Chapter 73
Xena’s POV
“What did you see, X?” Logan asked.
I examined the car carefully, my heart racing while my brain remained eerily calm, analyzing everything before me. “The bullet that hit Ryder came through the car body, and it was from a different gun. The hole is bigger.” My voice was steady, but inside I was churning, a terrible theory gradually taking shape. “Almost like they wanted to kill Ryder first, then it would be easier to get me. Ryder and I could have easily handled three Rogues. This seems like their Plan B, and not a very thorough one. They could have
attacked me in the shop for better results.”
I walked toward the windshield, flashes of memory from my body hitting the glass replaying in my mind.
“Looking at this angle, the gun that hit Ryder was fired from the rooftop. I bet they knew
he would protect me, so he became an easy target. This attack was to get him into
position.” The thought made me sick, my stomach twisting into knots. Why would
someone want me? There was nothing special about me. I couldn’t shoot fire from my
hands or lasers from my eyes. I couldn’t fly or freeze water. I was just an ordinary person
with above–average intelligence. Why? What was my value?
“Then I guess we’re lucky they only fired once,” Benedict said, crossing his arms.
Logan’s phone rang. He walked away to answer it.
“He could have killed us when we were walking out,” Ryder said quietly.
My brain worked quickly, analyzing possibilities. “Those windows are tinted, so you can’t see inside. I’m guessing he wasn’t ready, and that was his only option.” My eyes returned
to the car hood. There were smudges of blood on it.
“Xena.” Logan’s tone plus his use of my full name worried me.
“What is it?” I glanced at Ryder. His expression was unreadable.
“It’s… it’s the shop. Someone broke in and trashed it. Police are there now.”
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My jaw dropped. I sighed, what was coming had finally arrived. Even though the shop was my heart and soul, my everything, after losing Samuel, I seemed to have become numb.
“X?” Logan asked worriedly.
I took a deep breath. “Take me there,” I demanded, my voice low.
Logan looked at Ryder with concern. “Maybe it’s best if-”
“If you don’t finish that sentence, either you drive me there or I’ll drive myself,” I said
angrily.
Logan sighed. “Let’s go.”
I followed Logan, with Ryder coming along, walking beside me.
On the way to the shop, I remained silent. Ryder tried to hold my hand, but I pushed him
away. It wasn’t that I didn’t want his comfort, but if anyone touched me, I would lose my composure. My emotions were like a ticking time bomb–the slightest contact could
trigger an explosion.
When we arrived, police had already surrounded it. It was marked with yellow caution
tape.
“This is a bad idea,” Ryder whispered to Logan.
“I know. She’s barely keeping it together, and yes, there’s a threat to her life.”
I heard them talking, but my thoughts had already drifted. The shop was my pride, proof
of
my achievements, something I had created. Every customized bike had a piece of my
soul in it. And now…
All the glass in the shop was shattered, broken pieces covering the sidewalk, the door in tatters, and inside looked like a complete mess. I thought I would take it in stride, but
seeing it in person, I couldn’t control the anger inside me.
Walking forward, a police officer tried to stop me.
“You can’t pass this point!”
“That’s my business! That’s my shop!” I could feel my anger growing, like an
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uncontrollable flame inside me.
“Please come in. Be careful.”
“They’re with. me,” I said, letting Ryder and Logan enter with me.
I walked to the shop entrance, looking at the building across the street, calculating the angle of the shot, my brain automatically going into analysis mode.
“Logan, the shooter was on that building,” I pointed to the medium–sized structure, my
voice still lifeless.
“Are you sure?”
“Are you doubting me?” I asked, a sharp edge to my voice.
“No.”
“What’s going on?” Ryder asked as he approached us.
“The shooter was from that building over there,” Logan said quietly.
“She figured that out?”
“Yes,” Logan answered.
Again, I ignored them, walking into the shop. Everything was destroyed. The wall had messy black spray paint, my chairs, my tool cart were broken, countless parts scattered on the floor. I walked to the customization area, the floor had holes, all the lights were shattered on the ground, the motorcycle stands were reduced to scrap metal, and the Brembo brake pads I had ordered four months ago were in pieces. I walked to the counter and saw fragments of my portfolios.
The tears I had been holding back finally spilled over, and I bent down to pick up the scraps of paper, tears falling one by one onto the fragments as I struggled to contain the sound of my sobs echoing through the shop. I didn’t even notice Ryder bending down to help me collect the pieces until I touched his fingers.
This was my blood and sweat, my dreams and future. Every item held a story, every corner contained a memory. Seeing it all destroyed felt like a part of me had died too.
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“Xena Harris?” A deep male voice appeared. I wiped away my tears and looked up. It was a strong middle–aged man in a police uniform.
“Yes,” my voice sounded strange, as if it wasn’t my own.
“I have a few questions. When was the last time you were here?”
“Yesterday afternoon.”
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