Chapter Twenty-Nine
ZEKE DIDN’T ASK questions. He just loaded us into the truck, Zara curled in my arms, Malik silent in the back seat, his wide eyes locked on the trees like he half-expected them to come alive and take her again.
He drove hard, his gaze fixed on the road, jaw set, both hands tight on the wheel until the leather creaked under his grip. He didn’t look at me. He didn’t have to. I could feel what he was feeling—the same pressure, the same fury—that we’d almost lost her.
I didn’t ask where we were going. I didn’t care. Anywhere with him was safer than nowhere without him.
The house appeared as the sun began to fall, the sky bleeding gold and red across the gravel lot.
Shadows stretched long over the house, but instead of the menace I expected, the place gave off something else.
Laughter drifted from an open door. Music vibrated from inside.
A line of bikes stood parked like soldiers, chrome catching fire from the sunset.
I braced myself for chaos, for something that matched the men who resided in this place. What I didn’t expect was… warmth.
Zeke threw the truck into park and finally turned toward me. His voice was even but quieter than I’d ever heard it.
“You don’t have to be afraid. Nobody here is gonna to hurt you. You have my word.”
My throat was too tight for words. I nodded.
He circled around, helped me out carefully, then reached for Zara, who whimpered but stayed asleep, her tiny hand fisted in my shirt. Malik followed close behind, chin lifted in defiance, but his shoulders wound tight with fear.
The front door opened before we reached it.
And they came out.
Women—three of them at first, and then one more behind. Not hollow-eyed or submissive, not waiting for permission to exist. These women carried themselves differently. They looked alive.
The first was impossible to miss. Her hair was piled high, makeup bold, smile wide. Everything about her was loud, not just in color but in presence.
“You must be Sable,” she said, like she’d been waiting for me. “I’m Brenda. Welcome to The Devil’s House.”
It didn’t sound like a threat. It sounded like a welcome.
Behind her, the next woman stepped forward. Dark hair, sharp eyes, her gaze steady in a way that felt grounding. “I’m Lucy,” she said simply.
Another followed with a small wave. Warm brown hair, pretty, her expression tinged with something wary. “Fiona.”
Then the last one came, and I froze.
I knew her face.
Not well—just enough to remember. A night at Gabrial’s estate, men laughing over glasses of whiskey while talking around the table. She had been beautiful then, but her eyes… her eyes had carried sorrow so heavy it had stayed with me.
Recognition flashed across her features now. She stopped in her tracks. “You…” she whispered, her accent soft and lilting. “You were with him. With Gabrial.”
The air thinned around me.
Zeke stiffened beside me. “You know her?”
My voice caught. “I… I saw you once.”
“Yes,” she said, her tone sharpening with pain. “I was being held by Drago. One of Gabrial’s associates.” Her lips curved bitterly. “Held, not kept.” Her name was heavy when she gave it. “I’m Zeynep. And I got rescued.”
Something twisted in me at that. Relief. Sadness. Maybe both. “I’m glad,” I said quietly, because I didn’t know what else to say.
Her gaze softened. “I’m glad you got out too.”
Zeke cleared his throat, shifting us forward. “Let’s get you settled.”
Brenda led us inside. It should have felt like a wolf’s den, but it didn’t. The house smelled faintly of smoke and beer, leather and wood polish, but beneath it all was something I hadn’t felt in years. A heartbeat. A kind of belonging I didn’t recognize.
Lucy crouched near Malik, her words soft, grounding him. Zeynep stayed close, not crowding, but present, like she knew what it meant to want space, but also not to be alone.
Brenda pointed toward a hall. “There’s a spare adjoining room open. Not fancy, but it’ll fit. Yours for as long as you need.”
I looked around. At Zeke. At the women. At the kids. At the noise and the warmth underneath it.
It felt like family.
For a single moment, I let myself believe it.
But nothing this good ever lasted. I knew better.
***
brENDA LED US down the hall to a room tucked away at the back of the house. She pushed the door open with her hip, flicked on the light, and stepped aside like she was handing me something valuable.
“There are two bedrooms,” she said, pointing to a door on the left. “It’ll give you and the kids some space.”
I looked around. Two twin beds lined one wall, a dresser against the other. The quilts didn’t match, the curtains were faded, and the lamp flickered once before steadying, but it was a room. Not a cell. Not a gilded cage. Just… a room.
I set Zara down first, easing her onto one of the beds. She stirred but didn’t wake, her little fist still wrapped tight in my shirt until I gently freed it. Malik climbed onto the other bed without a word, his eyes still suspicious, waiting for the trick to reveal itself.
Brenda lingered in the doorway, arms folded, her presence somehow both solid and soft. “Doors lock from the inside,” she said, nodding toward the knob. “Key’s already there. You’ll find no one here comes through without your say-so. Not even Thunder.”
My throat tightened. I reached for the lock, turned it once just to hear the click. The sound was small, but it landed heavy in my chest.
Brenda gave me a knowing look. “Takes time to believe a lock actually works. But it does.”
I nodded, unable to find words.
She let me have the silence for a moment, then added, “Kitchen’s at the end of the hall.
Josie does three meals a day, feeds an army like it’s nothin’.
If you need somethin’ different for the little ones, just ask him.
He likes being useful. And if he’s busy, Fiona can handle it, she likes cookin’ too. ”
Her voice was matter-of-fact, no judgment, no pity. Just… practical kindness.
I glanced back at Zara, then Malik, then back to Brenda. “Thank you,” I said, the words quiet but real.
Brenda gave a small smile. “You don’t gotta thank me. You just gotta rest. You’ve earned it.”
I sat on the edge of Zara’s bed, fingers brushing the worn quilt.
“Is it really safe here?” Malik’s small voice broke in, thin and wary. He hadn’t looked at Brenda when he asked, he’d looked at me.
Brenda’s eyes softened, but she didn’t jump in with easy promises. She just said, “As safe as it gets, kid. And safer than where you’ve been.”
Malik’s mouth pressed into a hard line, but he nodded once, like he was filing the words away even if he wasn’t sure he believed them.
Brenda stepped back into the hall, giving us space. “You need anything, holler. Otherwise, make yourself at home.”
She closed the door most of the way, not tight, not final—just polite.
Malik shifted on the bed, and I heard his whisper, barely louder than breath. “We can never outrun the prophet.”
The words crawled through the dark and rooted deep in me. I couldn’t tell if he was speaking to me… or remembering.