Chapter 252

Chapter 252

Stella's POV

The phone call came through just as I was staring at the wall of evidence in my apartment, tracing the red string that connected Victor's photo to the blank space where Daniel's should be.

"Stella." Ryder's voice was tight, strained in a way I'd never heard before. "Victor escaped."

I kept my expression neutral even though he couldn't see me. "When?"

"During transport to the courthouse. Daniel's old crew hit the convoy." He paused, and I could hear him breathing hard. "Victor met with Daniel in prison before the escape. I'm afraid he'll come after you."

My fingers tightened around the phone. Of course Daniel would help Victor escape. It was the perfect setup—let Victor do the dirty work while keeping his own hands clean.

"Where are you?" Ryder demanded.

I gave him the address of my real apartment, the one nobody else knew about. Within twenty minutes, his car screeched to a stop outside. I heard his footsteps pounding up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

When I opened the door, he pulled me into his arms so hard it hurt. His heart was racing against my chest, his breath hot against my hair.

"Jesus Christ, Stella." His hands ran over my back, my arms, like he was checking for injuries. "When I heard Victor was out, all I could think about was—"

"I'm fine." I tried to step back, but his grip tightened.

"You're not fine. Nothing about this is fine." He finally released me enough to look around the apartment, and I watched his face change as he took in the sparse furniture, the mattress on the floor, the boxes of compressed crackers and bottled water lining the walls like I was preparing for a siege.

His eyes landed on the investigation wall, and I saw him go pale.

"Stella." His voice cracked. "What is this?"

I crossed my arms. "My work."

He moved closer to the wall, studying the photos, the documents, the web of red string connecting faces and dates and crimes. Victor in the center. Vivian beside him. Chloe. Daniel's blank space.

"How long have you been living like this?" He turned back to me, and the look on his face made something twist in my chest.

"Long enough."

"This isn't living." He gestured at the room. "This is existing. This is... Christ, Stella, you're living like you're in a war zone."

"I am in a war zone."

"No." He crossed the distance between us in two strides, gripping my shoulders. "You don't have to be. You could walk away. You could let me handle this. You could—"

"Live a normal life?" I laughed, but it came out bitter. "Cook dinner? Go to work? Pretend none of this happened?"

"Yes." His eyes were desperate. "Yes, exactly that."

I pulled away from him. "I can't."

"You mean you won't."

"What's the difference?"

He stared at me for a long moment. "Tell me something. If everyone who hurt you was dead, if the Mellons lost everything, if you got your revenge—would you finally be able to live? Or would you just find someone else to punish?"

The question hung in the air between us. I wanted to tell him he was wrong, that once this was over I'd be free. But the words stuck in my throat.

"Stella." He stepped closer again, gentler this time. "I love you. I'd burn down the world for you if you asked. But I'm scared that even after it's all ashes, you still won't let yourself be happy."

"Don't." My voice came out sharper than I intended. "Don't do something stupid because of me."

"Too late." He touched my cheek. "I've been doing stupid things since the night I met you."

Before I could respond, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen and frowned. "It's one of my guys at the docks." He answered, listened, then his expression hardened. "When? Are you sure?" Another pause. "Keep eyes on the location. I'm on my way."

He hung up and looked at me. "Victor was spotted near the waterfront an hour ago. Daniel's old crew is moving product through the east dock tonight."

"You think they're working together."

"I know they are." He ran a hand through his hair. "Daniel helped Victor escape. Now Victor knows you're the one who reported him. Daniel knows you have evidence that could destroy him. They both want you dead, Stella."

The apartment suddenly felt smaller, the walls closing in. I walked to the window, looking out at the rain-slicked streets below.

"What are you thinking?" Ryder asked.

I was thinking about how perfectly this was playing out. How Daniel had done exactly what I'd predicted—helped Victor escape, creating the perfect opportunity for both of them to come after me. How they'd be so focused on eliminating the threat I posed that they wouldn't see the trap until it closed around them.

But I couldn't tell Ryder that. Not when he was looking at me like I was something fragile that might break.

"I'm thinking we should call the police," I said instead.

"By the time they mobilize, it'll be too late." He moved to stand beside me at the window. "I'm going to the dock. I'll handle this."

"Ryder—"

"You're staying here." His tone left no room for argument. "Lock the door. Don't answer for anyone. I'll call you when it's done."

He pulled something from his jacket—a small handgun. I recognized it as a Glock 19, compact and reliable. He held it out to me.

"You know how to use this?"

I stared at the weapon. Of course I knew how to use it. The Hive had trained me with every type of firearm imaginable. But Stella Taylor, the frightened nutritionist, shouldn't know the first thing about guns.

"I've never—"

"Safety's here." He showed me, his hands guiding mine. "Point, squeeze the trigger. If anyone comes through that door who isn't me, you shoot first and ask questions later. Understand?"

I nodded slowly, letting him think he was teaching me.

"If you have to fire it, call me immediately. I'll handle the rest." He pulled me close again, pressing his lips to my forehead. "I should have done this a long time ago. Should have taken you somewhere safe, somewhere they could never find you."

"Ryder." I looked up at him. "When this is over—when it's really over—we'll leave. We'll go somewhere new. Start fresh. No more looking over our shoulders."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

He kissed me then, hard and desperate, like he was trying to memorize the taste of my lips. When he pulled away, his eyes were dark with something that looked like grief.

"I'll come back to you," he said. "I always do."

Then he was gone, his footsteps echoing down the stairs, the sound of his car engine fading into the rain.

I stood at the window, watching the taillights disappear, the gun heavy in my hand. The smart thing would be to stay here, to let Ryder handle it like he wanted. To play the role of the helpless girlfriend waiting for her protector to return.

But I'd never been good at playing it smart.