Divorced by the Devil Rider

CHAPTER 7 — Public Humiliation Spreads

The vibration against my thigh wouldn't stop. It was a rhythmic, aggressive twitch that made my skin crawl. I didn't pull the phone out. I just stood outside the convenience store, watching the automatic doors slide open—ding—and shut. Open—ding—and shut. A woman walked out carrying a plastic bag of milk, her eyes flicking to my face for a half-second too long before she looked at the pavement.

My thumb fumbled with the screen. I missed the sensor twice. My hands wouldn’t stay still.

The headline was a smear of black and white.

HELLHOUND HEIR DIVORCES: WIFE OUSTED.

There was a photo from the wedding. My veil was crooked. I remembered that. I’d spent twenty minutes in the bathroom trying to fix it while Kade stood by the door, not helping, just watching the clock. In the photo, his hand was clamped on my waist. I could almost feel the weight of his palm through the screen.

Buzz.

ACCOUNTS FROZEN: MORETTI CUT OFF.

Buzz.

LUCIA MORETTI SPOTTED ALONE.

I scrolled. The comments were a blur of gray text. Discarded. Target. Weak. I focused on a smudge on my screen, a thumbprint that wouldn't go away. I rubbed at it until my skin burned, but the words underneath didn't change.

The clerk inside the store was watching me through the glass. When I looked up, he suddenly became very interested in a display of chewing gum. He knew. The woman with the milk knew. The city was suddenly very small, and I was standing right in the center of the bullseye.

A dark car slowed down near the curb. It didn't stop. The driver’s face was a pale oval behind the glass, eyes fixed on me with a heavy, unblinking weight. He didn't look away when I caught him. He just kept rolling, his brake lights glowing like embers in the late afternoon smog.

I shoved the phone into my bag. The zipper snagged. I yanked it, the metal teeth biting into my finger, but I didn't feel the sting until I was halfway down the block.

I was walking fast. Too fast. My heels made a frantic, uneven clack-clack-clack on the concrete. I didn't have a car. I didn't have a key that worked. I didn't even have a plan for dinner. I just kept moving because standing still felt like inviting something to hit me.

"I'm fine," I said. The words hit the air and fell flat. A man walking a dog glanced at me, then crossed the street.

I reached the corner and stopped. My legs just... gave up. I looked left. Right. The street signs looked like gibberish. I had nowhere to go. I realized I was staring at a discarded coffee cup in the gutter, focusing on the way the brown liquid had stained the white cardboard. It seemed more important than the fact that I was trending on three different platforms.

My phone screamed in my bag. I let it vibrate until it stopped. Then it started again. And again.

I pulled it out with jerky, uncoordinated movements. Unknown number.

I answered. I don't know why. Maybe I just wanted a human voice that wasn't a notification.

"Hello?"

Silence. Just the sound of air moving. Wet, heavy breathing.

My spine turned to ice. "Hello? Is someone..."

"You're alone now," a voice said. It was flat. Smooth. Like he was reading a weather report.

I didn't say anything. I couldn't. My tongue felt like a piece of dry wool in my mouth.

"Alone," he repeated. Then the line went dead.

I kept the phone pressed to my ear for a long time. The screen went black. A bead of sweat rolled down the back of my neck. I looked at the call log. 0:06. Six seconds. Then silence.

I forced my feet to move. I turned down a side street. It was narrower, quieter. A mistake. My brain knew it was a mistake, but my legs were just trying to find shade, or a wall, or anything that wasn't open space.

Then, the sound.

A low, guttural thrum. It didn't start far away; it was suddenly just there, vibrating in the soles of my shoes. A bike.

I didn't turn. I couldn't. My shoulders bunched up toward my ears. The engine cut off three feet behind me. The silence that followed was heavy, pushing against my back like a hand.

He didn't say anything. I heard the scuff of a boot. A leather jacket creaking. He was close enough that I could smell the gasoline and that sharp, artificial peppermint he always chewed when he was bored.

I stared at a brick in the wall in front of me. It had a chip in the corner. I focused on that chip.

"Leave," I said. It came out as a pathetic, breathless wheeze. I cleared my throat and tried again. "Leave, Kade."

He didn't move. He stepped around me, his body moving with that infuriating, heavy grace. He didn't touch me, but he blocked the path. I had to stop or walk into his chest.

I looked at his hand. His knuckles were dark, bruised, a smudge of dried blood near the thumb. I felt a weird, irrelevant urge to ask him if he’d washed it.

My phone buzzed in my hand. He looked down at it. Then he looked at me.

He didn't ask. He just reached out and took the phone from my fingers. I didn't even grip it. I just let him take it, my hand hanging in the air, empty and useless.

"What are you doing?" I snapped, but it was late. The reaction was three seconds behind the event. "Give it back."

Kade didn't look at me. He looked at the screen. His jaw didn't clench—it just froze. He hit the power button, plunging the screen into darkness, and slid it into his own pocket.

"I said give it back!" My voice rose, cracking at the top. I felt a hot, stinging prickle in my eyes. I hated that. I hated that he was standing there, unbothered, while I was vibrating apart.

He didn't acknowledge the demand.

"You're not walking alone," he said. It wasn't an offer. It wasn't a suggestion. It was a statement of fact, like saying the sky was gray.

I tried to laugh. It sounded like a cough. "I’ve been alone all day, Kade. Since you kicked me out. I'm doing great."

His eyes flicked to mine. They were flat. No anger, no heat. Just watching me fall apart.

"You weren't alone," he said.

I opened my mouth to argue, to tell him I didn't need him, that I was fine, that I had friends—lies, all of them. But he was already reaching into his jacket.

My heart did a sickening roll. I thought—gun.

He pulled out his own phone. He tapped a button and held the screen up.

It was a live video feed. Grainy, high-angle. It showed a street corner. It showed a woman in a beige jacket standing next to a black motorcycle.

Me.

From a camera mounted on the building across the street.

"You lost the option," he said.

I stared at the little version of myself on the screen. I looked small. I looked like something you’d find under a microscope. I saw a man in the background of the video—a man in a black car, the same one from before. He was holding a phone. Watching the little me.

I felt the blood drain out of my face. My knees felt watery. I looked up at Kade, really looked at him, and for the first time, I didn't see a husband or an ex. I saw a cage.

"I didn't—" I started, but the sentence didn't have an end. I didn't know what I hadn't done. I hadn't asked for this? I hadn't deserved it? It didn't matter.

Kade lowered the phone. He didn't put it away. He kept it in his hand, a reminder.

"You don't get to decide this anymore," he said.

I wanted to hit him. I wanted to turn and run. But my feet wouldn't move. They were glued to the spot. I looked at the street, and it didn't look like a public road anymore. It looked like a hunting ground.

Across the street, a man in a windbreaker stopped. He wasn't even pretending to look at a shop window. He lifted his phone, aimed it directly at us, and tapped the screen.

Flash.

He didn't run away. He just stood there, checking the photo, then typing something.

A black SUV slowed down at the intersection. It didn't pass. It just sat there, idling.

My phone buzzed again. I felt it—or I thought I did—but then I realized it was buzzing in Kade’s pocket. It wasn't my phone anymore. It wasn't my life.

"Get on," Kade said.

He didn't move to help me. He didn't hold out a hand. He just walked back to the bike and waited.

I looked at the man across the street. Then at the black SUV. Then at the bruised knuckles on Kade’s hand.

I walked toward the bike. My movements were stiff, like a wooden doll. I didn't say yes. I didn't agree. I just found myself standing next to the seat, my fingers brushing the cold leather.

I climbed on. I had to grab his shoulder to steady myself. The leather of his jacket was cold, smelling of rain and iron. I hated the way my hand fit there, like it had found its place.

I didn't ask where we were going. I didn't ask what happened next. I just sat behind him, I didn’t feel in control anymore. Just the engine under me.

As he kicked the bike into gear, I saw the man across the street send another message.

I wasn’t a person to them anymore. And Kade was the only one holding the map.