Chapter Sixteen
MORNIN’ CARRIED THE scent of strong coffee and whatever Josie had whipped up for breakfast, bacon, maybe biscuits drowned in gravy.
Normally I’d grab a plate, let the grease settle into my bones, but not today.
Walked right past the kitchen without stoppin’.
Wasn’t in the mood for the noise, the laughter, that shallow chatter folks leaned on after a long night.
My head was still crowded with her.
Those eyes of hers, cuttin’ right through me the night before. Lookin’ at me like I was a man built from rusted parts, barely held together by bad choices and hollow promises.
The common room was mostly cleared out, quiet as a graveyard for a Sunday mornin’.
Just a couple hangarounds sprawled on the couches, snorin’ like busted engines.
Out front, Gearhead was already sittin’ astride his bike, starin’ off like he had somewhere important waitin’ on him.
I gave him a nod as I passed and swung a leg over my Harley, a sea-blue beast that’d been with me longer than most folks I knew.
She was the only thing that ever listened without judgment.
But even the road didn’t fix me this time.
Wind in my face, pipes roarin’ under me, it usually burned the mess clean. Not today. Breeze felt thick, pressin’ instead of carryin’. Every damn red light stretched itself out too long. Every mile dragged heavy, like the blacktop itself wanted me to turn back.
By the time I pulled up outside the house and killed the engine, my jaw was set tight, hands still grippin’ the bars like I could squeeze answers out of them.
Then I saw her.
She was sittin’ on the porch, knees pulled up, arms wrapped ‘round a worn book like it was the last thing tetherin’ her to this world. Morning light broke through the haze and spilled across her, turned her skin to gold, but it didn’t touch the shadow on her face.
She wasn’t readin’.
Hell, she wasn’t even here. Eyes wide open, but they were seein’ someplace else, someplace far darker than a quiet porch in South Carolina. I don’t think she even heard the engine of my Harley.
I stood there a minute, unnoticed. Watchin’.
There’d always been somethin’ graceful about the way she carried herself, still as stone, like she was carved outta silence. But today… today her shoulders were locked too tight. Color drained clean from her cheeks. Fingers clutchin’ that book so hard her knuckles bleached white.
I walked up slow, lettin’ my boots crunch the gravel so she’d hear me comin’. She didn’t lift her head.
“You alright?” I asked, keepin’ my voice low, careful, like one wrong word might break her clean in half.
“I’m fine,” she said quick, too damn quick. Voice sharp as frost.
“I didn’t ask if you were fine,” I murmured, easin’ down beside her. “I asked if you were alright.”
That pulled her gaze to me. Lord, I almost wished it hadn’t. There were hollows under her eyes, deep shadows that hadn’t been there before. Saw the tremble in her jaw, just for a second, before she forced it still.
“You don’t have to check on me,” she muttered.
“I don’t do nothin’ I don’t wanna do,” I said. “Now, you gonna answer my question?”
Silence stretched out, heavy as wet rope. I let it. She didn’t push me off.
Finally, her voice cracked the quiet, softer now. “Some people forget their dreams when they wake up,” she whispered. “I remember mine. Every time.”
The ache in her tone hit me square in the chest.
“You dream ‘bout somethin’ bad?” I asked, though hell, I already knew.
She didn’t flinch from the question, just from the truth of it. “I don’t know if bad is the right word.”
My voice dipped lower, steady as I could make it. “You can trust me, Sable. I meant what I said.”
Her eyes fell back to that book in her lap. Thumb slid across the worn corner, over and over, like she could rub the world away with just that touch.
“I used to believe nightmares were tests,” she said, her voice gone far-off again. “That if I endured them without fear, I’d be purified. That’s what they told us. Suffering was holy. Suffering was cleansing.”
I didn’t breathe too loud. Didn’t dare.
“I used to pray I’d stop dreaming,” she went on. “But they told me the dreams were blessings. That pain was a gift.”
She glanced at me then, raw and fragile, and it damn near split me open. “It’s not,” she said. “It’s just… damage.”
It was the closest she’d come to namin’ it. To lettin’ me see the sickness she’d carried.
I nodded, throat tight. “Yeah,” I said, my voice rough. “Yeah, darlin’, I know that all too fuckin’ well.”
She studied me like she was searchin’ for proof in the lines carved on my face. “Do you?”
“Yeah, Sable, I fuckin’ do.” My voice snapped harder than I meant it to. “And you gotta let me help you. Tell me what you’re runnin’ from. That busted-up car and a couple bags ain’t enough to keep you or those kids safe. Think of them.”
She stood, steppin’ closer, her shadow brushin’ mine. Her voice trembled, not from fear—nah, from the weight of truth pressin’ at her lips. “Why would you help me?”
“’Because I want to,” I said, standin’ too. My hand found hers, warm, tense, alive. “Talk to me.”
She looked like she might. Like she was right there at the edge.
“I’m running from—”
Engines cut her off.
Two bikes tore up the drive, gravel spittin’ under their wheels. I turned, already knowin’ the riders.
Devil and Mystic.
“Shit,” I muttered under my breath.
Sable’s eyes widened. Panic crept up her skin like wildfire.
“It’s okay,” I told her quick. “They’re with me. I’ll handle it. We’ll finish this after they leave, yeah?”
She nodded fast, eyes bouncin’ between me and the bikes. Then—just for a heartbeat—her lips lifted in the smallest smile, like she wanted to believe me. And then she was gone, light on her feet, dartin’ back inside like flames were at her heels.
I watched the door click shut before turnin’ toward my brothers. Gut twisted, already bracin’ for their questions.
Strangers in the house meant explanations.
But all I could think about was her.
***
DEVIL CUT HIS engine first. Sound died quick, swallowed up by the thick Carolina air. He swung off his bike slow, like every move he made had weight behind it, the kind that hushes a room before a single word gets spoke.
Mystic wasn’t far behind. Yanked his helmet off, face as unreadable as ever, eyes already scoutin’ the place like he was fixin’ to rob it blind. Didn’t say a damn thing. Just watchin’. Typical.
I stepped forward a couple paces, arms hangin’ loose at my sides. No sense lookin’ defensive. No sense lookin’ guilty, even if I was. Least guilty of not askin’.
“Mornin’,” I said, keepin’ my tone even. “Wasn’t expectin’ company this early.”
Devil slid his shades down just far enough for me to catch those red eyes. Still didn’t know if that was bloodline or some trick of light, but either way, they cut straight through a man’s bullshit.
“Didn’t expect you to be playing house either,” he drawled. Not angry. Just Devil, direct as a blade. He never wasted words.
Mystic stayed quiet. Just folded his arms, lookin’ past me toward the porch. Toward the door Sable had just slipped behind. His eyes caught on somethin’—maybe the curtain shiftin’, maybe that swing rockin’ just a touch like somebody’d left in a hurry.
Tension tightened in the air. Could damn near hear it hum.
“She yours?” Devil asked.
No judgment. Just that flat, cold curiosity he used when he already had half the answer and was waitin’ to see if you’d lie.
“She’s nobody’s,” I told him. “Just needed help.”
“Didn’t think you made a habit of picking up strays.”
“Yeah, well,” I said, holdin’ his stare. “She’s not a stray. She’s runnin’ from somethin’. Came in late, two kids in the backseat, car held together with hope and duct tape. Couldn’t leave her like that. Not on the side of the road.”
Devil gave a slow nod. Like he’d already pieced most of it together but wanted to hear me say it. He always did that, let a man hang himself with his own rope if he wasn’t careful.
“You know the rules, Thunder. Who stays in that house, and why.”
“I know,” I admitted. “And I should’ve asked first. But I’ve seen real fear, and she’s wearin’ it. Whatever’s after her, it’s big. She’s not trouble, but she’s got trouble followin’ close behind.”
Mystic’s voice broke the quiet, low and smooth. “You check for a tail?”
“Yeah. First thing. Took the long way here, watched my mirrors the whole damn ride. Nothin’ followed.” I paused. “Whoever’s huntin’ her, they ain’t caught up yet.”
Mystic nodded once, arms still crossed, but his eyes flicked back to that door.
“She looked spooked when we pulled in,” Devil said. “Like we might hurt her.”
“She’s skittish,” I answered. “Don’t know who to trust. She was just about to open up when y’all rolled in.”
Devil stepped past me, boots crunchin’ gravel, slow and measured. Didn’t go inside. Just stood there takin’ it all in, the siding, the windows, that swing swayin’ soft. Like he could read her ghost clear through the wood.
Then he turned, jaw set. “We don’t take in ghosts, Thunder. If somebody’s hunting her, it turns into our fight. That’s not a fire I start easy.”
“I wouldn’t’ve brought her here if I didn’t think she was worth it,” I said, steady.
Devil stared me down long and hard, the kind of look that strips a man to his bones and weighs what’s left. Finally, he cut his gaze to Mystic.
“I trust him,” Mystic said with a shrug. “And he trusts her. That’s enough—for now.”
Devil gave one short nod. “Keep her outta sight. We don’t need fresh fires while we’re still putting out old ones.”
“Understood.”
He started back toward his bike, but paused with one hand on the bars.
“Make sure the kids got what they need, food, clothes that fit. Quiet though. If this gets loud, they need to be ready to move.”
I dipped my chin. That was all the permission I was gettin’.
Devil swung a leg over, fired the engine back up. Mystic lingered a beat longer, leanin’ close enough for his words to ride the rumble.
“Be careful who you bleed for, brother,” he said, eyes still on the road. “Some ghosts don’t want savin’. They just wanna drag you under.”
Then they were gone. Engines roared, gravel spit, dust hangin’ in the air long after their shadows disappeared.
I stood there, watchin’ it settle. Then turned back toward the house.
Sable would be inside, clutchin’ that book like it was the last rope in a storm.
And me? I’d just stepped between her and the hell she ran from.
God help me if I’d dragged that hell down on all of us.