The next morning, Delilah stood in front of a cracked mirror, trying to see herself in a stranger’s clothes.

The jeans were a little snug, but not uncomfortable. The black tank top clung to her chest tighter than anything she’d ever worn in public. Her hair—formerly curled to bridal perfection—was now messy, knotted, and falling into her eyes. She tugged the ends into a quick, low ponytail and stared at the girl in the glass.

No pearls. No heels. No veil.

She didn’t recognize herself.

“Damn,” came a voice from the doorway. “You almost look like a regular human.”

Delilah rolled her eyes at Jaxon’s smirk in the mirror.

“Almost?” she asked, turning to face him.

He grinned. “You’re still way too clean. You’ll stand out if we go into town like that.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Do you roll around in oil to blend in or something?”

“Don’t knock it till you try it.”

Jaxon was already dressed—ripped jeans, a faded black tee, and his signature leather jacket slung over one shoulder. His hair was still wet from a quick shower, and he smelled like cheap soap and gasoline.

He looked like a walking red flag. She hated how her stomach fluttered every time he leaned too close.

“What’s the plan?” she asked, walking past him into the main garage.

He followed. “We ride into town. Small place, not far. I’ll take you to my guy—he’ll hook you up with a burner phone, maybe a fake ID if you need it. You’ll need a new name.”

Delilah hesitated. “A name.”

“Yeah. Something not ‘Delilah Hayes,’ the senator’s missing bride.”

She bit her lip, thinking. “What about Lily?”

Jaxon tilted his head. “Kinda close, don’t you think?”

“It was my grandmother’s name. And nobody called me that growing up.”

He studied her for a moment, then gave a slow nod. “Lily it is.”

They pushed the garage door open. The sun had already started to rise, casting golden light across the gravel lot. The Harley gleamed in the sunlight like it had just been built, even though she knew it was probably older than she was.

Jaxon tossed her a helmet. “Hop on, Lily.”

She stared at it. “Are you always this good at pretending things are normal?”

“I’m not pretending. You’re the one starting over, remember? I’m just helping.”

The bike roared to life as she climbed on behind him. Her hands hesitated at his waist before she finally gave in and gripped him tightly.

“Hold on,” he said again.

And just like that, they were gone—tearing down the road like they had nothing to lose.

The town was barely more than a blip on the map—one diner, one bar, one pawn shop, and a gas station that looked like it belonged in a movie from the 60s.

They parked behind the pawn shop.

“This the place?” Delilah asked, taking off her helmet.

Jaxon nodded. “My buddy Knox owns it. He’s a little paranoid, but solid. He’s not gonna rat you out.”

“Does he know who I am?”

“Nope. And don’t tell him.”

Delilah took a breath and stepped inside.

The air was thick with dust and the faint smell of burnt coffee. Shelves were cluttered with everything from broken guitars to box TVs. A man in his forties with wild hair and mirrored sunglasses was sitting behind the counter, chain-smoking like it was a sport.

“Jax,” he greeted without looking up. “Heard your girl skipped out on a wedding.”

Delilah froze.

Jaxon didn’t miss a beat. “She’s not my girl. And she’s just crashing for a bit.”

Knox finally looked up. His gaze flicked to Delilah and narrowed slightly.

“You got a name, sweetheart?”

“Lily,” she said calmly. “Just… trying to figure some things out.”

Knox raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t we all.”

She managed a small smile, trying not to shift under his gaze.

“You got cash?” he asked.

Jaxon handed over a roll of bills. “Need a basic burner and whatever ID you can cook up for her.”

“You want a full setup or just something casual?”

“Casual. She’s not running from the cops.”

Knox shrugged and started digging through drawers.

While he worked, Delilah looked around. There was a Polaroid camera on the counter, a row of faded band posters on the wall, and a long crack in the floor tiles that made the whole place feel like it might collapse under too much weight.

“Ever think about leaving?” she asked Knox.

He gave her a look. “Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know. Start over. Somewhere new.”

Knox snorted. “You run, you just find new problems in a new place. Better to stick with the ones you already know.”

She didn’t reply.

A few minutes later, she had a cheap phone in one hand and a freshly laminated ID in the other.

Lily Ross

Age: 25

Hometown: Stockton, California

It wasn’t real. But it felt close enough.

“Thanks,” she said quietly.

Knox leaned back in his chair. “You ever need a place to disappear for a night, there’s a cot in the back. Don’t expect me to wash the sheets though.”

Jaxon chuckled. “You’re a romantic, Knox.”

“Get outta here.”

They left the pawn shop and walked back to the bike. The sun was higher now, the warmth soaking into Delilah’s skin as she climbed on again.

“Lily Ross,” Jaxon said as he started the engine. “It suits you.”

“You think?”

“Better than Senator’s wife.”

She smirked and held on tighter.

That night, back at the garage, Jaxon cooked.

Sort of.

The “meal” was canned chili dumped into a pot with a handful of shredded cheese. He handed her a bowl and a plastic spoon like it was gourmet.

“It’s not five-star,” he said, “but it won’t kill you.”

Delilah laughed as she sat on the couch again. “You’re really trying to sell me on this whole outlaw lifestyle, huh?”

“I’m just showing you it’s not so bad. You can be poor and still have decent cheese.”

They ate in silence for a while. The radio played softly in the background—some classic rock station with more static than lyrics. The night felt almost peaceful.

Almost.

Delilah was the one who finally broke the quiet.

“You think Gregory’s still looking for me?”

Jaxon didn’t hesitate. “Definitely.”

“What happens when he finds out I’m not dead?”

He looked over at her, eyes steady. “Then we decide if you’re ready to fight back.”

Delilah stared at her spoon.

“I don’t know if I can.”

“You will. When it matters, you will.”

There was a knock at the door.

They both froze.

Jaxon stood slowly, reaching for the bat he kept near the fridge this time. Delilah set her bowl down and moved toward the hallway, out of sight.

“Who is it?” Jaxon called.

“Relax, brother,” came a familiar voice. “It’s Colt.”

Jaxon sighed and opened the door.

Delilah peeked around the corner and saw a tall man with a beard and long hair pulled back into a messy bun. He wore a worn biker vest with patches and had the easy confidence of someone who could fight and win.

“Sorry to drop in,” Colt said. “But we’ve got a problem.”

“What kind?”

“The kind that talks.”

He handed Jaxon a folded flyer. Delilah saw Gregory’s face on it—her face too, smaller, inset in the corner. But this time, it wasn’t just a missing persons alert.

There was a reward.

$100,000 for any information leading to the “safe return” of Delilah Hayes.

Jaxon crumpled the paper. “That son of a—”

“He’s making moves,” Colt said. “And the club’s getting heat for hiding you. I can only cover your ass so much, Jax. We’ve got people sniffing around now.”

Jaxon looked over at Delilah.

Her heart sank.

“I’ll leave,” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean to get anyone else involved—”

“Not happening,” Jaxon cut her off. “This isn’t your fault.”

Colt looked between them. “You’ve got a couple days. Maybe less. After that, you’ll need to move. Farther than here.”

Delilah swallowed hard.

“Where would we even go?”

Colt didn’t answer.

Jaxon didn’t either.

Because outside, in the distance, the sound of engines was getting louder.

Too many to be a coincidence.