Page 98 of Gatsby's Starlet
The agents shifted again, tightening around them and guiding them forward now instead of just holding them in place, and something in my chest pulled hard at that, instinct kicking in again, louder this time, pushing at me to move, to go, to not let her disappear into something I couldn’t reach, but I forced it down, forced it back into line, because this wasn’t the Fire Dragons dragging her into a hole, this wasn’t something I had to tear apart to fix.
This was different. Safer. Even if I didn’t like it. Even if I didn’t trust it.
“They’re taking them in,” someone murmured from behind me, easing in just enough to be heard without being seen.
“I know,” I muttered, my eyes never leaving her.
We watched as they moved her out of the clearing, past the edge of the trees and toward the line of vehicles hidden just beyond, the flashing lights lower now, more controlled, the chaos shifting into something organized, contained, handled, and my grip loosened slowly as she disappeared from view, swallowed up by shadows and headlights and men with badges I didn’t trust, though I stayed there a second longer anyway, staring at the space she’d just been in like I could force it to give her back.
“She’s safe,” the same voice said quietly.
“Some good things came out of this,” Devil said, watching the agents pack up. “We didn’t get our hands too dirty. And now we know a fed was nosing in our business.”
“This is gonna break Brenda,” Bolt said, running his hand down his face.
I exhaled slow, my gaze finally shifting as I tracked the perimeter, the agents, the patterns in their movement, the way they were locking this down and how long they’d hold it, already working it out in my head before I pushed back from the tree.
“Let’s get out of here,” I said, slinging the gun back into place and started circling wider through the woods.
Because there was no version of this where I let her out of my sight for long.
Not now.
Not after almost losing her.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
THE DOORS SLIDopen behind me with a dullmechanical sound that felt louder than it should have, the air outside colder than I expected as I stepped onto the sidewalk, my body still running on something thin and frayed after hours under fluorescent lights and questions I didn’t have the energy to answer anymore.
For a second, I kept my gaze fixed anywhere but him, not wanting to see, not wanting to think, but the moment I finally looked up, he was there.
Gatsby sat on his bike just off to the side of the lot, the engine running low beneath him, steady and familiar in a way nothing else had been all night, his posture still, his head angled just enough that I knew he’d been watching those doors the whole time, waiting.
He was waiting for me, and something in my chest shifted hard enough to knock loose everything I’d been barely holding together as I stood there too long just looking at him, needing tobe sure he was real, while he didn’t wave or call out or move, only watched like it was my choice.
I crossed the distance before I could talk myself out of it, slower than I should have been but steady, my hand finding the back of the bike as I swung on behind him, my hands sliding to his sides and gripping tighter than I meant to, like letting go wasn’t something I trusted myself to do yet.
Neither of us said a word, and for a second neither of us moved, until the engine shifted under us and he pulled out without looking back, like whatever was behind us didn’t matter anymore.
***
THE ENGINE CUTin front of my house, the sudden quiet hitting harder than the ride, and I stayed there a second too long with my hands still locked around him, like I hadn’t caught up to the fact that we’d stopped, that we were here, that everything I’d been holding back the whole way was waiting right on the other side of it.
He didn’t move right away, didn’t turn around, just sat there solid under me like he was giving me space, but not distance.
I let go slow, my fingers dragging a little as I pulled back, stepping off the bike, the ground feeling unsteady under my feet as my eyes lifted to the house, needing to see it, to make sure it was still mine, still there.
I heard the shift of movement, boots hitting pavement, and I walked to the door already knowing he’d follow.
Inside, the house felt too still, the kind of quiet that pressed in, making every sound louder, the door shutting, the lock clicking, the weight of him stepping in behind me, and I didn’t turn around yet because I didn’t trust what would happen if I did.
I stood there breathing, trying to get my head back on straight, when his voice finally came, low and rough like it had been held back too long.
“You good?”
A breath left me that almost sounded like a laugh, even though nothing about this was funny. “No,” I said, honest because there wasn’t any point in lying anymore. “Not even a little.”
Silence settled heavy between us, thick with everything we hadn’t said, and when I finally turned, he was already watching me like he’d been waiting for it, waiting for me.
