This is the line.
This is where I choose Mara over the club, over Clutch. Because I won’t betray her, they’ve done that enough.
I grab a sterile pack to make it look legitimate, then detour through to the locker room where I know the nurses keep a small stack of business cards there for cases just like this.
Remi Carter.
I haven’t met her personally, but I've heard about the clinic through a colleague. They offer trauma counselling and confidential intake. No affiliation with law enforcement unless requested.
I take one and when I step back into the hallway, I glance through the narrow window near the side exit and my breath hitches. Razor’s bike is parked across the street. He’s sitting on it lazily like he didn't just send Mara to the emergency room. The engine is off, his arms folded over the handlebars as he watched the entrance to the hospital.
He doesn’t look up, but something in my gut says he already knows she’s inside. Does he know she came looking for me?
I return to the exam room and close the door softly.
“He’s outside,” I say carefully.
Mara’s jaw tightens as she blinks back tears. “I didn’t think he would show up. I figured he’d be out for a while still.”
I move closer and press the card into her palm while I adjust the wrap on her wrist.
“If you don’t want to talk to me,” I murmur, “or your brother… call her.”
Mara looks down at the card, her hand trembles slightly.
“She can help,” I offer. “Even if you’re not ready to leave. She can help you understand your options.”
Mara nods once. It's a small, almost imperceptible nod. But I see it.
She tucks the card into her sleeve instead of her purse.
When she leaves through the side exit, I wait thirty seconds before following. Razor is still on his bike, he doesn’t look at me. He is focused on her, and when Mara approaches him, he reaches out and grips her wrist.
The one I just wrapped.
She doesn’t flinch.
That’s what chills me.
She doesn’t react to the pain I know he is inflicting.
He says something I can’t hear and she nods, then they ride off together like it's just another day.
And I stand there in hospital scrubs under the morning sun, realizing I may have just stepped into something bigger than a sprained wrist and bruised cheek.
CHAPTER 4
CLUTCH - THAT’S NOT WHO I AM
Angel calls church before sunrise.
Today there isn’t any music, women, bottles or distractions. Just wood chairs scraping against concrete and men who haven’t slept enough.
“Blood Reapers were clocked on the north ridge again,” Angel says, palms flat on the table. “Not passing through. They are mapping territory.”
Are they looking for a sign of weakness? Preacher doesn’t waste fuel unless he smells opportunity.
“We run the south line up to where they were seen tonight,” Angel continues. “We double escort, no lone riders. No stops that aren’t planned.”