Chapter 18 #2
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.”
Home. The word lands different now.
Not just a place.
A miracle.
Inside, Grandpa lays back down in his bed falling asleep like his eye lids can’t hold the weight of the day anymore. Josie makes tea on autopilot. Raff checks the locks twice. Men drift outside, giving space, talking low.
Miles doesn’t sit. He stands in the corner of the living room like a guard dog, eyes tracking every window, every shadow.
I wash my hands at the sink for the third time even though the blood is already gone. I can’t stop. My skin feels contaminated with their fingerprints, their threats.
When I turn, Miles is right there.
He reaches for me carefully, like he’s asking permission with his eyes.
I nod. He cups my face in both hands and leans his forehead to mine. “You’re safe,” he murmurs.
I close my eyes, trembling. “I don’t feel safe.”
His thumbs brush my cheeks, wiping away tears I didn’t realize were still falling. “I know,” he says quietly. “But you are. You are now.”
I open my eyes. His are bloodshot. There’s grime at his hairline. He looks like he rode through hell and didn’t blink.
“You shouldn’t have come,” I whisper, even though the thought makes no sense, even though he’s the reason I’m standing here.
His expression turns fierce. “Don’t,” he says, voice sharp. “Don’t ever say that.”
I swallow. “Miles, you could’ve gotten killed.”
“I’m not leaving,” he states, cutting me off like he’s afraid the words will disappear if he doesn’t say them fast enough. “Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever, if you don’t want me to.”
My throat tightens. My whole body feels bruised inside, but the words land like warmth.
“You have a life,” I whisper. “North Carolina. The club. The road.”
He shakes his head, eyes locked on mine. “My life is wherever you are,” he says, rough and honest. “I been running my whole damn life. I’m done running away. I’m running right into this all day, every day and night. I want this Danae.”
The room goes quiet around us. Josie’s hand pauses on the kettle. Raff shifts, giving us space without leaving.
I stare at Miles, trying to process that someone like him could choose stillness. Could choose us.
And my anger flares, hot and sudden. “Those men took me from you,” I begin, voice shaking. “They, they said things. They,” My breath catches. “They used you like a threat. Like a joke.”
Miles’ eyes darken. His hands tighten gently on my face, steadying me.
“I’m here,” he says. “They don’t get to touch you now.”
Tears spill again, helpless. “I’m so tired,” I confess.
He nods like he understands that kind of tired. Bone-deep. Soul-deep. “Then you sleep,” he says. “I’ll be right here.”
I shake my head. “I can’t. Every time I close my eyes I think I’m there again.”
He leans closer, lowering his voice so it’s just for me. “Then we do it different,” he says. “We sit. We breathe. We keep the lights on. You hold my hand. You lay in my arms. You don’t gotta be brave alone.”
My chest caves. Because that’s the thing. I’ve always been brave alone. I didn’t realize how heavy it was until someone offered to carry it with me.
I nod, small. Miles’ gaze flicks to Grandpa who is awake again.
“Sir,” he says, respectful. “I won’t let anything happen to her again.”
Grandpa’s eyes shine. “I believe you,” he says simply.
Miles looks back at me. “I’m not leaving,” he repeats, softer now. “Say the word and I’ll stay. Here. Arkansas. Wherever.”
My voice comes out like a whisper. “Stay.”
The word tastes like hope and fear braided together. Miles exhales like he’s been holding his breath for weeks.
“Okay,” he murmurs. “Okay, baby. I’m here.”
And for the first time since my car died on that dark road, my body loosens just a fraction—enough to feel the truth of it settle into my bones.
I’m home.
Grandpa is alive.
And Miles is standing in my living room, choosing me like it’s the only choice that makes sense.