Page 14 of Chains and Vows

Legion must've told him then. I'm not sure how this conversation happened or in what context—which bugs me because the timeline of my morning feels off in unspecific ways.

It was the motorcycle.

He just left.

Which means… he was here all morning while I was sleeping.

Why?

Not sure. But there's no time to think about things because Colt called. And connectin' with him is now the purpose of my day.

Texting feels safer. More distance. Time to think between responses.

But I'm tired of safety nets and carefully constructed responses. Twenty years of curating every interaction has left me with precisely nothing real. Legion didn't fall for the Little Ashby Princess with her perfect posts and staged smiles. He fell for the messy, barefoot girl singing in grain silos and riding bareback at midnight.

So I call.

It rings once, and I'm already rehearsing what to say—Hey Colt, thanks for reaching out, we should talk about⁠—

"Well, if it isn't the biker slut herself."

My breath stops cold in my chest. Marcus.

His voice is slick with hatred, nothing like the polished political tone he used in public.

"You stupid bitch. Do you have any idea what you've done to my reputation? I mean, I get it. I really do, Savannah. You're a whore. You can't help yourself. But taking me out with you on your way down? You're gonna pay for that."

I'm frozen, phone pressed against my ear like it's burning me. I can't speak. There are no words.

"You know what everyone's saying about you now? That the perfect Little Ashby Princess loves getting on her knees for Badlands scum. That your pussy's so loose from spreading for convicts that⁠—"

"Stop," I finally manage.

But he doesn't.

"—that even your mother knew you were damaged goods. Why do you think she had to write you into that contract? No man would take you otherwise. Not after being passed around that clubhouse like⁠—"

I hang up, fingers shaking as I block the number. My chest heaves with quick, shallow breaths.

What the fuck.

Instantly, my phone begins buzzing on the floor. Demandin' my attention again.

OK. Calm down, Savannah. Marcus has no claim on you. His words burn because he's a nasty man and he chooses them carefully. But he can't hurt you.

He can't.

It feels a little like I'm talkin' myself into this, but once I strip off the fear and the residual trauma of how he kidnapped me, I realize that's true.

He can't hurt me.

So I take a deep breath. Then another. And I resolve to handle this. Whatever that asshole wants to say to me, I can handle it.

And give it back too.

I pick up the phone, bracing myself for more venom, but it's not Marcus.

This time it really is Colt. It's his number and everything. Same one. And I realize, they've both been callin' and leavin' messages and somehow I called the wrong one back.