Page 19 of Break Me

Knox closes the door behind the others and faces me fully. The room feels smaller than it did a minute ago.

“You’ve been distracted,” he says. “More than usual.”

I lift a brow, playing it cool. “It’s been a long week.”

He steps closer, voice low, heavy.

“I need you with me,” he says. “I need your head in the club. No secrets. No bullshit. If something’s going on, you tell me.”

My pulse pounds against my ribs. I feel the lie before it leaves my mouth. “Nothing’s going on.”

Knox searches my face for a long, suffocating beat, then nods slowly.

“Good,” he says. “Because I can’t afford surprises. Not now.”

“You don’t have to worry about me,” I say, jaw tight. “I’m locked in.”

I leave the office before Knox decides to keep digging. I stand there a long moment after the office door shuts behind me, the noise of the clubhouse muffled through the walls.

I need to end things with Raven.

The thought settles in my gut like a lead weight. It's the smart choice. The responsible choice. The only choice that doesn't end with Knox putting a bullet in my head.

But the second I picture her smile, I know I'm lying to myself.

I don't want to end it.

I don't want to go back to pretending she doesn't matter.

Raven Sutter is the line I shouldn't have crossed.

And the moment I did, she became the one thing I could never let go.

Raven

Samuel didn’t text me back, and he always texts back. Sometimes it’s only one word, sometimes it’s a half-asleep “home safe” that makes my chest feel stupidly warm. But he always answers.

Except he didn’t. Not last night. Not this morning.

I stare at my phone for the millionth time, thumb hovering over his thread like I can will a reply into existence.

Nothing.

An ache twists beneath my ribs. I tell myself I’m overreacting, that he just crashed early, or he’s elbow-deep in an engine and ignoring the world like he does when he’s stressed. But the fear sitting in my stomach doesn’t care about logic.

The second I hear footsteps in the hallway, I swipe out of my messages and start scrolling through social media like I haven't spent the last twenty minutes staring at my phone.

Knox appears in the kitchen a second later, pulling his cut over his hoodie, his hair damp from the shower.

He looks tired. Not unusual for him.

“You’re up early,” he says, reaching for a mug. “Thought you’d sleep in.”

“I couldn’t.” I keep my voice light. “Too much on my mind.”

He mutters under his breath and pours coffee like that's the end of it.

It isn’t.