Page 13 of Wraith’s Promise

"Heard about it from a guy at a truck stop. Said there was work here, said it was a decent place to start over. So, I packed up what little we had and drove out here with Mariah in a car seat and two bags of clothes." He smiles slightly at the memory. "We'd been in town maybe three hours when these three guys decided I looked like an easy mark. Wanted whatever was in my bags."

"What happened?"

"Judge and Brick showed up. Handled all three guys in under two minutes, didn't even break a sweat. Afterward they took us to get food, didn't ask questions, didn't make me explain anything. Just fed my scared kid and made her laugh."

"That's when you joined the MC?"

"Not right away. Phoenix gave me work at the clubhouse. Cleaning, basic maintenance, whatever they needed. We'd talk sometimes, late at night when I was finishing up. About purpose, about brotherhood, about what it means to be part of something bigger than yourself." He touches the cut he's wearing, fingers brushing the patch. "After six months, they invited me to join. Earned every inch of it."

"And they became your family."

"Yeah. Real family. The kind that shows up when shit gets hard and doesn't leave when it gets harder." He meets my eyes. "That's why this war matters so much. It's not just about territory or pride. These men gave me a second life when I thought I had nothing. Gave Mariah several uncles who love her like she's their own."

I watch him talk about his club, his brothers, and I see the fierce loyalty in his face that I've seen in Ranger's when he talks about the Iron Phoenix. It's not just membership. It's identity. Purpose.

"How bad is it going to get?" I ask him.

"I don't know. Honestly." He drains the last of his water, sets the glass on the coffee table. "Phoenix got intel tonight that the Vipers are planning something big. Whatever's coming, it's coming soon. Within the week, maybe less."

My stomach tightens slightly, that familiar pre-mission feeling. "And Mariah?"

"Stays exactly where she is. In this house, with you, with every security measure I can think of between her and anyone who might want to use her to get to me." His voice has gone hard, protective. "That's non-negotiable. I want her to keep having a normal life, as much as possible."

"I wasn't going to suggest otherwise." I hold his gaze. "Dean, whatever happens with this war, whoever comes looking for trouble, they'll have to go through me first. And I promise you, I'm a lot harder to get through than I look."

"Show me."

I blink. "What?"

"Show me what you can do. I need to see it, need to know what Mariah's first line of defense actually looks like when things go bad."

I consider saying no, but I also understand what he's asking for. Not proof of my capability so much as reassurance, something concrete he can hold onto when he's at the clubhouse and his brain starts spiraling.

"Okay," I say, standing up. "But not here. Don't want to wake Mariah if furniture moves."

He follows me to the kitchen, which has more open floor space. I turn to face him, gesture for him to stand a few feet away.

"Pretend you're going to grab me," I say. "Right hand, left shoulder. Standard control position."

He steps forward, reaches out slowly, and the second his hand makes contact, I move. I drop my weight, rotate my shoulder down and away, trap his wrist against my body with my right hand while my left comes up to control his elbow. Three points of contact, all the leverage on my side now. I could take him down from here in a dozen different ways. Instead, I just hold the position for a beat, so he understands what happened, then release him and step back.

"Against someone who doesn't expect it, it's even faster," I say.

"Okay," he says. "Okay. Yeah. She's safe with you."

"She's safe with me," I confirm.

Chapter 6 - Wraith

She's safe with me.

Quinn says it like a vow, standing in my kitchen at eleven o'clock at night having just demonstrated in approximately three seconds that she could take me apart if she wanted to, and all I can think about is how close her body was to mine during those three seconds, how her hands felt locked around my wrist and elbow, how she smelled like something clean and warm even after a full day of unpacking, of reading bedtime stories and being the most competent person I've met in years.

This is a problem.

This is a significant problem, actually, because I don't think about women this way anymore. Haven't in four years. Made a choice after Kate left that everything goes to Mariah, that I don't have the bandwidth or the emotional real estate for attraction or want or any of the messy complicated feelings that come with letting someone get close. And it's worked. It's been fine. I've been fine.

Except now there's Quinn Nash standing in my kitchen in yellow socks with little bees on them, and my brain is running at approximately a hundred miles per second trying to reconcile the soft-looking woman who read Where the Wild Things Are in perfect character voices with the one who just controlled my entire arm with three points of contact and made it look effortless.