Delilah didn’t move.

She was frozen in place, heart thudding hard against her ribs as the voice echoed again from outside the garage.

“I know she’s in there! Open the door, . Don’t make me come in.”

That voice.

That damn voice.

The one that used to whisper sweet words to her while his grip on her arm bruised skin. The one that sounded calm even when he was furious. Gregory Alcott never yelled. He didn’t need to. His quiet anger was enough to chill blood.

Delilah’s fingers tightened around the wrench. She wasn’t even sure she could lift it properly, but it was the only thing she had.

Then came footsteps—heavy, deliberate—and the creak of the side door being tested.

Locked.

A second later, the sound of a chain rattling.

Jaxon’s voice cut through the thick silence.

“You need to leave. Now.”

He was at the front of the garage, standing in the shadows near the door. Delilah could barely see his outline from where she sat, but his voice was steady. Calm, but sharp.

“I’m not leaving without her,” Gregory said. “She’s confused. She’s sick. She needs help.”

Jaxon laughed—low, humorless.

“Right. Help from the guy she ran away from in a damn wedding dress?”

“She’s my fiancée.”

“Not anymore.”

There was a pause. Something about the silence made Delilah’s stomach twist.

Then Gregory said softly, “Do you know who I am?”

“Yup,” Jaxon replied without hesitation. “And I don’t care.”

Delilah inched closer to the wall, holding her breath. She could hear every word through the metal siding. Her mind raced. What if Gregory had people waiting? What if this was a trap?

“I don’t want trouble,” Gregory said. “But if you don’t let her out, it’ll come anyway. You don’t know what you’re getting into.”

“No, man,” Jaxon replied. “You don’t.”

Then, a beat later, the sound of tires on gravel.

More than one car.

Delilah’s breath caught. Her entire body tensed as she moved toward the edge of the couch, her hand now slick on the wrench handle.

From outside, Gregory’s voice carried again.

“This is your last chance.”

Jaxon didn’t answer. There was the sound of footsteps fading, then the unmistakable slam of something metal.

The door stayed shut.

Silence.

Delilah waited, every muscle tight. She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she heard Jaxon’s boots moving toward her.

“You good?” he asked as he rounded the corner, voice quieter now.

She stood slowly. “Is he gone?”

“For now.”

He locked the interior door behind him and stepped fully into the dim light. He looked calm, but there was something in his eyes—a storm barely held back.

Delilah lowered the wrench, her hands shaking now that the adrenaline was starting to drain.

“Why didn’t you let him in?”

Jaxon raised an eyebrow. “You kidding?”

“I mean… you barely know me.”

He shrugged, heading toward the mini-fridge in the corner. “Doesn’t mean I’m gonna hand you over to a guy with security goons and a God complex.”

She watched him open the fridge, wrinkle his nose, and pull out a bottled water.

“I’ve dealt with men like him before,” Jaxon added, tossing her the bottle.

Delilah caught it. “Yeah?”

“Rich. Controlling. Think the world owes them something. Only difference is your guy wears a nicer suit.”

She sat down on the edge of the couch again, the blanket bunched around her waist. Her body still trembled with leftover fear, but her brain was catching up now. She wasn’t alone. She was still safe.

For now.

“This place… it’s yours?” she asked.

Jaxon nodded. “Belonged to my old man. He ran a shop out back, used to fix bikes and hot rods. Died five years ago. I never left.”

Delilah looked around. The garage was rough—grease-streaked floors, dusty toolboxes, old neon signs that probably hadn’t worked in a decade—but it felt… honest. Real. Like it didn’t pretend to be anything it wasn’t.

“It smells like gas and cigarettes.”

“Add a little sweat and broken dreams and you’ve got the full package.”

Delilah gave a small laugh despite herself. “It’s better than the hotel suite Gregory booked for our wedding night.”

Jaxon didn’t say anything for a second. Then he pulled a chair over and sat across from her.

“You sure you wanna be joking about that already?”

She looked at him, tired but a little steadier. “If I don’t laugh, I’ll fall apart.”

That answer seemed to satisfy him.

They sat in silence for a while. Outside, the wind picked up, and a motorcycle in the distance backfired. Delilah flinched before she realized it wasn’t them coming back.

“You didn’t have to help me,” she said again.

Jaxon shrugged. “I didn’t think about it. I just saw a girl in a wedding dress running like the devil was behind her and figured something was real wrong.”

“It was.”

“Still is,” he said bluntly. “Gregory’s not gonna stop. Guys like him don’t like to lose. Especially not in front of cameras.”

“I know.”

“You need a plan.”

Delilah exhaled slowly. “Yeah, well, all I’ve got right now is a filthy dress, no money, and a biker who smells like motor oil.”

“Harsh. I shower sometimes.”

She smiled.

He leaned forward, arms resting on his knees.

“I can get you a burner phone tomorrow. Fake ID if you want. I’ve got a friend who runs a pawn shop and doesn’t ask questions.”

Delilah hesitated. “Are you always this… prepared?”

He gave a wry smile. “Let’s just say I’ve helped people disappear before.”

“That supposed to make me feel better?”

“No. But you’re not the first person who’s needed to vanish.”

Delilah sat back, her hands tucked into the blanket. “He’ll destroy me in the press. He’s already started. Said I was unstable. That I ran because I’m having a mental breakdown.”

Jaxon’s jaw tensed. “And people will believe him?”

“He’s charming. Powerful. I’m… just a girl in a dress who ran.”

Jaxon stood suddenly and walked to a cabinet in the corner. He opened it and pulled out a small radio.

“I was gonna wait,” he said, “but you should hear this.”

He flipped it on and tuned it until a reporter’s voice crackled through.

“…breaking news, the disappearance of Senator Alcott’s fiancée, Delilah Hayes, has sparked public concern. The senator released a statement earlier today, citing personal tragedy and an ongoing health matter. Sources say—”

Jaxon turned the radio off.

Delilah stared at it, stomach dropping.

“He’s playing the victim.”

“Of course he is.”

She stood and started pacing. “He’s going to twist everything. And I have no way to prove what I saw. He’ll make sure the evidence is buried before I can touch it.”

“You still have the phone?”

“No. I hid the files on a drive. It’s not with me. I didn’t want to risk bringing it.”

“Where is it?”

Delilah hesitated. “Somewhere safe. But we’d have to go back into the city.”

Jaxon looked her over, thinking.

“Then we’ll wait till the heat dies down.”

Delilah stopped pacing and turned to face him.

“You keep saying we.”

He held her gaze. “You’re not in this alone anymore.”

The words hit her harder than she expected. She opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. No one had ever said that to her before. Not like that. Not without wanting something in return.

Before she could respond, a knock came at the garage’s side door.

Both of them froze.

Delilah’s throat tightened. “Is it him?”

Jaxon didn’t answer. He grabbed something from the desk—a switchblade—and motioned for her to stay put. He crept toward the door quietly, standing just out of sight.

Then the knock came again. Two slow raps, then a pause, then one more.

Jaxon relaxed slightly.

“That’s not him,” he said quietly.

He opened the door a crack and stepped outside.

Delilah stayed by the couch, her heart hammering again. She couldn’t hear what was being said, only murmurs and the occasional grunt. A minute passed. Then another.

Finally, Jaxon stepped back inside and shut the door behind him.

“Who was it?” she asked.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he tossed her a small bundle—a duffel bag.

“What’s this?”

“Clothes. From my ex. She left some stuff here a while back. Should fit you better than a torn-up wedding dress.”

Delilah blinked, caught off guard. “You have an ex who drops off emergency clothes?”

“Not exactly. Long story.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re avoiding my question.”

Jaxon hesitated, then leaned against the wall.

“It was someone from the MC. Said Gregory’s offering money. A lot of it. For you.”

Delilah sat back down slowly. “How much?”

“Enough to make people start getting curious.”

The room went quiet again.

“Are we safe here?” she asked.

“For tonight.”

“And tomorrow?”

Jaxon’s eyes were dark, unreadable.

“That’s where it gets complicated.”