Chapter 79 Chapter 79

Chapter 79 Chapter 79
Tito’s POV

“Why are you looking at your phone like it just slapped you?” Kendrick asked, his voice breaking the thick quiet in the garage.

Mom had left that morning for a hair appointment, and I didn’t have classes until the end of the week. College life was really starting to look up a bit.

That was until I saw an anonymous text on my phone.

“I— it just buzzed,” I muttered, staring at the screen even though the notification had already vanished. My fingers hovered over it like I was scared it might bite me. “But I don’t know the number.”

He tossed the microfiber cloth aside and walked over, wiping grease from his hand with the hem of his shirt. I tried not to stare at the strip of skin that flashed at his hip, but apparently my eyes were traitors.

“Unknown number?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

His face changed, subtle, not dramatic, but I caught it. His jaw set, his shoulders straightened, and beneath it all, something sharpened in his eyes.

“Open it,” he said quietly.

I swallowed. “I don’t want to.”

“Exactly why you should.”

I hated that he made sense. I also hated that my heart had started racing like it remembered a danger my brain hadn’t fully processed yet. Slowly— painfully slowly— I tapped the notification. A single text stared back at me.

Where’s the girl?

My breath froze instantly. No name. No signature. Just that.

I didn’t realize Kendrick was standing close until his shadow covered the screen. “That’s not a question someone asks unless they already think they know the answer,” he said.

“What does that even mean?” My voice cracked, betraying the fear clawing up my throat.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached out and gently took my wrist, lowering the phone so he could look me directly in the eye. “It means someone is poking around. Someone who shouldn’t be.”

My stomach twisted. “You think it’s Jax’s people? Or worse…Jax himself?”

“I think even if Jax were alive, he doesn’t have the guts to reach out directly. But he had people. A network. And men like him don’t let things go easily. But that’s a very serious doubt, Tito. Jax is dead.”

Great. Fantastic. Exactly what I needed— the universe reminding me that peace was temporary and I was apparently a magnet for chaos.

“Kendrick,” I whispered. “I thought… I thought I was safe here.”

“You are safe here.” He didn’t even blink. “But that doesn’t mean the world suddenly forgot you exist.”

A cold chill rippled down my spine. I wrapped my arms around myself and stepped back, trying to steady my breathing. “So what now? What am I supposed to do? Pretend it didn’t happen? Change my number? Hide? Or—”

“Hey.” His voice softened. “Slow down.”

“I can’t,” I snapped, pacing now. “You’re telling me someone is looking for me, Kendrick. You’re telling me that after everything, after all the shit I’ve tried to leave behind, it’s still…it’s still reaching for me.”

“Well, at least you don't have to deal with it like some lone wolf," he said.

I stopped. My throat tightened. I didn't even want to indulge in the joke.

He continued, “Look at me. You’re here. With me. And unlike everyone else in your past, I actually know what I’m doing.”

A small, shaky breath escaped me. “Cocky.”

“Realistic,” he corrected.

I wanted to believe him. God, I did. But fear had habits, and mine liked to wrap around my ribs and squeeze until breathing became a luxury.

He studied my face. “You’re dissociating a little.”

I blinked. “I’m… what?”

“Your eyes glazed. Your breathing shifted. Shoulders tensed forward. Classic freeze response.”

“I’m not freezing.”

“You are.” He stepped closer. “And as scary as that may be, we’ll work through it.”

His voice was steady, grounding— the same tone he used during training when he saw me spiraling. But this time, it wasn’t about combat stances or throwing punches. This was about the kind of panic that dug its claws from the inside out.

“Try the box,” he said.

I groaned. “I don’t want to.”

“Not a request.”

Begrudgingly, I inhaled. Four counts in.
Held it. Four counts.
Exhaled. Four counts.
Held again. Four.

By the third round, my heart had stopped doing gymnastics in my chest. Kendrick watched me the whole time, arms crossed, leaning against the bench like he had all day to wait on my meltdown.

“Better?” he asked.

“A little,” I admitted.

“Good. Because you’re not going to run from this. Not mentally, not physically. You’re learning to face it.”

I rubbed my hands over my face. “I don’t feel like I’m facing anything. I feel like I’m just… trying not to fall apart.”

“That is facing it.”

My eyes finally drifted back to the message. That single line glowed like a threat disguised as curiosity.

“Should I reply?” I asked.

“No.”

“That was fast.”

He shrugged. “You reply, you confirm the number is active. You give them a direct line. We don’t do that.”

“We?”

“You think I’ll let you walk through this alone?” He raised a brow. “Please.”

Heat rushed up my neck. Not embarrassment, something sweeter, more dangerous. A kind of relief I didn’t want to depend on, but already did.

“You take this protector thing too seriously,” I murmured.

“I take you seriously.”

My breath hitched. I looked away, because eye contact suddenly felt illegal.

He nudged my shoulder lightly. “Hey. Don’t disappear into your head again. Talk to me.”

“I’m scared,” I admitted.

“That makes you smart,” he said. “But fear doesn’t get to make your decisions.”

“I know.”

“And you’re learning to manage it. You caught yourself spiraling today faster than last week.”

“You caught me,” I corrected.

He smiled slightly. “I nudged you. You did the rest.” I didn’t argue. Mostly because if I did, he’d smirk like he already knew I secretly agreed.

“So what do we do now?” I asked.

“First,” he said, “we document it. Second, we tighten your perimeter. Third, we start planning.”

“Planning what?”

“For the possibility that this isn’t a one-off.”

My fingers tightened around my phone. “You think more messages are coming?”

“I think people who ask vague questions usually come with follow-ups.”

A shiver chased across my skin. “You’re not helping my anxiety.”

“I’m not trying to,” he deadpanned. “I’m trying to keep you alive.”

“Well,” I said dryly, “mission accomplished, I guess.”

He gave me a look. “Sarcasm. Good sign.”

“Better than screaming, don't you think?”

“Much.”

He paused, studying me with an intensity that should’ve made me flinch but instead grounded me.

I guess I would have to tackle this the only way I knew how, to trust him.