The best thing about switching to night shifts? I barely had to see Mason.

It wasn't easy convincing my manager to approve the change, but after a little strategic pleading—and pointing out how understaffed nights had been lately—I made it happen. Now, instead of dodging Mason in the hallways and bracing for awkward run-ins, I got to slip into the hospital when the sun went down and leave before it rose. The night shift crew was smaller, quieter, and less dramatic. It was exactly what I needed.

And honestly? I didn't mind the hours. There was something about the ER at night that felt different. The chaos was still there, but it was muted, more controlled. No administrators hovering, fewer visitors filling the waiting room, no broad daylight making every mistake feel magnified. Just patients, monitors, and the steady rhythm of a team that knew how to handle anything.

However, Everest didn't actually mind me working night shifts. If anything, he preferred it.

According to him, it was safer for me to be in the hospital all night rather than at home, where he'd have to worry about me. I didn't exactly understand his logic—what did he think was going to happen? That I'd vanish into thin air the second he fell asleep? That something would come creeping through the windows while he wasn't paying attention? It made no sense, but I didn't argue. If working nights kept him from hovering over me every second, then fine.

Besides, it wasn't like I had the energy to fight about it. Lately, it felt like everything between us was a quiet battle—words left unsaid, tension hanging in the air, both of us pretending nothing had changed when we both knew it had. Maybe the distance that came with my new schedule was a good thing. Maybe Everest would stop looking at me like I was something fragile, something that needed to be protected.

Because the truth was, I wasn't. I was just tired.

I took a sip of my coffee, the bitter taste barely making a dent in my exhaustion, and glanced at the board. It had been a steady night so far, but that never lasted. Right on cue, a voice called out.

"Nurse Avery! We need you in Room 4—chest pain, 52-year-old male."

Here we go.

I tossed my empty cup, grabbed my clipboard, and pushed through the maze of gurneys and IV stands. Inside the room, the patient was hunched over, a hand pressed to his chest, his skin pale and clammy. His wife stood beside him, eyes darting between me and the monitor, silently begging for reassurance.

I slid into place beside him, my voice steady. "Mr. Calloway, I'm Avery. Can you tell me what's going on?"

"Feels... tight," he gasped. "Hard to breathe."

"Okay, we're going to take care of you."

I flicked my gaze to the monitor—heart rate elevated, blood pressure climbing. Not good.

"Let's get an EKG," I said to the tech. "Start nitro and a full set of labs."

The next few minutes were a blur of movement—placing an IV, checking vitals, keeping my voice calm and even as I explained each step to the patient's wife. When the EKG spat out its results, the doctor's frown confirmed what I already suspected.

"NSTEMI," he said. "Let's prep him for the cath lab."

I met Mr. Calloway's gaze. "You're in good hands. We're going to take care of you."

His grip tightened around my hand for a brief second before I pulled away. Another call crackled over the intercom—trauma team to bay three.

I exhaled, rolling my shoulders back. My body was already aching, but there was no time to think about that now.

It was a great night to be back at work.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••

"Are you sure you want to pick up overtime? You've already worked three nights in a row, girl." I leaned over the nurses' station, watching Bonnie as she clocked in.

The past three nights had been exhausting. Everest never failed to be on time, picking me up and getting me up at 8 p.m. before disappearing to do God knows what.

Although our conversation on Monday hadn't ended on bad terms, things had been unusually quiet between us. He always made sure there was food in the fridge for me when I got home in the morning, but since I spent my days sleeping, we had been operating like clockwork—just passing ships in the night.

"Yeah, I just feel like I'm on a roll, and honestly, it's more convenient for Everest," I said with a sigh, as if I had actually discussed this with him—when in reality, I hadn't.

"Ooookay," Bonnie drawled, her fingers clacking against the keyboard as she added me to the schedule for the next two days.

"Alright, I'm gonna grab my stuff before he throws a fit," I joked, slapping my hand against the desk. We both laughed before I turned to leave.

The moment I walked away, my demeanor shifted. My shoulders slumped, and I could physically feel the weight under my eyes. Reaching up, I pulled my stethoscope from around my neck, scratching my head before pushing open the locker room door.

The room was empty, and I barely registered the echo of my locker slamming open as I tossed my things into my bag. Moving to the sink, I splashed cold water on my face, hoping to shake off the exhaustion.

But when I lifted my head, I froze.

In the mirror, a man stood behind me.

My eyes went wide, and I spun around, pressing my lower back against the edge of the sink. My fingers gripped the porcelain as a wave of panic crashed over me.

"What do you want?" I forced out, my voice unsteady.

I just stared as he continued to walk toward me. My body moved on instinct, inching away, then stepping back faster—until suddenly, I was running, weaving around the lockers in a desperate attempt to reach the door.

My chest tightened, my breathing turning ragged.

"You ain't going anywhere."

I glanced over my shoulder—but he wasn't there.

Then I slammed into something solid.

A startled yelp escaped my lips as I bounced backward, landing hard on the floor. My eyes went wide as I scrambled to retreat, pushing myself away as he stalked toward me.

Roach.

The Devil's Blood gang member I had spent hours in surgery saving just last week.

He stood there in boots and jeans, but his hospital gown still hung loosely off his shoulders—he was leaving before he was supposed to.

"They said you saved my life," he said, his voice laced with something unsettling. It wasn't gratitude. If anything, he sounded furious.

A chill ran down my spine.

"I knew I recognized you from somewhere. We've been after you, little girl."

A dark chuckle rolled from his lips, and my back hit the cold wall.

A sob choked out of me as my fingers clawed at anything within reach, but before I could react, his hands clamped around my ankles. With terrifying ease, he yanked me toward him, dropping to one knee as he loomed over me.

"Please—stop!" I thrashed, kicking wildly, but it was useless. He was nearly three times my size, and I was powerless beneath his grip.

"It was finally my time, and you took that from me," he spat, his breath hot against my face as he grabbed a fistful of my hair, jerking me closer.

Panic surged through me. My mind raced for anything—any way out. Then I remembered.

A wound.

My fingers shot forward, pressing deep into the wound on his stomach.

Roach grunted in pain, his grip on my hair loosening just enough for me to break free. I didn't waste a second. Scrambling to my feet, I bolted for the door.

Just as my fingers brushed the handle, the door suddenly slammed open.

I froze, eyes wide, my heart hammering as terror gripped me. More of them. More of the Devil's Blood coming to finish the job—

"What the..."

Everest.

His voice was sharp, laced with annoyance and frustration—until his gaze landed on me. His expression shifted instantly, darkening as he took in my panicked state.

Then his eyes flicked past me.

Roach was leaning against the bench, struggling to push himself up, blood soaking through his hospital gown as he clutched his stomach.

Everest's voice dropped into something dangerously low.

"Go to the truck, Avery. Speak to no one."

I didn't hesitate.

I darted past him, not caring what was about to unfold in that locker room.

The one place I had thought I was safe had just proven me completely wrong.

I forced myself to stay composed as I moved through the hallways, offering weak smiles to anyone I passed. But I didn't slow down. I didn't even consider taking the elevator. I needed out.

The moment I stepped through the hospital entrance, I spotted Everest's truck—still running, exactly where he always parked.

I climbed in without hesitation, locking the doors behind me. Then I curled into a ball in the passenger seat, my body trembling as I struggled to catch my breath.

I just needed a moment.

Just needed to breathe.

————————————-

EVERESTS POV:

"You fuckers just never die, do you?"

I tightened my grip around the back of his thick neck, forcing him to stay upright as he struggled to gain his balance. He knew exactly who I was the second I walked into that locker room, but by then, Avery was long gone.

I watched him, studying the way he swayed on his feet. I knew exactly who he was—because I was the one who shot him.

Roach was old blood, part of the generation that should've died with what little dignity and brotherhood they had left. The Devil's Blood MC had once been like us. But they got greedy—got involved with the cartels, with trafficking—and lost their way. Now, they were nothing but scum.

"Kill me! Finish the job! I wanna die!" he pleaded, his voice raw.

I scoffed, dumping him out of the wheelchair I had used to get him out of the hospital unnoticed. It wasn't hard to slip through the back door, not when you know the right people. Austin and a few of the brothers were already waiting, just like I had called for.

"Take him back to the clubhouse. I'll meet you there," I ordered.

Austin and the others each grabbed an arm, dragging Roach across the pavement before tossing him into the back of the car.

Austin hesitated for a second, then leaned in, lowering his voice so the others wouldn't hear. "Is Avery okay?"

He always worried about her. Always the more emotional one. A good biker, through and through, but softer in ways the rest of us weren't.

"She's fine," I muttered. "Just get him to the house—without putting a bullet in his skull."

Austin gave a curt nod, and I watched as they drove off. I didn't linger. I needed to get back to the truck. Back to Avery.

Roach had no idea what was coming to him. Being shot five times would've been a mercy compared to what waited at the clubhouse. But he put himself in this position. He made his choices.

By the time I reached the truck and opened the door, Avery was curled into a ball in the passenger seat, rocking herself slightly.

I sighed and climbed in, flipping up the center console before reaching for her. Gently, I pulled her over, settling her against me, her head resting on my lap. Without a word, I put the truck in drive and pulled out of the parking lot.

She passed out somewhere along the way. It was nearly 9 a.m., and she had just finished a grueling twelve-hour shift. As always, I'd make sure she was in bed and asleep before I left the house.

But the rage inside me simmered.

I wanted to yell at her, to make her understand how serious this was going to get—that this was only the beginning. But she wouldn't listen. She refused to see it.

She still clung to the idea that we could be normal. That this life wasn't going to swallow us whole.

I knew she couldn't handle that truth right now. I knew the fighting had been wearing on her. We were always at each other's throats, always butting heads. But at the end of the day, she knew she was safe. She could go to bed without fear, without looking over her shoulder.

Because all this anger, all this rage—it wasn't going to be taken out on her.

It was going to be taken out on the people who put her here.

And everyone who helped them along the way.