Chapter 54 Evie
EVIE
Idon’t care what Silas says. If he’s taken or shot, I’m riding straight for the bastards and doing as much damage as I can. My fingers flex over the throttle, sweat soaking my brow inside the helmet as I watch two men get out of the second cop car, joining the ones already aiming guns at Silas.
But they don’t shoot, even after Silas issues his threat. Instead, they appear to be communicating through earpieces. It’s a quick exchange, and then the one nearest Silas lowers his gun.
“If you’re Arthur’s men,” the cop warns, “I’ll bury you in the sand and leave only your heads exposed for the vultures and ants to feast on.”
“Who the fuck is Arthur?” Erik asks through our mics.
“I don’t know.” Noctis’s response is clipped, the tension in his voice mirrored in the white-knuckled grip on his handlebars.
Silas shakes his head. “I don’t give a fuck who your little pissing contest is between. I want my sister returned. I want Morana.”
The man in front holds Silas’s gaze for a long moment, seeming to stare right through him, before signaling to the others.
They move instantly, opening the back door of the SUV.
A short woman with dark curly hair hops out, shooting a glare at the nearest cop as she brushes off her stained nightgown.
The fabric is torn, the once-silky material marred, but the confidence she carries herself with is that of a queen, not someone stepping out of captivity.
She’s been gone for years, stolen and sold to the worst kinds of people, but toned muscle covers her body, hardening her small curves, and there’s a healthy glow to her tanned skin. More than anything, her deep green eyes are warm. Not broken or hollow—but alive.
“Silas?” I ask, not sure if this is really her.
“Morana.” His voice is a disbelieving whisper, the closest I’ve come to hearing him cry. He tugs off his helmet, letting it topple to the ground as she takes a few tentative steps forward and then launches into his arms.
The rest of the Seven tense, ready to draw their weapons at the first sign of Morana’s abductors trying to stop her. But the cops don’t move.
“They’re discussing something,” Noctis says. “The SUV is turning around.”
I tear my gaze from a grinning Silas and Morana, catching sight of the SUV speeding down I-15, heading toward Vegas.
“They’re leaving,” I breathe. “If Morana is really in danger, why would they leave?”
“They wouldn’t,” Erik says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “It looks like she’s ordering them around.”
I swing my gaze back to them, finding Silas’s spine stiff, hands flexing at his sides as Morana says something to the cop. She points to the other car, and after another minute of arguing, the cop lowers his gun, releasing the others from their positions.
“What the fuck?” Mavros rasps. “She’s in charge?”
Silas nods at something the cop tells him, looking like he’s not sure if he wants to murder or thank the man before him. Then he reaches for his helmet. His voice comes through the speakers a moment later.
“Morana was taken from her… family. These men were sent to bring her back to Vegas. She’s under their protection.”
“She’s free to leave?” Erik asks, skepticism dripping from every word.
“That’s what they said,” Silas replies, his tone just as sharp. “She won’t say much, but it sounds like she caught the attention of someone high up. Possibly in the business.”
“Someone who’s been taking good care of her by the look of it,” Erik bites out.
I see the way his words ripple through Silas, his shoulders bunching.
“The most important thing is she’s safe and they’re letting us go,” I say, hoping to ease some of the tension. “Right?”
Silas gives a curt nod, his head following Morana as she stalks toward the second cop car and opens the door.
The second woman who was taken climbs out.
There are bruises covering her pale skin, the discoloration made harsher in the early morning light.
Her golden blonde hair is dull and tangled, matted with grime.
She stands on wobbly legs, helped to Silas’s side by Morana.
He offers her his hand, but the girl flinches away, hiding behind Morana. The same thing happens when Erik tries to approach.
“She’s afraid,” Mavros snaps, slipping from his own bike to clasp Erik on the shoulder and draw him back.
“I get that, asshole,” Erik grumbles, shaking him off. “We need to be calm. Show her we’re not a threat.”
“Do you feel comfortable riding with Erik?” Silas asks. His visor is flipped up, gaze pinned on Morana.
“Only if Serena trusts one of you enough to ride,” Morana replies, the mic picking up her words. She doesn’t let go of Serena’s hand. “If not, the guys have offered to drive us back with you.”
Even as she says the words, Serena tentatively shakes her head, glancing at the cops before peeking around Morana’s shoulder to look at Mavros.
Her blue eyes roam his large frame, noting the thickness of his thighs and bulk of his arms and chest. I expect her to cower, as most people do.
Mavros is a beast, but Serena stands a little straighter.
She lets go of Morana’s hand. Serena is a few inches shorter than Silas’s sister and looks as if a strong breeze could blow her over, but she digs in her feet, lifting her chin as she studies the helmet with the growling red bear embossed on the side.
“Take your helmet off,” she demands, voice trembling.
Without a word, Mavros does as she asks, slipping his helmet off and handing it to her, offering to keep her safe in more ways than one.
There’s a silent exchange, one that feels too big for this moment, too heavy for all that’s transpired. But Serena must find what she’s looking for in Mavros’s dark gaze because she takes the helmet.
“Don’t drive like an idiot,” she says, startling a laugh from him as she stalks past. She swings a leg over Mavros’s bike, waiting for him to join her. “I don’t want to worry about escaping those assholes just to die from an incompetent driver.”
I think I hear Mavros’s deep voice rumble a promise, but it’s too low to make out.
“Glad that’s settled,” Erik says, holding his helmet out for Morana. “Long time no see, sis.”
There’s the briefest twitch along Morana’s lips before she accepts Erik’s helmet and climbs on.
That small flicker of hope loosens the constricting band across my chest, cutting away some of the bindings that have been growing tighter with each passing moment since I pulled that trigger.
These women have been through hell. So have I.
But regardless of what we’ve been through, we’re strong enough to climb our way out of the abyss.
The people who were meant to love me betrayed me. My support system was nothing but shackles, clamped around my ankles, dragging me down as water flooded my lungs. But I rose, clawing my way to the surface in spite of them.
Silas turns, removing his helmet as he closes the distance between us. I barely manage to remove my own helmet as he tugs me from the bike, gathering me in his arms. He kisses me deeply, holding me tight.
“I thought—” he starts, the words getting lost.
“I know,” I murmur, leaning up to capture his lips again. Bikes roar to life around us, our circle waiting until the cop cars disappear over the horizon. “Take us home.”
The scent of leather and spice banishes my worries as the heat of Silas’s body settles behind mine. His warmth cuts through the crisp chill of the early morning air, and some intrinsic part of me knows everything will be all right.
Memories of a poisonous flower from another life surface, and I thank God or fate or whatever is out there that I didn’t go through with it.
Silas offers me comfort. Protection. Grants me infinite possibilities by simply believing in me.
Seeing my strength even when I feel weak.
Trusting in my courage when the only thing I want to do is hide.
Silas’s hand presses against my waist, holding me tight, reminding me that despite all the shit that’s happened, I still have a family.
Not the one I was born into, but a better one. A loving one.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
He takes a deep breath, pulling me closer.
Morana sits behind Erik, Serena’s small frame eclipsed by Mavros’s giant form.
The rest of the Seven fan out in front of us, light laughter and soft chatter ringing through the mics.
The sun rises in the clear blue sky, and nothing but open road stretches before us.
“I will be, little fox. For the first time in a long time, I think I will be.”