Chapter 12 #2
He's got blood on his hands—literally, Flint's blood—and his expression is wrecked.
"Dad."
He crosses the distance, pulls me into a hug, careful not to squeeze too hard.
"I'm so sorry, baby girl. I should've protected you better. Should've left more brothers. Should've—"
"You came," I say firmly. "You and Shadow came. That's all that matters to me."
He pulls back, cups my face in his bloody hands. "Did they hurt you?"
"Just what you can see. Bruised face. Sore wrists. Possible concussion. But I'm okay."
"You're not okay. You were kidnapped, kiddo."
"But I'm out now." I look between him and Shadow. "Because you came for me."
A coughing sound pulls our attention over to Snake, who’s still alive.
Shiver is zip tying his hands together, and puts a tourniquet on his leg.
It’s bleeding, but I doubt they want him to bleed out.
Brothers are securing the scene, checking the property, making sure there are no more threats.
The Mojave Wolves Prez—Ghost, I hear someone call him—approaches Shadow.
"The other seven scattered when the shooting started. Took off on bikes. Damon's group cut off three of them on the road. Four got away, headed back toward Vegas probably."
Shadow's jaw tightens. "They'll report back to Venom in Houston. Tell him Flint's dead. Tell him we're coming."
Ghost nods grimly. "Probably already on the phone. You've got maybe twelve hours before Venom mobilizes his full crew."
"Then we don't have much time."
"No," Dad says. "We don't. But right now, priority is getting Grace somewhere safe. We’ll deal with Venom after."
Shadow nods, wraps his cut around my shoulders. The leather is heavy, warm, and smells like him. Like home.
"Can you walk?" he asks me.
"Yes."
"Humor me anyway."
And before I can protest, he's scooping me up, carrying me like I weigh nothing.
I should argue. Should insist I can walk on my own. But honestly? I'm exhausted. Traumatized. My legs feel like jelly.
So I wrap my arms around his neck and let him carry me.
Phantom walks beside us, one hand on my ankle—the only part of me he can reach while Shadow's carrying me.
A gesture of comfort. Of connection.
My father and my husband. The two most important men in my life. Both covered in the blood of the man who tried to own me.
And I've never felt safer.
Outside the barn, the desert night is cool and clear. Stars overhead. The smell of sage and dust.
There's a truck—Shadow's truck—and brothers everywhere. Bikes lined up. An army that came to rescue me.
And sitting in the backseat of the truck, cone still strapped around her neck—
"Charlie!"
Shadow sets me down, and I run to the truck.
Charlie sees me and goes absolutely insane.
Barking, jumping, trying to climb out of the truck bed, her cone bumping everything.
Someone—Siren, I realize—was holding her leash.
"She insisted on coming," Siren says, her face streaked with tears. "Wouldn't stop crying without you."
I'm crying now too. Grabbing my dog, hugging her, letting her lick my face.
"Hi, baby girl. Hi, sweet girl. I'm okay. I'm here. I'm okay."
Charlie's whole body is wiggling with joy, and it breaks something in me.
The adrenaline, the fear, the trauma—it all crashes down at once.
I'm sobbing into Charlie's fur, and Shadow's there, wrapping his arms around both of us.
"I've got you," he murmurs. "Both of you. I've got you."
Shadow settles me into the passenger seat of the truck, buckles me in like I'm a princess.
Banshee and Charlie are in the back seat.
Her cone is on and she’s still whining but calmer now that she can see me.
He gets in, starts the engine, and I watch his hands on the wheel.
They're shaking.
Trembling so badly he can barely grip the steering wheel.
The reality of how close he came to losing me is settling over him.
I reach over, take his hand, and thread our fingers together.
"I'm okay," I say softly. "I'm here. I'm safe."
Shadow brings our joined hands to his lips, kisses my knuckles. "I thought I'd lost you."
"You didn't. I'm right here."
"When Siren called and said they took you—" His voice breaks. "Grace, I can't—I can't do this without you."
"You don't have to. I'm not going anywhere."
The convoy forms behind us—all those brothers on bikes, a show of force and solidarity.
We're heading back. Back to Vegas. Back to safety.
Shadow keeps my hand in his the entire drive, like if he lets go I'll disappear.
I lean against his shoulder, exhausted, traumatized, but safe.
Charlie's snoring softly in the back seat, and for the first time in hours, I let myself relax.
We arrive at the clubhouse at some point in the night.
My body is shutting down, running on fumes and adrenaline, and the last thing I’m doing is looking at the time.
Sakura is waiting outside. When she sees me, she starts crying.
"Grace, I'm so sorry—" she starts.
"No." I hug her tight. "You kept me alive. You made the right call. It's not your fault."
"I should've—"
"You did everything right. I'm here. I'm safe. That's what matters."
Sakura hugs me back, mindful of my injuries. "Let's get you cleaned up. You need a shower and food and rest."
The clubhouse bathroom is small but clean.
Siren helps me out of my clothes—they're dirty, torn, smell like cage and fear—and into the shower.
The hot water feels like heaven. Washing away the grime, the blood—not mine—and the memory of those metal bars.
Siren washes my hair while I just stand there, too exhausted to do it myself.
"You're safe now," she says quietly. "Shadow's right outside. Won't leave the door. Been standing there the whole time you've been in here."
"He's scared I'll disappear."
"Can you blame him?"
No. I can't.
After the shower, Siren helps me into clean clothes—sweatpants and a t-shirt someone donated.
She bandages my wrists where the zip ties cut deep enough to break skin.
I look at myself in the mirror.
Bruised. Exhausted. Traumatized.
But alive.
There's a knock on the door. "Grace?" Shadow's voice, rough with worry.
"I'm okay. Almost done."
But Siren opens the door anyway, and Shadow's there immediately, his eyes scanning me like he needs to confirm I'm real.
"Better?" he asks.
"Better."
He wraps his arms around me, careful of my injuries, and just holds me for a long moment.
Damon gives us a private room.
Small, but private.
Shadow locks the door behind us, and suddenly it's just us. Just me and my husband in a quiet room, finally alone after the nightmare.
"Come here," Shadow says, his voice rough.
I go to him, and he pulls me close, his hands running over me—my face, my shoulders, my ribs, touching everywhere like he needs to confirm I'm whole.
Shadow pulls back to look at me, cups my face in his hands.
His eyes are wet, tears he won't let fall.
"I love you," he says fiercely. "I love you so fucking much. And if anything had happened to you—"
"It didn't. I'm here. Because you came for me."
"I'll always come for you. Always."
He kisses me, desperate and claiming and possessive.
His hands in my hair, on my body, needing to touch, to claim, to reassure himself.
I kiss him back just as desperately.
Needing this. Needing him. Needing to feel alive and safe and loved.
"You're mine," he murmurs against my lips. "You're mine and I'm never letting you go. Never letting anyone hurt you again."
"I'm yours," I whisper back. "Forever."
His hand slides under my shirt, up my ribs to the bandage covering my fresh tattoo.
His name. Permanently marked on my skin.
"This," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "This right here. You're mine. My wife. My Grace."
"Yours."
We don't have sex—I'm too exhausted, and he's too afraid of hurting me. But we touch. Hold onto each other. Claim each other in every way that doesn't involve crossing that line.
His hands memorize my body. My hands reassure him I'm real.
"I watched you kill him," I say quietly. "You and my father. I watched Flint die."
Shadow goes still. "And?"
"And I'm glad he's dead. I'm not horrified. I'm not traumatized by the violence. I'm relieved." I look up at him. "Does that make me a bad person?"
"No." His voice is firm. "It makes you someone who understands this life. Someone who knows that sometimes violence is necessary to protect the people you love." Shadow kisses me again, softer this time. "I don't deserve you."
"Yes, you do."
We lie down on the bed, and I curl into his side, his arms wrapped around me, his body between me and the door.
Protection even in sleep.
"Venom's still out there," I say quietly. "In Houston with his club."
"I know."
"What happens now?"
"Now you rest. Heal. Recover." Shadow's hand strokes through my damp hair. "And then we deal with Venom. End this permanently. But not tonight. Tonight all you need to do is rest."
I close my eyes, exhaustion pulling me under. "Shadow?"
"Yeah, darlin'?"
"Thank you for finding me."
"Don’t you ever thank me for that, girl."
I fall asleep in his arms, safe and protected and loved.
The nightmare is over.
But somewhere in Houston, Venom is planning his revenge.
This isn't finished, not by a long shot.