Steele’s Redemption

Chapter 6

Jake

Emma made it back to her desk before I did.

I watched her from across the shop floor—shoulders squared, chin up, pulling invoices toward her like Derek's man had never walked through that door. Like fear hadn't just put its hand on the back of her neck ten minutes ago.

She was tougher than she gave herself credit for. Tougher than most people I knew.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

**Nash:** *Got the plate. Running it now. Also—you need to see this.*

A second text followed. A photo. Grainy security footage from the Iron Horse, timestamped an hour earlier. Derek Blackwell, leaning against the bar, talking low to the bartender.

**Nash:** *He was there tonight. Offering $10K for information on where she is. Bartender called it in himself, wanted no part of it. But that's a real number now, Jake. People sell out for a lot less.*

Ten thousand dollars.

That wasn't a man quietly searching for his wife. That was a man building an incentive structure. Somebody's cousin, somebody's coworker, somebody who needed rent money—all it took was one person connecting a shop off Fifth to a rented room three blocks over.

I crossed the floor.

"Emma."

She looked up, and whatever she saw on my face made her set down her pen.

"What."

I turned the phone toward her. She read it twice.

"He's offering money," she said quietly. "For me."

"Yeah."

"That's real money. People will look for that."

"They will." I kept my voice level, because panic wouldn't help either of us. "Which is a problem, because your building doesn't have a locked lobby. No cameras. Nobody checking who comes and goes. Anyone with your address could walk right up to your door tonight."

Her hand went still on the desk. "You think someone will find it."

"I think it's a matter of when, not if."

---

I laid out the options plainly, because she'd had enough men make decisions for her already. "We can add a deadbolt and a chain tonight, get someone posted outside for a few days. Raven's couch is open if you'd rather stay with her. Or—" I paused, because this one came with baggage I hadn't planned on explaining tonight. "I've got a place. More secure than anything else on the table."

"What kind of place?"

"A penthouse downtown."

She blinked. "You have a *penthouse.*"

"It's complicated." I held her gaze, steady. "Shortest version—I own the building. I like having somewhere private the club doesn't ask about. Cameras on every floor, a doorman who knows every face that comes through, a private elevator that needs a key. Derek's money doesn't buy access to any of that."

"And the longer version?"

"Is a conversation for a night when you're not scared out of your mind." I meant it kindly, not as a dodge. "Tonight, it's just the safest option I've got. You don't have to take it."

She studied me the way she studied everything—checking for the trap before she stepped into it. "You're not telling me I have to."

"No. I'm telling you what I know. You decide." I crossed my arms, giving her room to think instead of crowding her with my size the way I knew I could. "If you'd rather stay at the room with better locks, I'll get you better locks. If you want Raven's couch, I'll drive you there myself. I'd be lying if I said either felt as solid as what I'm offering, but it's your call."

She was quiet a long moment, arms wrapped around herself, and then: "Okay. Your place."

"Okay."

---

We swung by her room first so she could pack. I waited in the hallway with the door cracked, giving her privacy while keeping an eye on the stairwell, my hand resting near my hip out of habit more than expectation. It didn't take her long—a duffel bag, three drawers' worth of clothes, the secondhand paperback she kept on her nightstand.

The room looked smaller than I remembered setting her up in it two weeks ago. Thin walls. A single lamp that didn't reach the corners.

"You knew it was small," she said, catching me looking, "when you got me this."

"I did." No point pretending otherwise. "It got you off the office couch and into an actual bed. That's what you needed then. I never told you it was permanent, because it wasn't. It was the best option I had at the time."

"And now the situation's changed."

"Now Derek's throwing real money at finding you, and this room can't stand up to that."

She zipped the bag, slung it over her shoulder before I could reach for it, and walked past me into the hall like she was choosing to leave, not being moved.

---

She was quiet the whole ride downtown, forehead against the window, watching the city slide by. I let her have the silence. Some things didn't need filling.

The elevator opened straight into the penthouse, and I watched her face as she stepped through it.

Floor-to-ceiling windows. City lights spread out below like something spilled and glittering. Clean lines, polished floors, nothing out of place.

She stopped a few feet in, turning slowly, taking it in like she was trying to reconcile it with the man in grease-stained jeans who ran a bike shop off Fifth.

"This is insane, Jake."

"It's secure. That's what matters tonight." I set her bag down by the door and pointed down the hall. "Guest room's there. Full bath, lock on the inside." I made myself say the rest plainly, because she needed to hear it. "You're not obligated to me for this. It's a place to sleep where Derek's money can't reach you. Nothing else attached."

Her eyes flicked to the couch, then back to me. "You're not staying out here with me."

"No." The word came out steadier than it felt. "I'll be down the hall. That's it."

She looked at me the way she had in the shop—checking the offer for strings, and not finding any.

"Can I really stay here? Until things settle?"

"As long as you need. My door stays open if something's wrong. Otherwise it stays shut." I held her gaze. "You set the terms here. Not me."

Something in her shoulders loosened, just slightly. "Okay."

She picked up her bag and walked toward the guest room like she was claiming the space instead of being handed it, and didn't look back before the door clicked shut behind her.

I stood in the middle of my own living room a long time after that, staring at the city lights, thinking about ten thousand dollars and cameras and how easily trust got broken by men who wanted things they had no right to.

She'd trusted me enough to walk through that door.

That wasn't something to want more of.

It was something to protect—carefully, completely, and without ever giving her a reason to regret it.