Because suddenly, Sarah’s broken arm wasn’t the whole story. It was the opening act.
If collectors had shown up while Sarah was on the floor… while Meera was alone…
I didn’t finish that thought. I didn’t let it exist all the way, because it made my hands tremble.
Meera’s “wrong number” hadn’t just summoned help. It had pulled her out of the path of something worse.
Morrison returned, face tighter than before. “You were right about Holloway,” he said. “He’s not just violent. He’s under investigation for draining his mother’s retirement account. Fifteen grand.”
I exhaled through my nose. “So he steals from his own mom. Breaks his girlfriend’s arm. Endangers a kid.”
Morrison glanced toward Meera, sleeping. “And now he’s missing.”
I tilted my head. “Missing?”
“We put out a pickup,” Morrison said. “But he’s not home, not with his usual associates.”
Reaper’s phone buzzed. He checked it, then looked at me.
“Found him,” he said simply.
Morrison’s eyes snapped up. “Who found him?”
Reaper didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.
Morrison’s expression went sharp. “Thomas, don’t you dare…”
I raised a hand. “No one touches him. I said find him, not fix him. We’re not adding bodies to this story.”
Morrison watched me like he was trying to decide if he believed me.
Then Reaper’s phone buzzed again. He read, then nodded. “He’s behind Ly’s. Begging. Collectors are there.”
Morrison swore under his breath and moved fast. “I’m calling units.”
I leaned down to Meera, whose face was finally relaxed in sleep.
“Stay,” I whispered to her, like she could hear. “Just stay a kid for a little while.”
Then I stood.
“Reaper,” I said. “You stay here. Guard the kid.”
Reaper nodded. “With my life.”
Chains and Gunner followed me out.
Not to play vigilante. Not to throw fists in alleys for fun.
But because if those collectors got spooked and decided to “send a message” to Sarah through her kid, I wasn’t letting that happen.
Not ever.
Chapter 5: The Alley Behind Ly’s
Ly’s sat like a stain on the edge of town, neon sign buzzing like an insect trapped in light. We didn’t roll up loud. We parked out of sight and walked.
The alley behind the building smelled like old beer and wet paper.
Raven Holloway was there, exactly as pathetic as you’d imagine: hunched, twitchy, sweating through a hoodie despite the cold. His eyes jumped like they were being chased.
Two men stood with him. Not our guys. Not police.
Collectors.
Clean jackets. Hard faces. The kind of calm that isn’t peace, it’s practice.
“Please,” Holloway was saying. “I can get it. I can get it tomorrow.”
One of the collectors laughed softly. “You said that yesterday.”
Holloway’s voice cracked. “I had a situation. She… she fought me.”
The collector’s eyes narrowed. “You hit her.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Doesn’t matter what you meant,” the collector said. “You bring heat to your doorstep, you bring heat to our doorstep. And now the cops are sniffing.”
Holloway’s panic flared. “I didn’t call them!”
“No,” the collector said. “Your girlfriend’s kid did. Or some biker did. Either way, you’re a liability.”
I felt Chains stiffen beside me.
Then the collector continued, almost casual. “And now your debt doubled.”
Holloway made a strangled sound. “I can’t—”
The collector leaned in. “Then you’ll pay another way.”
I didn’t like the way he said it. I didn’t like the angle of his smile.
That’s when Morrison’s cruisers turned the corner, lights slicing the alley into red and blue.
The collectors stepped back like they’d been expecting it, and I realized something chilling.
They weren’t surprised.
They were… prepared.
Morrison got out with two officers. “Raven Holloway! Hands where I can see them!”
Holloway bolted like a rabbit, and one of the officers tackled him hard into the wet pavement.
The collectors lifted their hands, all innocence. “We’re just having a conversation, officer.”
Morrison’s eyes flicked to them. “Names.”
One of them smiled. “Friends.”
Morrison’s jaw tightened. He hated that answer because it was technically legal.
I stepped forward just enough to be seen, not enough to be the story.
The collector’s gaze snapped to me, then to my patches, and something shifted in his face.
Recognition.
Not fear.
Calculation.
“Hell’s Angels,” he said softly. “Didn’t know you were in the charity business.”
I held his eyes. “Didn’t know you were in the child endangerment business.”
His smile thinned. “Kids aren’t our concern.”
“Then you’re in the wrong town,” I said.
Morrison cuffed Holloway while the collectors slid away like oil, disappearing into the shadows of legality.
But as one of them passed me, he leaned close enough that only I could hear.
“This doesn’t end with him,” he murmured. “People who owe don’t stop owing.”
Then he was gone.
I stood there in the alley, feeling the weight of that threat settle on my shoulders like another cut.
Because now this wasn’t just about Raven Holloway.
It was about the invisible chains around Sarah Lane’s life. Chains she never agreed to wear.
And there’s a special kind of rage that comes from seeing a system built to keep decent people trapped.
Chapter 6: The Mother Who Woke Up to a Stranger
Back at the hospital, Sarah Lane woke up with her arm in a splint and pain in her eyes.
Meera was at her bedside like she’d been glued there by prayer.
“Mama,” Meera whispered. “You’re awake.”
Sarah tried to move and winced. Her gaze shifted to me standing near the door, a big man in boots and a tired face.
“Who…?” she croaked.
Meera answered before I could. “He’s Dagger. I texted Aunt Lisa but I got it wrong and it went to him and he came and—”
Sarah’s eyes widened as the story hit her like a wave.
I stepped forward slowly. “Ma’am. I’m sorry we’re meeting like this.”
Her lips trembled. “Why would you…?”
I didn’t have a good answer that fit in a sentence.
So I said the simplest true thing. “Because your kid asked for help.”
Sarah swallowed. Tears gathered, not dramatic, just inevitable. “I tried… I tried to keep her safe.”
“You did,” I said firmly. “But you’re also human. And Raven’s… Raven’s a problem.”
Her face tightened at his name. Shame and anger and grief braided together. “He wasn’t always like that.”
“They never are at the beginning,” I said softly.
A doctor came in, explained the fracture, the plates, the recovery. Sarah listened like someone hearing her own life summarized in medical terms.
Then the doctor asked, “Do you have a safe place to go when discharged?”
Sarah’s eyes went blank.
That question is a trap for people living on the edge. It sounds simple. It isn’t.
Sarah’s voice broke. “I… I don’t know.”
Meera looked at her, panic rising again. “We can go home, right?”
Sarah didn’t answer. Because home was a crime scene. Because home was where fear lived in the walls.
I felt the room tilt.
I pulled a chair closer and sat, grounding the moment.
“You’re not going back there,” I said calmly. “Not right away.”
Sarah’s eyes flicked to me. “I don’t have money for—”
“We’ll handle the first part,” I said. “Then you’ll handle the rest. One step at a time.”
Morrison appeared in the doorway like he’d been listening.
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