Page 69 of Wraith

I love her.

I’ve never felt this before. Not with her. Not with anyone.

And it terrifies me.

Because love like this — actual love, love that strips away your armor and leaves every part of you open to someone — makes you vulnerable. Makes you soft. Makes you do things that don’t follow the cold logic of survival that’s kept me alive this long.

I reach out carefully, slowly, and brush a strand of hair back from her forehead. She doesn’t wake. Just makes a small sound in her sleep and shifts slightly, her hand moving closer to mine on the mattress.

The Sons are hunting us.

Bruiser and Hawk will have reported back by now, told Midnight that I turned on them, that I’m protecting June instead of delivering her. There’s a bounty on her head, and even without the bounty, she’s a witness. She saw things while she was captive. Things that could put away half the Sons’ leadership if she ever testified.

Which means they’ll never stop coming.

The Twisted Devils are an option. But even if they agreed not to kill me and to protect us, it would mean war. Full-scale, bloody, no-going-back war between two MCs that already hate each other. Bodies piling up on both sides. Retaliation and counter-retaliation until everyone’s dead or in prison.

And June would be in the middle of it.

Or we could run. Keep running. Always looking over our shoulders.

Or she testifies. Becomes a witness. It could work — if the cops could protect her from the Sons. But it would also make her a rat. That stain doesn’t wash off. And the trials would take months, maybe years. She’d have to relive everything that happened to her while she was captive. Have it picked apart by defense lawyers trying to discredit her. Have her face plastered across news sites and court documents. And even after the Sons went to prison, she’d still be a target.

Every path leads to violence. To blood. To June being hunted or traumatized or turned into something she never asked to be.

Unless there’s another way.

An idea takes shape in my mind. Risky, but worth it.

I slip out of bed as carefully as possible. The mattress springs creak slightly, but June doesn’t stir. I find my jeans on the floor, pull them on, and grab my phone from the dresser.

The motel room door opens quietly and I step out into the parking lot.

The air is cool, carrying the smell of asphalt and distant exhaust. There are only three other vehicles in the lot — the same ones that were here when we checked in. No signs of surveillance. No threats.

I pull up Moose’s number. I’ve rarely used it. You don’t call the president unless it’s an emergency or you’ve been specifically told to.

The phone rings twice before he picks up.

“Wraith.” His voice is gravel and cigarettes, rough with sleep or anger, or both. “You’ve got some fucking nerve calling me.”

“I need to talk to you about something.”

“Talk? You hospitalized two of my guys. Bruiser’s got a concussion and Hawk can’t see straight. They said you turned on them. Protected the Wilder girl instead of bringing her in.”

“That’s what I’m calling about.”

“You want to talk? You’re a fucking traitor, Wraith. And you know what we do to traitors.”

“I’m not a traitor.” I keep my voice level. Controlled. “I’m a pragmatist. And I’m calling because I have a deal that’s better for everyone than you wasting resources hunting us down.”

Silence on the other end. For a long time.

“I’m listening.”

“June Wilder and I disappear. We vanish. You’ll never hear from us again. We don’t testify. We don’t talk to the feds. We don’t give the Devils or anyone else a single piece of information about the Sons. As far as anyone knows, we just cease to exist. And all it takes is you laying off. Taking away that bounty, and just leaving us the fuck alone.”

“And why would I agree to that instead of just putting you both in the ground?”