Chapter Seventeen
SAGE
Six days have passed since the ambush on the highway, and if I’m honest with myself, I don’t think I’ve made it through a single one without ending up back on that road.
It always starts the same way.
Not with the gunfire.
Not even with the photograph.
It’s Ghost.
Standing twenty feet away from me with the desert wind tugging at the edges of his cut while he looked at something I couldn’t see, yet somehow knew had changed everything.
I’ve replayed that moment so many times now that I could probably tell you exactly how long he stood there before he moved. The way his thumb rested against the edge of the photograph. The deliberate way he folded it before slipping it back inside his cut.
It took me days to understand what I’d actually seen.
That Ghost never decided to shoot those men.
Whatever was on that photograph made the decision for him.
The gunshots echo in my ears later, usually when I’m trying to fall asleep.
Sometimes they’re loud enough to drag me awake just as I’m drifting off, my heart racing before my brain catches up and remembers I’m home, the apartment is locked, Piper is safe, and Ghost checked every window himself before he left three nights ago because apparently that’s something he does now.
He never mentioned it.
I never thanked him.
The windows were checked before he left prospect, Liam, here on patrol.
The strange part is that I don’t keep replaying the shooting because I’m horrified by it.
Lord knows I should be.
I watched the man I’ve been quietly and hopelessly falling for execute two men on the side of a Nevada highway without so much as raising his voice.
Every sensible part of me knows that should have irrevocably changed something between us.
Instead, I’ve spent the last six days trying to understand why it didn’t.
Because every time I close my eyes, I don’t remember the bullets. I remember how he looked at me afterward, how we held each other. How desperately we needed each other.
Not asking me to forgive what he’d done.
Not asking me to understand it.
Just making sure I was still there.
Still breathing.
The photograph answered every question he never had to.
Someone had followed and watched me. Taken the time to learn my routines, to stand back with a camera while I wandered through my day completely oblivious to the fact I was already being hunted.
Ghost had seen that before I had.
And somewhere between unfolding that photograph and pulling the trigger, he’d reached a conclusion I don’t think he’ll ever apologize for.
The part I haven’t been able to shake isn’t that he killed them.
It’s the certainty that if someone stood on that same stretch of highway tomorrow with another photograph of me folded in their pocket, he would do it again.
I should hate that thought.
I should be questioning everything I thought I knew about him.
Instead, somewhere over the last six days, another realization has quietly settled beside it.
I’ve stopped wondering whether Ghost would protect me or whether he cares about me, because he told me he does.
Now I’m wondering what protecting me and caring about me will cost him.
By the time I pull into the clubhouse parking lot, I’ve gone over the whole thing so many times, I am no closer to an answer than I was the day it happened.
One thing has changed, though. Six days ago, I’d have walked through those clubhouse doors thinking about coffee, paperwork, or whether Marley had remembered to eat breakfast.
Now, before I even reach the entrance, my eyes are already moving, sweeping over the parking lot without me consciously telling them to.
I notice which bikes are missing, which trucks weren’t here yesterday, where the brothers are standing, and how easily they can see every approach to the clubhouse.
Somewhere along the way, I’ve started counting exits without realizing I’m doing it, mapping every room before I notice the people inside it, and I don’t think that’s a habit I’m going to lose anytime soon.
Ghost wasn’t the only one who changed on that highway.
The difference is, I don’t think either of us knows how to go back.
I drift to a stop halfway across the parking lot, my thoughts carrying me somewhere six days behind the rest of the world, and I don’t even realize I’ve stopped walking until Piper steps in front of me.
She waves both hands straight through my line of sight with exaggerated impatience. ‘Earth to Sage.’
I blink, finding her standing there with one eyebrow arched so high it’s practically disappeared into her hairline.
‘You’ve been somewhere else all week,’ she signs, now having my full attention.
A guilty smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. ‘I’m here now.’
She gives me a look that says she isn’t buying it for a second. ‘Liar.’
I sigh, because arguing with Piper has never once ended in my favor. ‘You’re rude,’ I sign, but my hand movements are aggressive.
She grins, pleased with herself. ‘I’m your sister. I’m allowed to be rude.’
I can’t even argue with that. Instead, she reaches over and bumps my shoulder with hers, her expression softening just enough to remind me she’s teasing because she’s worried, not because she’s trying to be cruel.
‘I know you’ve had a rough week.’ Her smile slips a little. ‘But today isn’t about you!’ She reminds me not so kindly, but I needed that kick in the butt.
My eyes wander toward the clubhouse. Fairy lights glow through the front windows even in the daylight, and I can picture Marley inside already fussing over flowers, ribbons, or whether the tables are sitting exactly where she wanted them.
She’s spent weeks pouring herself into today, determined to make every tiny detail perfect, and suddenly all I can think about is the way her face lit up when she found the dress.
Piper follows my gaze before signing again. ‘She needs her best friend today.’
Not tomorrow.
Not after I’ve untangled the chaos in my head.
Today.
Piper is right.
Of course, she’s right.
Ghost, the photograph, the highway—none of it is going anywhere.
Marley’s wedding only happens once.
I look back at Piper and force a proper smile this time. Not the polite one I’ve been wearing all week. A real one.
She studies me for a second before pointing straight at my face. ‘There you are! Was worried I was going to have to get a padded cell and a white jacket.’
Heat creeps into my cheeks despite myself. ‘You’re a bitch.’
She laughs silently, looping her arm through mine as we head toward the clubhouse together. “Runs in the family,” she says out loud this time in her muted tone.
I lean my head against hers for half a second as we walk. “Yeah,” I mumble, smiling to myself. “It really does.”
The clubhouse has been transformed into something I would never have believed possible if I hadn’t watched Marley build it with her own two hands over the past three weeks.
Fairy lights are strung from every beam, warm and golden, catching in strands of hair, the rims of champagne glasses, and the sparkle of Queenie’s purple dress.
Fresh flowers spill from old whiskey bottles lining the tables, and lengths of soft white fabric have somehow found their way between the rafters, turning a room built for bikers and whiskey into something warm enough to hold a wedding.
Queenie is already dabbing enthusiastically at her eyes with a folded tissue she’d somehow managed to produce from her sleeve before a single vow has been spoken, which tells me everything I need to know about how today is going to unfold.
The brothers have made an effort, too, in their own way, even though some of them are still sporting their injuries from the incident on the highway.
Deek has done something with his hair that I suspect took considerably longer than he’ll ever admit, and Koa is wearing a button-down shirt that still has the fold lines pressed into it from the packaging.
For the first time in six days, the knot sitting behind my ribs loosens, just a little.
Piper gives my arm a gentle squeeze before disappearing toward the bar where Jessa and Gia are already arranging bottles and trays of champagne flutes, laughing together as they try to keep ahead of the steady stream of brothers wandering over in search of an early drink.
I watch her go for a second, grateful to see her smiling again after everything the last week has dragged us through.
Then I hear Marley’s laugh drift down the hallway that runs behind the Chapel, bright enough to lift the corner of my mouth before Ro’s voice immediately follows it.
“If somebody touches those flowers one more time, I swear I’ll start biting people. ”
A quiet laugh escapes me.
Some things really don’t change.
Leaving the growing crowd behind, I weave my way through the clubhouse, sidestepping brothers carrying folding chairs, women making last-minute adjustments to centerpieces, and Bear balancing what looks like far too many boxes of decorations at once.
The closer I get to the back of the building, the louder the voices become until I reach one of the spare rooms that’s been completely taken over for the morning.
The door stands open. Ro is behind Marley with a fistful of hairpins caught between her lips while she concentrates on one stubborn curl that apparently refuses to stay exactly where she wants it.
Victoria is crouched beside the dress, smoothing invisible wrinkles from the train, while Penny is on her knees collecting stray bobby pins into the palm of her hand before anyone accidentally stands on them.
Marley’s brother, Beck, is sprawled sideways across the arm of the loveseat by the window, camera already raised, snapping away as if he’s covering New York Fashion Week instead of one increasingly stressed bridal party.
“Don’t mind me,” he says without lowering the lens. “Just documenting history. Ro’s phone camera would’ve made this whole morning look like a Jackson Pollock fiasco.”
Ro doesn’t even look up. “Nobody asked you, Beckett.”