Dante
I hadn’t expected Talon to find Myles so soon. Hell, I didn’t expect the old bastard to even pick up the line. But here we were—less than twelve hours later—me riding with Shirley at my back, her arms wrapped tightly around me as we cruised down the east trail, past Ashridge’s crumbling industrial outskirts and into the vast woodland that bordered the county.
She didn’t ask many questions.
Not at first.
But the moment we turned off the familiar road and headed toward the pine-dense forest trail, I felt her body tense behind me.
“Where the hell are we going, Dante?” she called over the engine’s growl.
I didn’t answer right away.
I reached back, found her hand, and squeezed. “Trust me, Red. You’re safe.”
She didn’t reply, but her grip around my waist tightened. That was enough.
