crossroads have crossroads. I thought I'd done that already, that I'd come out on the other side. Chosen the right path.

But I was wrong. So, so wrong.

I watch Dixie's back, Hunter tucked safely in front of her, the knot in my stomach feels like a lead weight. Heavy and unmoving.

And I know this is it.

This is the moment where my choice will either be the best or worst decision of my life. I already know it was the best decision for Hunter, and that—that settles something inside me. The tight band around my ribs eases with that understanding.

And relief inflates me like an overstuffed balloon, almost uncomfortable in its pressure. If that's not a sign that I'm doing the right thing, I don't know what is.

I hear the loud hum of motorcycles, and I know my time is running out. I have precious moments left before I come face-to-face with the assholes responsible for terrorizing this town. These people—mypeople.

People I've come to think of as mine. I never understood the idea of belonging to someone before, not really. It always felt like a loss of identity, something I'd be sacrificing my freedom.

But now, standing on the brink of losing them, I see it.

The connection and loyalty. The sense of family.

And I want to cry for the loss of all that potential. All because of some motherfuckers who want to own a town and all the people inside of it. I don’t know exactly what’s happening, but I overheard them talking to know enough.

But my indignation and moral rage won't protect me from their bullets. But at least I will have protected Hunter. And that . . . that has to be enough.

Regret slices across my chest so swiftly that I press a hand to my breastbone to ease the ache. I mourn the loss of them, of what could have been. I just know it in my bones that it would've been fucking epic.

An epic, unconventional love story. Just like Cora and I talked about weeks ago.

I glance at the notepad on the fridge, one of those grocery list ones, and it gives me an idea. I dash across the room in three steps, tucking Dixie's gun in the back of my pants. I rip the pen off the attached string and scribble out a note. I don't know what to say, everything seems trivial and big declarations feel insincere.

But saying nothing somehow feels worse.

I settle on four lines. The most important men in my life. Maybe luck will shine brightly on me today, and it's my bikes roaring down the pavement. Maybe it's not the enemy, and we'll all have a laugh about how Dixie and I overreacted over ice cream sundaes and chocolate chip cookies tonight.

My heart cries at just the mention of those cookies. I don't think I'll ever be able to look at them and not think about Hunter.

The rumbling is deafening now, loud enough to clue me in that it isn't my men outside. It sounds like there are fifty bikes in front of Silas's house.

My gut clenches at the thought. There's nowhere for me to hide safely, and there's no way for me to leave. Behind the houses are acres of meadowland and exactly one tree. They'd spot me in a second, and I can almost imagine the way they'd spray bullets at me.

No. If I'm going down, at least I'm going to try to take a couple of them with me. Rage burns hot inside of me, pushing out the traces of regret. I cultivate it, feeding it sips of indignation and fury, fanning the flames.

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