Knox
I've been shot at.
I've been beaten, starved, sold like livestock.
I've walked into trafficking dens knowing I might not walk back out.
But standing in the shop parking lot at 7 AM, watching Sam pull up on her bike, I'm more nervous than I've ever been in my life.
Because today, the crew is going to figure it out.
Maybe they already have. Maybe they've known since the lookout, since the first date, since the moment I put my arm around her at
that bar weeks ago. These guys don't miss much.
But knowing they suspect and having them confirm it are two very different things.
Sam parks next to my bike and pulls off her helmet, shaking out her hair. She sees me standing there and grins—that easy, unguarded smile that makes my chest tight.
"You're here early," she says, walking ove
