Page 40 of Steel's Secret
When I check again an hour later, the SUV is still there in the same spot, same angle, the engine humming like a threat.
Then the phone calls start. Rings that end the second I answer. Voices that don’t speak. Breathing, or maybe that’s just my fear filling in the blanks.
By noon, I’m glancing over my shoulder so much the paralegals start to notice.
By two, I swear someone is trailing me through the hallway. By three, I’m sure of it.
Isaiah’s silence feels less like rejection and more like a warning. Like he knows something I don’t. Like he’s keeping distance because danger is closing in, not because he stopped wanting me.
The realization hits low and hot in my chest.
I make it through the rest of the day on muscle memory alone, signing things I barely read, pretending I’m okay while adrenaline thrums under my skin like static.
A shadow lingers in the space between the garage pillars longer than coincidence should allow. The cold slams into my lungs. My pulse trips over itself.
Someone is watching me. Again.
And Isaiah’s parting words from the motel replay like a bruise pressed too hard.Call me next time. I don’t care what hour it is.
I don’t call. Not yet. Because what scares me most isn’t the SUV. It’s the truth sitting in my chest. If I call him, he’ll come. And every time he comes, we spiral deeper.
But by the time I pull into the driveway of my little house in St. Louis, my nerves are raw. I check the rearview mirror twice before stepping out. My porch light flickers. It didn’t flicker last night.
Something is wrong. Bad wrong.
There’s only one person who’ll tell me the truth, even if it hurts.
And that’s how I end up gripping the wheel, heart pounding, driving toward the only garage in Mt. Pleasant that feels like home and danger at the same time.
Isaiah King is avoiding me.
But tonight?
He doesn’t get that luxury.
Someone is following me. The shadows are getting closer. The threats didn’t stop with the storm, and whether he wants it or not… I’m already too deep in this war.
By the time I reach the outskirts of town, the fear curdles into determination.
If someone’s watching me, if this is connected to Isaiah, then hiding won’t save either of us.
I turn onto the dirt road toward his garage. The sky bruises purple overhead. Steel’s garage sits at the edge of the trees like it’s been waiting. The dark metal door is half-open, warm yellow light leaking out.
My heart thunders.
He’s inside. And I’m either here to warn him, or start the fight we’ve been avoiding since the moment we touched again.
Inside, Isaiah’s back is to me. His broad shoulders tense beneath his cut, hands working on the stripped-down engine of a Harley like he can rebuild the world with a wrench if he just tries hard enough.
“Isaiah,” I say.
He freezes. His shoulders go rigid, and he turns slowly. His eyes rake over me from my shaking fingers, my clenched jaw, to the fear I can’t hide if I tried.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, already crossing the room.
“I’m being followed.”
He stops inches from me, breath shallow, body tight as barbed wire. “What happened?”
