Miriam frowned, her drawl soft. “Now, Lucy, you make sure she knows what she’s gettin’ into. That clubhouse ain’t exactly calm.”
Lucy laughed. “Calm’s overrated. Besides, Devil runs it clean. She’ll be safe.”
“Devil?” I echoed.
Lucy’s smile turned mischievous. “Club president. Runs cold in the personality department, but he’s fair. I’ll clear it with him.”
I looked between them, the woman with the easy confidence, the quiet one who understood silence, and Miriam watching me like a mother who already knew my decision before I did.
My chest felt tight, equal parts nerves and something close to excitement. “Are you sure?” I asked softly, glancing at Miriam. “I don’t want you to think I’m ungrateful.”
Her eyes warmed. “Honey, the good Lord don’t hand you freedom just to have you sit still in it. You go on, now. Live.”
The words sank deep, like they’d been waiting their whole life to reach me.
Lucy stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Pack light, Lark. We’ll roll in fifteen. You can ride with us.”
“I don’t have anything to pack,” I admitted.
Zeynep’s smile brightened, soft but certain. “Then we’ll take care of what you need.”
I rose from the table, heart beating loud in my chest. “Okay.”
Miriam stood too and pulled me close. Her hug was warm and solid, smelling like flour and sunshine and home. “You call me every week, you hear?”
“I will.”
Lucy grinned from the doorway. “Welcome to the next chapter, Lark. Hope you like noise.”
I smiled back, nerves curling into something electric.
As we stepped out onto the porch, the air felt different—brighter, alive, humming quiet beneath the surface.
Freedom.
It still scared me in it’s own way.
But for the first time, it scared me in the right direction.
***
THE RIDE TOCharleston felt like crossing into another life.
Lucy drove like she meant it, windows down, hair flying, the stereo blasting loud enough to shake the rearview mirror. Zeynep sat in the passenger seat, quiet, her gaze fixed on the horizon while Lucy sang along, off-key and unapologetic. I didn’t know the words, but I found myself smiling anyway.
By the time we hit the outskirts of the city, the world had shifted, from farmland and wide sky to narrow streets lined with oak trees draped in Spanish moss. Everything smelled of salt and asphalt, heat and movement. And I was soaking it all in.
“Here we are,” Lucy said, taking a turn down a tree-lined road. At the end of it stood a massive house. For a second, I thought she’d made a mistake. Then I saw the chrome gleam of bikes lined up in perfect rows and the sign above the double doors:THE DEVIL’S HOUSE MC
The red paint gleamed under the late sun, bold and alive.
It wasn’t what I’d expected. I’d pictured something dark, dangerous, half falling apart. But this place… it was beautiful in its own way. The old mansion had been painted in the club’s colors, deep red and black, the kind of contrast that made it look both historic and defiant. Voices and laughter drifted through the open windows, carried by the sounds of nature surrounding the place.
Lucy parked, turned toward me, and grinned. “Don’t overthink it. It’s loud, sometimes rough, but these men take care of their own.”
Zeynep nodded, the corners of her mouth lifting. “These are good people. Trust me, I know. They saved my life just like they did yours.”
We climbed the steps, and as the doors opened, sound and light spilled out—music, laughter, the clink of bottles, the loud conversation that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards.
