Page 59 of Malice

“I’m not going anywhere,” I whisper, reading the fear in his posture, the way he positions himself between me and every doorway and window. “I’m right here, Carter. I’m not leaving.”

His hand finds mine under the covers, his fingers threading through my bandaged ones with such gentleness it makes my throat ache. “I know.”

But he doesn’t really believe it. I see it in his tense body, in how his eyes follow every shadow, every creak of the settling house. He’s still in fight mode, ready for the next attack, and I get it, because part of me is there too, still feeling fingers in my hair, hearing the van’s engine gunning behind me.

“Lie down with me,” I say, shifting to make space in the bed. “Please, Carter. I need you here.”

His expression cracks, hesitating just a second longer, the last bit of a man who’s spent his life on guard, then he gives in. He stretches out beside me, his body curving around mine, one arm draping over my waist like it’s anchoring me. His forehead rests against my neck, and I feel his breath shudder against my skin.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, the words vibrating through us. “I’ve got you, Trix. I’m not going anywhere either.”

I close my eyes, letting his warmth seep into me, letting his solid presence drown out the echoes from the alley. His heartbeat is steady against my back, slower now, finding its rhythm in the dark.

The house is quiet. Outside, I hear leaves rustling, a distant radio from the watch, the security system settling into the night. Safe. We’re safe, for now.

The thought chills me, and I press back into Carter, seeking his warmth, his solidness, his heartbeat.

Tomorrow. We’ll figure it out tomorrow when it comes.

For now, there’s just this, his arm around me, his breath in my hair, and the quiet certainty of two people found in the chaos, refusing to let go.

I drift toward sleep with his heartbeat in my ear, his name on my lips, knowing deep down that whatever comes next, we’ll face it together.

Ole lady and all.

Chapter 15

Trixie

The phone pulls me from somewhere dark and warm. No clue what time it is. The curtains are drawn tight, and the room sits in that gray area between night and morning, where everything feels like a dream you can’t shake off. My body groans before my mind catches up, every bruise and scrape screaming as I come to.

Carter’s arm wraps around me, heavy and warm, pinning me down in a way that’s oddly comforting. His deep, even breathing brushes the back of my neck, and for a moment, I think about letting the call go to voicemail.

It keeps ringing, though. That insistent trill slices through the fog like a knife. Carter stirs behind me, his breathing shifts, the steady rhythm breaking as he becomes alert, scanning for threats even before his eyes open. His arm tightens around my waist, pulling me closer, tension creeping back into his muscles.

“Phone,” he says, his voice rough from sleep.

I fumble for the nightstand, my bandaged hands aching with every move. The screen lights up, showing Mia’s name and the time. 6:47 a.m. Too early for anything but trouble.

“Mia?” My voice is rough, worn out from yesterday’s screams. I clear my throat. “Everything okay?” I put the phone on speaker.

“Trixie.” Her voice is breathless, urgent, words tumbling like she’s running downhill. “I’m at the end of your driveway—your dad’s guys stopped me. I need to talk to you. Now.”

Cold slides down my spine. I sit up, wincing as the sheet tugs at the scrapes on my knees, the raw spot on my scalp. Carter’s already upright, his hand on my shoulder, body angled toward the phone, picking up on Mia’s distress.

“What’s wrong?” I ask her. “Did something happen?”

“I…” Mia hesitates. I hear her breathe, steadying herself. “I’m not alone. I brought someone. Someone who knows what happened to you.”

Carter’s grip tightens, his body going rigid beside me, every muscle tensing.

“Who?” I ask, already sensing I won’t like the answer.

A longer pause. Her voice drops to a whisper. “His name is Ashton. Trixie, he’s with the Savage Oath. The Brotherhood. I’ve been seeing him. For a while.” The words rush out, a confession held back for months. “I told him what happened yesterday. And he… The contract came across his desk. The one for you. He didn’t take it. Their club doesn’t hurt women or kids. It’s in their code.”

The room tilts—not literally. I’m still on the bed. Carter’s hand is on my shoulder but something shifts under me, like the ground just cracked open.

A contract. The word is a punch to the gut, colder and more final than kidnapping. Caldwell doesn’t just want me gone—he wants me dead.