Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
We pass a man slumped against the wall, groaning.
We pass another on the floor, hands zip-tied behind his back. I can’t tell who belongs to which club.
A man with the patch saying Wrath’s voice booms from somewhere near the living room. “Clear!”
Someone answers. “Clear!”
It’s like a wave.
Control returning.
The front door is open, cold air pouring in, and outside the clearing is lit by headlights and the glow of a dozen bikes.
Men in cuts—Hellions and Saint’s Outlaws—spread out like a net, weapons low but ready, faces grim and focused.
The sight of them makes my stomach twist and my chest loosen at the same time.
I’m not alone.
Not anymore.
Miles moves me down the front steps, one hand steadying my back, the other keeping me close like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he lets go.
The cold air hits my face like a slap and I gasp.
The sky is pale now, night stretching across the tree line.
I blink hard, trying to convince myself this is real.
Wrath steps forward, eyes scanning me quickly.
“You Danae?” he asks. I nod, voice stuck.
Wrath gives a sharp nod to his men. “Get to the vehicles. Now. Meet at the clubhouse. Everyone take a different way.”
Country Boy appears from the side, his face tight with relief. “Thank God,” he mutters.
Smoke stays close, body language on edge still ready to explode.
Miles doesn’t look at anyone. He stays focused on me. “Get on,” he says, guiding me toward his bike.
I stare at it like it’s a miracle. “Miles,” My voice shakes. “My grandfather.”
His jaw tightens. “He’s safe.” I grab his arm. “How do you know?”
“Josie’s been in touch and is on the way,” he explains “Neighbor and a caregiver are with him. Deputy’s there. He’s breathing, Danae. He’s okay, but worried.”
My throat closes.
A sob escapes me before I can stop it. Miles’ face softens again, and he pulls me against him for one brutal second, crushing me to his chest like he needs the contact to stay alive.
Then he helps me onto the bike like I’m made of glass.
He settles in front of me, and I wrap my arms around his waist, pressing my cheek to his back.
His body is warm through the leather.
Solid.
Real.
When the bike starts, the vibration travels straight through me, grounding me in something familiar and physical. Smoke mounts his bike next to us.
Wrath barks orders to his men, voices cutting through the air—cleanup, sweep, restraints, evidence. Someone mentions cops. Someone mentions a second location.
Miles doesn’t care.
Not right now. He rides.
And the moment the trees start to blur and the house disappears behind us, I finally breathe like I’m allowed. I cling to him and let the wind steal the tears off my face.
Getting home, the house looks the same on the outside. That’s what breaks me. Because the world can turn into a nightmare in a single day and still the porch steps will creak the same way they always do.
Josie is on the porch when we pull up, arms crossed tight over her chest, eyes red. The moment she sees me, she runs. She wraps me in a hug so fierce it knocks the air out of me.
“Oh my God,” she sobs. “Oh my God, Danae—”
“I’m okay,” I whisper, my own tears spilling. “I’m okay.”
Raff is behind her, face grim and relieved, one hand on her shoulder. Country Boy pulls in behind us. More bikes roll up and stop at the curb, engines cutting off one by one until the street is quiet except for my breathing.
We make our way inside.
A neighbor stands beside Papa’s bed, one hand hovering near his elbow. Grandpa looks smaller than he did yesterday.
His eyes are wide, watery, fixed on me like he’s afraid I’m a ghost.
“Danae?” he croaks.
My knees go weak. I rush up to the bed and drop over the railing, grabbing his hands, pressing my face into them like I can absorb the fact he’s real and warm and alive.
“I’m here,” I choke out. “I’m here.”
He cups my cheek with trembling fingers.
“I thought,” His voice breaks. “I thought the Lord took you.”
“I’m here,” I repeat, over and over, because it’s the only thing that matters.
He pulls me into a hug that smells like his aftershave and old blankets and home. For a long moment, the whole world narrows to his arms around me.
Then I feel Miles behind me—close, quiet, steady. Grandpa pulls back and looks up at him.
“Miles,” he says, like he already knows the name belongs there.
Miles steps forward slowly, respectful. “Yes, sir.”
Grandpa’s gaze travels over him—cuts, scars, tattoos, road-worn edges—and something like understanding settles in his expression.
“You brought my girl home,” Grandpa says.
Miles nods once, jaw tight. “Yes, sir.”
Grandpa squeezes my hand. “Thank you.”
Miles swallows hard, eyes shining with something he won’t let fall. “Always,” he says, voice rough.
Josie wipes her face with her sleeve, sniffing.
“Okay,” she statess shakily. “Okay, everybody breathe. Danae’s home.”