The thought of him flickered through me, deep, unmovable, almost burning.
I smiled to myself, feeling that first dangerous spark of what freedom really meant. A chance to act on what I wanted. To be the woman who’d been screaming to be let out, the one the Shepherds swore they could burn away.
My life was finally beginning.
Zeynep led me upstairs, the sound of laughter and music fading behind us. The old staircase creaked under our shoes, every step echoing faintly through the hall. The mansion’s age showed in the details, the carved banisters, the high ceilings, the way the afternoon light cut through the tall windows, but the club had made it theirs. The once-white walls were painted deep red, framed with black trim and photographs of bikes, rides, and rallies. A chandelier hung overhead, its brass dulled by time but still proud.
Zeynep stopped at a door near the end of the hall and pushed it open. “This one’s empty,” she said. “It’s small, but it’s quiet and has its own bathroom.”
The room smelled faintly of lemon oil and soap. A simple bed stood against one wall, neatly made with dark gray sheets. A dresser, a small desk, and an old mirror completed the space. Sunlight spilled through the window, hitting the hardwood floor in warm, honey-colored stripes.
“It’s perfect,” I said softly.
Zeynep smiled. “That’s what I thought my first day, too. It feels strange at first—hearing voices through the walls, music downstairs—but it becomes comforting. You’ll see.”
“We’ll go gather you some clothes and stuff you’ll need. You look to be Zeyneps size so clothes should be easy,” Lucy said, looking me over. “Then we’ll take you to dinner and introduce you around.”
“Dinner’s loud, but it’s good. Josie and Fiona now how to cook,” Zeynep said. “Restaurant good.”
“Thank you,” I said, when they turned to leave.
“No thanks needed,” Lucy said, both women giving me a smile before leaving.
When they left, the silence was different than the one I’d known before—alive instead of empty. I sat on the edge of the bed and let the noise from below drift up through the floorboards. The loud laughter. The faint ring of a bottle tapping against glass.
I ran my hand over the bedspread, tracing the seams. The window overlooked the back of the property where the sun was sliding low, painting the world in gold. Beyond the trees, I could hear the faint rumble of an engine starting, a sound that still made my pulse jump.
I wondered if it was him.
I closed my eyes, listening to the hum of the clubhouse below, the low thunder of bikes outside, the heartbeat of something new taking shape inside me, and sighed with happiness.
CHAPTER SIX
THE NIGHT WASstill warm when I pulled upto the clubhouse. Charleston air had that salt-heavy cling that never quite let go, even after dark. I killed the engine and let the quiet settle, crickets, distant traffic, the faint clang of a wrench from Bolt’s garage.
The clubhouse lights glowed gold through the front windows, constant, familiar.Home.
I pushed through the door. I could’ve lived anywhere, but this was where I belonged. The hum inside was easy, alive.
Mystic and Spinner were in the corner, half a game of pool goin’ behind them. Lucy sat with her boots kicked up on a chair, laughin’ loud enough to shake the rafters. Zeynep was besideher, quiet as always, just listenin’, because hell, who could get a word in with Lucy around.
And then I saw her.
She sat near the far end of the table, hair catchin’ the light, loose curls, softer and lighter than I remembered. Her hands wrapped around a glass, attention fixed on whatever story Lucy was tellin’.
Lark.
Every damn thought in my head shorted out.
What the hell was she doin’ here?
She looked different. Stronger. There was confidence in the way she sat, not curled in on herself, not scannin’ the exits. Like she belonged. Like she wasn’t scared of breathin’ anymore.
“Chain!” Lucy called, spottin’ me first. “Look who finally decided to show face! Man spends all his time at that bar of his, I swear he’s married to the place.”
Spinner snorted. “Only thing he’ll ever marry.”
“Keep talkin’,” I muttered, setting the folder on the bar. My voice stayed even, but my chest tightened. “Devil around?”
