The Prison-Made Queen novel Chapter 602

Autumn was in full swing, and the evening air carried a biting chill. Leilani had left the apartment in a rush, grabbing a jacket that was far too thin for the plummeting temperature. Ethan had noticed her shivering.

Since they had talked through everything she needed to get off her chest, and it was getting late, he decided it was time to get her back indoors.

"Okay," Leilani agreed, nodding gratefully.

On the ride back, Leilani kept her eyes closed, letting the roar of the motorcycle engine and the icy wind strip away the lingering remnants of her anxiety. It felt freeing.

Moments later, the heavy motorcycle rolled to a stop outside her apartment building.

Ethan cut the engine, pulled off his helmet, and turned to look at her. "I'll wait here until you're safely inside," he told her. "Make sure you get some sleep. And hey—don't keep everything bottled up. If you're feeling down, my phone is always on."

Leilani smiled warmly. "I will. Thank you again, Ethan. Have a safe ride back. Dinner is definitely on me next time."

Ethan grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and gave her a nod.

Leilani unbuckled her helmet, handed it back to him, and turned toward the entrance of her building.

But she hadn't taken more than a few steps before she froze. Standing directly beneath the amber glow of the streetlamp was a tall, imposing figure.

It was Callahan. He wore a tailored black trench coat, his hands buried deep in his pockets. His face was a mask of cold, hard stone, and his deep eyes were locked entirely on her.

Leilani's heart slammed against her ribs. Her mind went blank, save for one glaring question: What the hell is Callahan doing out here?

Four hours earlier, Callahan had been pacing his apartment, completely unable to focus on his work after Leilani had stormed off. The icy, hostile attitude she had leveled at him since she got home played on a continuous, maddening loop in his head. It had driven him from his desk to the floor-to-ceiling windows, where he stood smoking, the cigarette burning down to the filter.

Callahan froze, his gaze locking onto the pair like a heat-seeking missile.

Down below, the wind tossed Leilani's hair, and she casually tucked a stray lock behind her ear. The movement was so natural, so entirely comfortable.

The man handed her a spare helmet. As she took it and adjusted the strap, Callahan saw something that made his blood run cold. She was smiling. A bright, genuine smile directed at a man he had never seen before.

Just hours ago, she had been glaring at him with nothing but contempt, yet here she was, glowing under the attention of a stranger.

Callahan's pupils dilated. The forgotten cigarette in his hand crumpled under the sudden, white-knuckled grip of his fingers.

Who the hell was that guy? And exactly what kind of relationship did he have with Leilani?