The muscles in my jaw tighten. My fingers flex at my side.

He’s not just searching anymore.

He’s hunting.

And if Winston’s willing to throw cash at this, it means he’s not just trying to bring his wife home—he’s making an example out of her.

She didn’t just run.

She humiliated him.

And men like Winston don’t handle humiliation well.

A slow, lethal burn coils in my chest. I know exactly how this plays out. A man like him doesn’t stop until he gets what he wants—or until someone stops him first.

“What should be my next move?” I ask because leaving isn’t an option. Not yet.

“Wait,” Sanford says. “Boss thinks we might be able to take out a few rats while we deal with him. Make it look like a deal gone bad when we eliminate him.”

I exhale through my nose, forcing myself to keep my head clear. “Fine. But let me know the second they get closer.”

Sanford is quiet for a beat, then sighs. “Just so you know, my brother-in-law is stepping in. He’s got a few assets nearby, and they’ll keep an eye out in case you need backup.”

I nod, even though he can’t see me. “Good. Thank you for . . . this. I might be calling for a few more favors.”

“That’s what family is for, kid. You got us, okay. Don’t let that fucking pride get in the way,” he says before ending the call.

I slip my phone back into my pocket, my gaze still locked on the street.

Waiting isn’t my style. But if Winston thinks he can just take her back like she’s something he lost, if he thinks I’ll stand by and let it happen . . . he’s about to learn the fucking hard way that I don’t wait forever.

Chapter Nineteen

Atlas

Work was exhausting.

Five clients and a couple of walk-ins for my first day was probably a lot. I didn’t finish until almost eleven, but even while I was tattooing, sketching, dealing with the usual, my mind wasn’t in it. Not really.

Because every time I stepped away for a break, I found myself checking on Blythe.

Making sure she was eating the small meals I left for her. Listening for any sign that she was still upstairs. That she hadn’t disappeared while I wasn’t looking.

I tell myself it’s just a precaution— that I’m not worried—just being practical. Though I know that’s bullshit.

When I finally head upstairs, the apartment is quiet. Too quiet.

I scan the space as I walk through, my pulse kicking up with every empty room I pass. The kitchen. The bathroom. The guest room. Nothing. It’s not until I reach the last door—my door—that I pause.