Evelyn's dream of securing a scholarship to America's top ballet school shattered when her mother was brutally murdered during her teenage years. Determined to make a difference, she became a detective, ready to take on the world. Assigned to invest...
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Evelyn was beginning to learn just how painfully slow time could crawl when all she could do was sit still. The house she'd been stashed in sat like a quiet beast in the middle of the MC's territory, and she was never in it without at least two bikers shadowing her every move. After the confrontation with the hitman, now nothing more than bones and dirt somewhere six feet under, Jeremiah had spent hours behind closed doors with Jax, deciding how her safety would be handled from here on out. Safety. Everywhere she went, eyes followed. Even here, in the main house, where she had started to memorize the creaks of the floorboards, the musky leather scent of the chairs, and the faint mix of motor oil and coffee that never seemed to leave the air. She couldn't see her dad, couldn't be alone with Jeremiah for more than five minutes, and couldn't so much as breathe without someone knowing about it. Jax had sat her down a few days ago and explained, no, ordered, her to follow the rules. He told her what could happen if she didn't. His voice had been quiet, but the threat had clung to her skin. This was what prison must feel like.
"Evelyn?" Her name rolled into the room softly, pulling her out of her thoughts. She blinked, realizing she'd been sprawled across the dining table, staring at the ceiling like it held answers. Six long days inside this house, and only today had she noticed the faded stories painted there, fighting knights and winged creatures frozen in time above her head.
"Emma," she said, pushing herself upright and glancing toward the doorway. Emma stood there, framed by the light, one hand resting on the swell of her stomach. The sight tugged something in Evelyn's chest, a bittersweet ache, reminding her that soon, there would be two new lives running through this house.
"What are you doing?" Emma asked, stepping into the room. Her walk had slowed with the weight she carried, but she still had that soft, unshaken grace.
"Looking at the ceiling." Evelyn hopped down from the table and crossed the room to sit beside her. Emma's lips curled into the smallest of smiles as her gaze moved to the two bikers sitting at the table, both of them looking like they'd rather be anywhere else.
"You're bored, aren't you?" Emma said, her voice warm but knowing. Heat crept into Evelyn's cheeks. Emma had always been able to read her too well. She remembered the way James, Emma's late husband, Evelyn's closest friend, used to drag her into trouble just to keep from being bored. Together, they had never been still.
"Can you blame me?" Evelyn gave her one of the innocent smiles she used whenever she was caught red-handed doing something Emma wouldn't approve of. Emma shook her head softly and glanced around the room before her gaze settled back on Evelyn, her eyes shadowed with exhaustion. She hadn't slept properly since James died. Now, with the twins kicking and turning inside her, Evelyn imagined her friend's nights must feel endless.
"Dance for me," Emma said quietly. Then, with more weight,
"Please." For a moment, Evelyn froze. The old protests rose like stubborn weeds. Emma was one of the very few who knew about her dancing, about the panic that came with it. Evelyn's first instinct was to shake her head, to say no, like she always did. But then she heard Jeremiah's voice in her head, rough and commanding, reminding her of what he had planned for her. The thought made her swallow down her refusal.
