“Yes, you fucking do,” he countered, his words tearing from his throat. I knew he knew he was pushing her, knew he was likely making things worse, but the alternative—leaving Grace to her own devices without protection while his club was at war—was something even I knew he would flat out refuse. “And so does Colleen. I promised Duncan I’d keep her safe.”
“Then someone else can go with us.”
“Grace,” he growled, the sound a desperate plea.
“I’ll go,” I offered. Anything to get the hell out of this mess. I didn’t know what King had done to piss off that woman, butshe looked ready to skin his ass alive, and I didn’t want to be anywhere near her when she struck.
“You’re fucking hurt. You aren’t going anywhere,” King immediately snapped in my direction.
“Indie is going with us,” Grace snipped, her voice tight with fury. She grabbed Colleen’s arm and dragged the poor girl through the door of the kitchen before King could say another word.
As soon as they left, Maureen snapped, “What the fuck did you do now?”
The second I saw King stiffen, I knew that was my cue to leave.
Grabbing my plate and sweet tea, I vacated the kitchen, leaving King to whatever fate was about to befall him. I retreated hastily, thanking God I wasn’t in the line of fire for once.
Chapter Eleven
Karlyn
We were constantly on the move, stopping only long enough to rest for a few hours and eat. From the moment the man rescued me from the others, I didn’t know what to make of him. He rarely talked, and when he did, it was only to order me around. I noticed he stayed off the main roads, preferring to stick to the road less traveled.
But no matter what route we took, we were still being followed.
He told me his name was Indigo and that he knew Jackson. He told me they were brothers, but not by blood. Chosen brothers, which he said meant more. I wanted to ask him to explain but thought better of it.
Indigo’s silence was as thick as the forest canopy above us. He moved with unnerving grace, a predator perfectly at home in the shadows. My own unease had begun to subside, replaced by a cautious curiosity. He spoke of Jackson like an old friend, a brother. The concept of“chosen brothers”was something I was only beginning to understand, a concept that felt as alien as the life I was now living. He rarely met my gaze, his attention always fixed on the path ahead, on the subtle signs of the wilderness that I was still learning to decipher. He was a man of action, not words, and in this perilous new existence, his silence was often more comforting than any spoken reassurance.
We traveled through the night, the moon a sliver of light through the dense trees, casting long, dancing shadows thatplayed tricks on my eyes. The forest was a living, breathing entity, its whispers and rustles a constant reminder of the unknown. I listened to it, not just for danger, but for a sense of direction, a connection to something beyond the fear that had become my constant companion. Indigo, for all his quiet intensity, seemed to understand this language, his movements synchronized with the forest’s rhythm. It was a silent understanding, a shared knowledge that transcended words, a fragile thread of trust beginning to weave itself between us.
He navigated the winding back roads with unsettling expertise, his gaze constantly darting to the mirrors.
I knew he felt it too, the persistent, suffocating presence of being hunted. Each jolt of the bike, each unexpected swerve, sent a fresh wave of dread through me. My mind, still a tempest of fragmented memories and raw fear, clung to the man beside me like a drowning soul to driftwood. He was a stranger, a dangerous unknown, but he was also the only thing standing between me and the encroaching darkness.
The scent of pine and damp earth filled the air, a stark reminder of the life I’d fled, the sanctuary that had become a cage. We were in unfamiliar territory, the mountain that had once been my solace now a battleground.
Indigo finally broke the silence, his voice a low growl. “They’re closing in, Karlyn. We need to find a safe place. Fast.”
My heart pounded in my chest, a frantic drumbeat against the encroaching dread.
I knew what he meant. This wasn’t just a chase; it was a hunt, and we were the prey.
He turned off the main road, the bike veering onto a barely visible trail that disappeared into the dense woods. The trees loomed like dark sentinels, their branches clawing at the twilight sky.
I closed my eyes for a brief moment, the memory of Jackson’s words echoing in my mind:“Listen to the forest, Karlyn. She will tell you everything if you just listen.”
I opened my eyes, scanning the dense undergrowth, searching for any sign, any whisper of refuge. We were deeper in the woods now, the sounds of civilization a distant memory, replaced by the rustling of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl. This was his world, the rugged, untamed heart of the wild, and for the first time since fleeing, a fragile sense of hope bloomed within me.
Indigo cut the engine of his bike, and the silence of the forest surrounded us.
Quickly getting off his bike, I stretched my back as Indigo walked his bike behind a large brush, effectively hiding it from view. Off in the distance, I could hear the familiar rumble of throaty engines. He was right. They were close.
Looking around the area, I barely had time to get my bearings when Indigo grabbed my hand and pulled me deeper into the forest. The rustling leaves and the snap of twigs were no longer just the sounds of the forest; they were the thrum of my racing heart, amplified by Indigo’s urgent grip. He pulled me deeper into the shadows, his movements efficient and silent, a stark contrast to my own clumsy haste. The air grew colder, thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, a scent that was both familiar and terrifying. Each breath I took felt like a desperate plea, a silent prayer against the encroaching dread that clawed at my throat. They were close; I could feel it—a palpable tension in the air, a prickle on my skin that screamed danger.
He led me to a small, hidden clearing, a pocket of darkness shielded by ancient pines. He pushed me gently behind a thicket of ferns, his whispered words a low rasp against my ear. “Stay here. Don’t make a sound. No matter what you hear.”
His eyes, intense and unwavering, met mine for a fleeting moment, a silent plea for trust that I was still struggling to give. He then melted back into the shadows, a phantom disappearing into the very heart of the wilderness that had become both my sanctuary and my prison. I huddled there, my breath catching in my throat, the familiar weight of the hunting knife Jackson gave me a cold comfort in my trembling hand. The forest, which had once whispered secrets of survival, now seemed to roar with the approaching storm.
