Page 112 of Until Joy

We stopped at a red light. Wes turned to face me fully.

“You know what I see when I look at what happened last night?”

“What?”

“A stalker who's running out of options. Think about it. He tried flowers, notes, vandalism, phone calls. None of it worked. So, he played his biggest card, brought in the cavalry. And what happened?”

I considered his words. “We adapted. Moved locations.”

“Exactly. He threw everything he had at you, and you're still standing. Joy's still safe. He's the one who's desperate now.”

The light turned green. Wes accelerated through the intersection. His words hung in the air between us.

“You know as well as I do, he’s not done escalating.”

“Of course not. But I think he's running out of moves that don't expose him. The SWATing was smart, but he can't pull that trick twice.”

We pulled into the parking lot of the compound. My truck sat near the back, looking pristine despite the hell it had been through. Fresh paint covered the stalker's message, and new tires gleamed in the morning sun.

“Graham.” Wes killed the engine and turned to face me. “You've got good instincts. Trust them. But don't let fear make you second-guess every decision.”

“What if my instincts are wrong? What if I miss something and he gets to her? What if it turns out to be Africa all over again?”

“Goddammit, Graham. You need to put that mission into perspective. How many of us in leadership positions have gotten bad intel? I’m thinking every single one of us. The thing you need to focus on is you got Kent out of there alive. I’ve read the reports, there was no way that should have happened. You both should have died.”

“What are you talking about? What do you mean, you’ve read the reports?” I demanded to know.

“Color me curious. Hell, if you put your mind to it, and pressed some of your contacts, chances are you could find out a shit ton of things about me. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is, you need to finally pull your head out of your ass about the men who died on that mission and focus on what you accomplished. It’s that same grit that you’re going to use to keep Joy alive. I believe in you.” He reached over and gripped my shoulder. “But you can't protect her if you're paralyzed by what-ifs.”

The words hit like a physical blow. I sat in the passenger seat, staring at my repaired truck, and felt something shift inside my chest.

“She's stronger than you think,” Wes continued. “And she's not alone in this fight. You've got the entire club backing you up, plus her family, plus Jax's security team. This bastard picked the wrong target.”

I nodded, feeling years of crushing weight lift off my shoulders. It was like I could finally see things clearly.

“Thanks, brother.”

“Anytime. Now go get your truck and get back to your woman. After last night, she needs to see you.”

I texted Joy and told her about the move to the Mayson’s house, then started the drive back to the hotel. It felt different. My truck ran smooth as silk, the new paint job gleaming in the morning sun. But more than that, the day seemed clearer; it was as if the air almost sparkled like a diamond. I could breathe.

This wasn't over. The bastard would escalate again. But we were ready for him now. I was ready for him now.

I pulled into the hotel parking lot and headed inside. I skipped the elevator and jogged up the five flights of stairs. When I got up to our floor, I spotted Randy standing outside our room door, phone pressed to his ear. When he saw me, he stood up straighter and pushed his phone into his back pocket.

“She's packed and ready to go.”

“How's she doing?”

“Good. Better than I expected after last night. She's got that determined look going on. Be scared, man. She’s made her mind up about something.”

I pushed in the room key and opened the door. Whatever Joy had decided during my absence, I had a feeling our quiet morning was about to get very interesting.

Joy was sitting in the uncomfortable chair with her pink suitcase and backpack by her feet and my rucksack. She had an expression that mixed relief with steel-hard determination.

“Ready to go?”

“More than ready. I need to be somewhere that doesn't smell like Lysol.”