Chapter 2 Bonds Forged in Fire

Evie sat stiff as a board in the passenger seat, knuckles pale, gripping her coat like it'd save her. The city whipped by outside, neon lights smearing gold and pink across the wet windshield.

Her heart wouldn't quit racing.

Her brain was a mess, scrambling to catch up. The attack. That insane brawl. Nathan Cross, this guy, moving like some shadow beast in the alley.

And the kicker?

Those creeps didn't want her cash. They wanted her.

Now she was stuck in this stranger's car, peeling out from a murder scene.

Nathan drove like he fought. Controlled. Sharp. No wasted moves. His hands, scarred-up knuckles and all, locked on the wheel. Jaw tight, those ice-blue eyes glued to the road, like he expected more trouble any second.

Evie had a million questions burning her throat, but it was clamped shut, her hands still shaky from the adrenaline dump.

She swallowed hard. "Where we going?"

Nathan didn't even flick his eyes her way. "Somewhere safe."

Deep voice, short and snappy. No fluff.

She hugged herself tighter. "You still ain't explained a damn thing."

"Not here," he cut in, voice flat, shutting it down.

Fine. Screw it.

She turned to the window, city lights streaking past, all gold and blue mush.

She didn't know this guy. Didn't trust him one bit. But her gut twisted with a nasty truth: whoever was after her, whoever snapped that thug's spine with nothing but air, was way worse than him.

So, yeah, for now, she was stuck with him.

Fifteen minutes later, Nathan rolled into some dead-end corner of the city. Old buildings, beat to hell. Shattered windows on some, others tagged up with graffiti loops and swirls.

He pulled up to a rinky-dink bookstore, sign so faded she couldn't read it, windows black as pitch.

"A bookstore?" Evie muttered, squinting at him.

Nathan killed the engine, shot her a smirk with no joy in it. "Safest spot around. Nobody reads these days."

She was too wiped to snap back.

He hopped out, scoped the street like a hawk, then yanked her door open. Evie sat there a second, cold air biting her face, but what else was she gonna do?

Stepping inside hit her with that old-paper smell, wood creaking underfoot. Dim as hell, books piled up in wobbly stacks, ready to topple. A long counter stretched at the back, narrow stairs twisting up behind it.

Nathan locked the door, flipped a switch. Lights buzzed on, warm and yellow, spilling over the mess.

Evie spun on him. "Alright. Talk."

He let out a breath, scrubbed a hand down his face, then leaned on the counter.

"Those guys in the alley? Not just random punks," he said. "They came for you."

Her stomach knotted up. "Why? I'm nobody."

His eyes, sharp as hell, dropped to that pendant on her neck.

"Ain't you they want," he said. "It's that."

Evie grabbed it, cool metal biting her fingers. She'd had it forever.

"My mom gave me this before she died," she shot back, bristling. "It's just a necklace. Family junk."

Nathan shook his head slow. "Nope. It's not."

He dragged a chair over, sat, never breaking that stare.

"That thing ain't some heirloom. It's a key."

Evie's breath hitched. "Key to what?"

His jaw locked up tight. "Something big. Something bad folks'll kill for."

She stared, waiting for the punchline, for him to crack up and say it's all bull.

Nothing.

Her fingers squeezed the pendant. "How's a necklace a key?"

Nathan leaned in. "Cause it opens something old. Something hid away. And you're walking around with a big fat target pinned on you 'cause of it."

A chill crawled down her back.

This was nuts. No way.

And yet.

A guy died tonight over this stupid thing swinging from her neck.

She sucked in air, shoving the panic down. "So what now?"

Nathan studied her, face blank as stone.

"Now," he said, "you stay put. Don't step outside. Don't touch a phone. Don't trust nobody."

She frowned. "Not even you?"

His mouth twitched, almost a grin but not quite. "Especially not me."

Evie didn't sleep worth a damn that night.

Nathan had pointed her to a cramped room upstairs, mattress plopped on the floor, a dinky lamp on a crate. Quiet, yeah, safe maybe, but her head wouldn't shut off.

She flipped the pendant in her hands, squinting at the scratches she'd never cared about before.

Not scratches.

Symbols.

Old. Pretty. Freaky as hell now.

She kept seeing the alley. Those guys grabbing for her. That one jerk dropping dead, spine cracked by nothing.

Who did that? How?

Then there was Nathan.

Who was he, really? Fighting like that, fast, brutal, no hesitation, no fear.

She didn't trust him. Not a chance.

But deep down, something nagged at her. Long as she had this pendant?

He was the only thing keeping whatever dark crap was coming from swallowing her whole.

And that scared her more than anything.

The pendant's a key. But to what? And how far will its enemies go to snag it?