I stare at the ceiling.
At my hands.
At the walls.
Anything to keep from screaming.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Gunnar
The night swallows us whole as we ride.
All our bikes in formation, cutting through the darkness like a blade, and Ulf driving a club van.
The roar of engines drowns out everything else—the fear, the doubt, the voice in my head that keeps whispering what if.
Fenrir at the front, Runes beside him.
Me and Tor behind them.
Hakon, Ulf, Magnus, Kraken, Rati, Dag, and the others fanning out behind us.
Brothers.
Family.
Riding into war.
The wind whips at my face, cold and sharp, keeping me alert.
Keeping me focused.
Keeping the memories at bay.
But they creep in anyway.
Ingrid's face before I left.
The fear she tried so hard to hide.
The way her hands trembled when she touched my chest.
The tears she blinked back when she made me promise to come home.
I meant that promise.
I mean every promise I make to her.
And tonight, I'm going to keep it.
Tonight, we end this.
The motel is about ninety minutes north, right on the Florida-Georgia line.
Middle of nowhere.
The kind of place people go to disappear.
