Exhaustion weighed down, pressing into my consciousness, but there was no chance I could settle, either, the anxiety still wringing through my system.
Trent pressed a kiss to my temple. I leaned into it. Savoring the sensation. Wanting to wrap it up and keep it forever even when he’d made it clear we were never going to work. That it couldn’t happen. That our lives were too at odds for them to ever fully come together.
When Milo came to stand in front of us, Trent hardly shifted his attention from me. “What else can we do, boss?”
“Inside clear?”
“Yup. Everything is secure. All doors are locked except the one behind you.”
“Thank you. You’ve done everything you can tonight. Go on home.”
“Yes, Sir,” Milo said, though he and Kult seemed less than eager to leave us behind as they climbed onto their bikes and rode into the night.
Jud remained, hesitating, hands stuffed in his pockets, so much like his brother yet so entirely different. “You good, brother?”
There was nothing but care in his voice.
“Yeah. We’ll be fine. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”
A silent conversation transpired between them. The two of them wired. Worried. They were keeping something to themselves. Either something they both knew or suspected.
Dread shivered through my being.
I couldn’t shake the word from my mind. The one I’d discovered inscribed on Trent’s side last week. The same as had been written in blood on my car tonight.
Ghost.
“You get her home safely.” Jud cast a glance at me when he said it. His onyx eyes were soft. Filled with sympathy.
“I will,” Trent said, voice hard.
Nodding slowly, Jud backed away before he swiveled on his boot and disappeared at the end of the lot toward his shop.
In an instant, Trent and I were alone. Secluded in the silence that consumed. The arm he had draped around my shoulder pulled me close. “Come on, let’s get you home.”
Warily, I nodded, and we stood. I had my bag I’d left with earlier, back when I was trying to get away from Trent Lawson as quickly as I could.
Back when I thought I couldn’t stand under the pressure of his presence for a moment longer.
I hated the way we’d tiptoed for the last week.
Avoided.
Did our best to pretend as if the other didn’t affect us at all.
Now, he refused to let me go. His arm was wound tight around my waist as he turned and locked the heavy side door behind us. That arm only tightened when he led me down the three steps and toward his motorcycle where it was parked at the front of the lot.
Energy rippled.
That connection fierce.
Unrelenting lashes that struck us as the wind whipped through the trees and howled through the air.
It was as if it were shouting that we were fools. Fools that we’d thought we could escape the pull.
Trent let his arm slip from my waist, though he didn’t go far. He threaded his fingers through mine so he could swing his leg over the bike. Balancing it, he started it. Those eyes raked me like a caress as he shifted to pull me to straddle the mass of cold metal behind him.
But his body was warm.
So warm as I curled myself against his beautiful, tragic form. My arms bolted around his narrow waist, and for a beat, he set both his hands over mine.
A promise.
An oath.
God. What was he doing to me? Who was I becoming? Because I knew, even after tonight, I’d never felt safer than I did right then.
I exhaled the heaviest sigh, pressed my cheek to his back, and let his heat chase away the cold.
Trent took to the road. The roar of the engine filled the dense night air, the world vibrating around us as we flew down the deserted street. Claimed it as our own. The stars seemed too close, dangling just above our heads like wishes strung up on hooks, just out of reach.
And I guess I was barely aware that we weren’t heading in the direction of my house. It took us only a few minutes before he was slowing and guiding us into a much newer, nicer neighborhood than my own.
I sat up a fraction, taking in my surroundings, an antsy confusion curling my brow when he made a left into a driveway. He stopped the bike, his legs planted out to the side to keep us upright as he thumbed into his phone and tapped something on the screen. The garage door began to rise.
He eased his bike inside, next to the car I recognized as the one he picked Gage up in each day. He cut the engine. In it, the silence was almost deafening.
I hugged him for a second, not wanting to break the trance, before I whispered near his ear, “What are we doing here? I thought you were taking me home?”