Chapter Thirteen
Riley
The ride to Wilkins was silent, wind screaming past them at ninety miles an hour.
Riley clung to her spot at Dan’s back, arms locked around his ribs, and she tried not to think about how many ways fire could kill you.
She’d seen Ronnie light things up before like trash cans, abandoned cars, and once a rival’s pristine ride just to watch the flames dance.
He’d always smiled while his handiwork burned.
They rolled up on the trailer with half the club behind them, engines cut a quarter mile out, bikes pushed the distance in silence.
Tinder had insisted on numbers, and Dan hadn’t argued.
The brothers fanned out like shadows, silent and practiced, cutting power to the single streetlight before they moved.
The trailer was a rusted single-wide, with the aluminum siding peeling away in long curls.
It was surrounded by junk cars with missing doors, burn barrels still smelling faintly of old gasoline, and a sagging chain-link fence that had given up any semblance of symmetry years ago.
One light glowed behind curtains in the living room window, flickering like someone was watching TV too late.
Dan kicked the stand down and turned to her. His eyes were dark, serene in the way only a man who’d already decided on violence could be. He cupped her face with both scarred hands and kissed her once—hard.
“I’m coming back. You stay with Rocker,” he said against her mouth.
Then he and several brothers melted into the dark.
Riley lasted thirty seconds before she followed. Rocker cursed under his breath but kept pace, keeping close enough to grab her if she did something stupid. She didn’t care. She needed to see this end.
They approached from the blind side, boots silent on dry dirt. Through the thin walls came the low murmur of a television and the clink of a beer can. Then a door creaked—front entry, not the back. Tinder’s voice, low and flat: “Clear.”
Riley slipped around the corner in time to see Dan inside, Ronnie Valdez already on his knees in the middle of the filthy carpet.
Dan’s fist was wrapped in the man’s greasy hair, yanking his head back at a brutal angle.
The blade of Dan’s knife pressed against the side of Ronnie’s throat, just enough to draw a line of blood that looked black in the dim light.
“You took pictures of my woman,” Dan said conversationally, voice so calm it raised the hair on Riley’s arms. “In my bed.”
Ronnie spat blood onto the carpet, grinning through swollen lips. “She was always a good lay—”
The knife pressed deeper. Ronnie’s grin faltered.
Riley stepped through the doorway. The brothers didn’t stop her.
“Let him talk, babe,” she said softly.
Dan’s eyes flicked to her. He looked wild, feral, black pupils blown wide with rage. She touched his wrist, gentle but firm. Slowly, the blade eased back a fraction. Blood trickled down Ronnie’s neck in a slow rivulet.
Ronnie laughed, high and cracked, the sound of someone who’d already lost but refused to admit it. “Told the Horde where to find the yoga bitch last year. They paid good. Told ’em about your new piece too. More money. Easy.”
Dan’s entire body went rigid. The air in the trailer turned thick, electric.
“You sold Ella?” Dan whispered.
“Fuckin’ sold all of you.” Ronnie’s eyes gleamed. “Shoulda seen your faces when the shit blew—”
Dan moved so fast Riley barely tracked it. One punch, clean and vicious, dropped Ronnie like a stone. He hit the floor hard, unconscious, blood pouring from his nose.
Tinder stepped from the shadows, hand already on Dan’s shoulder. “We’ll handle it from here, Dan. I’ll make sure it’s done right. Take your woman home, brother.”
Dan’s chest heaved. He didn’t look at Tinder. He glared at Ronnie’s limp form like he was still deciding whether one punch was enough.
Riley stepped between them and put both hands on Dan’s chest. “Dan. You’re with me, okay?”
His gaze snapped to hers, breathing ragged.
“We’re done here,” she said quietly. “He doesn’t get any more of us.”
Dan exhaled, long and shuddering. Then he nodded once.
***
Dan
The ride back home was silent except for the wind and the low growl of the bike.
Dan had a grip on Riley’s calf so tight she could probably feel his heart trying to hammer its way out of his chest. Every mile felt like peeling away another layer of the red haze that had nearly swallowed him whole.
He’d almost lost it. Almost crossed the line he’d sworn he’d never cross again. Not after the blast, not after the burn unit, not after years of learning to live with the monster inside the mirror.
But Riley’s voice had been calm and steady, cutting through the roar in his head. She had pulled him back. Just like her hands on his wrist. Just like her mouth on his scars.
He didn’t speak the whole way.
When they reached the house, he killed the engine and sat there a long moment with her arms still wrapped around him.
She slid off first, came around to face him. Searched his eyes.
“You okay?” she asked.
“No.” Honest. Raw. “But I will be.”
She took his hand and led him inside. Locked the door. Checked every window without being asked.
Then she turned off the lights, pulled him to the bedroom, and held him until the shaking stopped.
***
Riley
Later, in the dark, she traced the fresh tattoo on his shoulder.
“He’s gone,” she whispered. “For good this time.”
Dan’s arm tightened around her. “Yeah. Tinder’ll make sure of it.”
She pressed her lips to the worst of the scars on his neck. “You didn’t kill him.”
“Wanted to.”
“I know.” She kissed the spot again. “But you didn’t. You let the club handle club business. That’s what matters.”
He exhaled, long and slow, like he’d been holding his breath since the convoy.
Riley curled tighter against him. “We’re safe, Dan.”
He kissed her temple, voice rough. “We’re safe.”
Outside, the forest was quiet.
Inside, for the first time since the photo appeared on a computer screen, Dan let himself believe it. They lay like that for a long while, until finally Riley asked, “When did you remember the bandana?”
He startled, reflexively reaching for where it should have been dangling around his neck. “Just now.”
“Proud of you, ole man.”
“Fuckin’ love you, Riley Monroe.”