Chapter 19
NINETEEN
LUCKY
Church drags on forever. Maps pinned to the wall, Riot's screen splitting Volkov's life into neat little kill windows, Ghost murmuring ranges and windage like he's ordering coffee.
Mason finally slams the gavel, green-lights the play.
My blood's still singing when I step out into the clubhouse hall, shoulders tight, mind already running the bait steps in my head.
I pull my phone to check the time. It’s almost eight. Screen wakes up. Notifications buried under club threads I muted hours ago. One text stands out like a knife.
From Savannah. Sent at 1:17 this afternoon.
Firecracker: I need you.
That's it. No follow-up. No emojis. No explanation. Just those three words staring back at me. My heart fucking stops. I hit call. Rings once, twice, then straight to voicemail. Her soft voice laughing in the greeting twists the knife deeper.
"Savannah. Baby, I'm here. Call me back." Hang up. Dial again and get her voicemail, again.
Me: Baby what's wrong
Me: Answer me
Me: I’m on my way
Nothing. No dots. No read. Dead air.
Blade clocks me from across the room, beer halfway to his mouth. "You look like someone just shot your dog."
I ignore him. Grab Riot by the sleeve before he can slip away. "Track her phone. Now."
Riot raises an eyebrow but moves. Laptop flips open. Fingers dance. I give him her number and a map loads up with a pin at her address. "Her house. Been there since about 1:30. Phone's stationary."
Relief and dread hit at the same time. She's home. But not answering. Not moving. I don't say thanks. Just bolt for the door.
I throw a leg over my bike, fire it up, and peel out.
Wind rips past but I barely feel it. The whole ride is a blur of red lights.
It’s a little after eight when I kill the engine in her driveway.
The house is pitch black. No porch light.
No living room glow. Just shadows and the faint hum of crickets.
I drop the kickstand and jog to the door praying nothing happened to her.
The fingerprint scanner beeps green and the door unlocks.
"Savannah?" My voice bounces off the walls. "Baby?"
There’s nothing, just darkness and silence. I flip lights on as I move through the house. The kitchen is empty, so is the living room. I head straight for her bedroom at the end of the hall. The door is closed. I try the knob but it’s locked. "Savannah." I knock. "Open the door."
Nothing. I pound harder. Wood rattles under my fist. "Savannah! Open the fucking door!"
A sound. Small. Shuffle. Then the lock clicks and the door cracks open an inch.
Then the door swings open slowly. Savannah is standing there, one hand still on the knob like it's the only thing keeping her upright.
The bedroom light's off behind her, but the light from the hallway lights up her face.
She's in the same clothes from this morning, the ones she wore to work, black slacks, white blouse now wrinkled to shit, top two buttons gone like someone ripped at them.
Mascara tracks down both cheeks, dried and smeared.
Hair's a wreck, strands stuck to her neck with sweat or tears or both.
Eyes red-rimmed, glassy, staring through me more than at me.
She looks small. Smaller than I've ever seen her.
Like the firecracker's been snuffed out.
"Savannah." My voice cracks on her name. I step forward but stop when she flinches, just a tiny jerk of her shoulders. Fuck.
She doesn't say anything. Just stands there breathing shallow, chest rising and falling too fast.
I lift my hands slow, palms out. "Baby. Talk to me. What happened?"
Her lips part but nothing comes out at first. Then, hoarse, barely above a whisper, "He was there. At work."
My stomach drops like a stone through ice. "Who."
"Brian, my ex." She swallows hard, throat working. "Came in and said a whole bunch of shit. I kept telling him to leave, but he wouldn’t. He just kept saying stuff."
Rage boils up so fast my vision tunnels. That piece of shit. I should've ended him when she first told me the stories of what he’d done to her. "Why didn't you call me?" I ask, trying to keep my voice level but failing.
"I did." She laughs, bitter and short. "I texted you as soon as he left. But I didn’t want you to think I was being needy so I waited for you to get back to me. But you never did."
"Jesus Christ." I drag a hand over my face. "My phone was on silent. Church ran long. We were…"
"Dealing with the Russians," she finishes for me. Flat. No heat, just fact. "Yeah. I figured." She turns away, walks back into the dark room. I follow, shutting the door behind me. She drops onto the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, face in her hands.
I crouch in front of her, close but not touching yet. "Did he touch you?"
She shakes her head once. "No. Just... talked. Said he misses me. Said I look good. Said maybe we could try again now that he’s been through therapy and anger management.
” She spits the words like they’re poison.
"I told him to fuck off. He laughed. Said I'd come crawling back when my biker boyfriend gets bored. "
I clench my fists until my knuckles crack loud enough to echo in the quiet room. “He’s wrong.”
She lifts her head and locks eyes with me. “He said other stuff about you too.”
My heart slams against my ribs and then just stops. This is the moment she finally sees the monster underneath and walks out for good. I already let her down when she needed me most. Now she knows the worst thing I’ve ever done? We’re finished.
“He said you murdered someone. That you went to jail.”
I flinch hard and shake my head once. I can’t do this. I turn and head straight for her bedroom door.
“That’s it?” she yells, voice cracking behind me. “You’re just going to walk out? You won’t even tell me he’s a lying sack of shit who made the whole thing up?”
I let out a laugh with zero humor in it. “I’m not going to lie to you, Savannah. I might be a killer, but I’m not a liar. He didn’t make it up.”
I keep walking down the hallway toward the front door. I need air. I need to get the hell out before the memories swallow me whole, me and Nolan, high as kites on pills and weed, tearing down Main Street like we were invincible.
“You don’t get to just walk away from me!” Her voice breaks as she follows. “Tell me what happened!”
I spin around so fast my boots squeak against the hardwood. Anger surges up my throat like acid. “No. You don’t need that poison rotting in your head. And we’re done anyway, so what’s the fucking point?”
“We’re done?” She closes the distance between us, eyes blazing. “What the hell, Lucky? I’m not done with you. Stop running and just tell me what happened.”
I rake a hand through my hair, chest heaving. She’s not backing down. Fine. If she wants the truth this bad, she can have every ugly piece of it.
“I was sixteen. Nolan was my best friend. We were both little shits, completely fucked up on pills and weed. It was the middle of the night. I pulled up next to this hotrod at a red light and revved my shitty engine like an idiot. We taunted the driver until he agreed to race us. Green light hit, and we took off. I don’t even know exactly what went wrong.
One second we’re laughing our asses off, the next the wheel’s gone, the car’s spinning, metal’s screaming everywhere.
I walked away beat to hell. Nolan didn’t. He was dead on impact.”
Savannah’s hand flies to her mouth. Her breath catches hard, eyes wide and glassy.
“They charged me with DUI manslaughter. The judge gave me a deal because I was a kid, two years in juvie, then straight into the military for at least eight years. I took it. I figured I’d find a way to get myself killed over there.
I wanted to die. I deserved it. But I didn’t die.
Turns out I was good at war. For the first time in my life, I was actually good at something, and what I did mattered. ”
The silence stretches between us, thick and heavy. I brace myself for her to step back, to look at me like I’m garbage. Instead she launches herself forward and slams into my chest. Her arms lock around my neck so tight I can barely draw a full breath.
I freeze for a second, stunned.
She buries her face in my shoulder. “It wasn’t on purpose,” she whispers, voice trembling. “It was an accident. You were just a stupid, fucked-up kid.”
Her words hit me like a fist I never saw coming. My arms hang stiff at my sides for another heartbeat, then something inside me finally gives. I wrap around her hard, crushing her against me. I drop my face into her hair and just hold on like she’s the only solid thing left in the world.
She keeps murmuring against my neck. “You’re not that kid anymore. You’re not.”
I don’t believe her yet. But God, I want to. I tighten my grip and let myself breathe her in, hoping maybe, just maybe, she’s right.
She tries to pull back from my arms, but I tighten my hold, fingers digging into her back like I’m scared she’ll vanish if I let go even an inch. I’ve never needed anyone like this. Not air, not food, not the next breath. Just her. Right fucking now.
“Not yet,” I rasp against her hair. “I need you.”
She stops fighting and softens against me. Her hands slide up to cup my face, thumbs brushing the stubble on my jaw. “I’m not going anywhere, come on.”
She slips her hand into mine and tugs. I follow like a man on a leash. She leads me back inside the house. I kick the front door shut behind us and twist the deadbolt with a sharp click. The sound feels final, like I’m locking the rest of the world out.
We end up in her bedroom again. She lets go of my hand long enough to cross to the bathroom and crank the faucet on the huge clawfoot tub.
Water rushes loud and steady. She grabs a bottle of bubble bath from the shelf, dumps in a generous swirl of pink liquid, and the scent of vanilla and something floral hits the steam.