The words hit deeper than anything I’ve ever heard.
Loved without owing.
I don’t know how to believe that yet. But maybe I want to try.
“I can learn,” I say quietly.
Saint’s jaw flexes like that does something to him. His thumb brushes under my eye.
“Good,” he says. “Ghost is doing one final sweep. We’re heading out as soon as he’s done. Grab your things.”
“Where are we going?”
Saint turns toward the door, gun still in hand, stance still alert.
“Home.”
Chapter 8
Saint
Theridebacktothe clubhouse is quiet, but my head’s anything but.
What if we’d been a minute later?
What if Ghost hadn’t gotten the warning?
What if I hadn’t pulled over when I saw her car on the side of the road yesterday?
Useless questions. Poison in the bloodstream.
I shove them down and focus on the weight at my back. Nadia’s arms around my waist, her helmet resting between my shoulder blades. Every time we hit a bump and she squeezes a little tighter, my chest pulls taut.
She left her car back at the safehouse. A prospect will go retrieve it later. Even if it's banged up, Diesel will bring it back to life. He fixes machines and bikers with the same kind of grim magic, like broken just means not finished yet.
Ghost rides ahead, scanning the road. His body language stays loose, but I know better. He’s one wrong twitch from pulling steel. He was already in the area when word came through that the wolves had located the safehouse. Lucky break. We didn’t have time to organize a full crew. We went. Fast.
The sun’s already well up, casting long shadows through the trees. And I’ve got a woman pressed against me like she belongs there, and a pistol tucked at my side just in case someone disagrees.
When Lovestone Ridge appears on the horizon, I downshift automatically.
The Damned Saints’ clubhouse sits just beyond the edge of it all, a hulking old factory wrapped in high fencing, our emblem welded into the steel gates.
As we approach, the gates swing open. A prospect waves us in, eyes sharp, expression tight. Word’s already gotten around.
Inside, it’s organized chaos. Bikes, brothers, tension in the air like a brewing storm.
Havoc stands near the doors. Broad. Calm. Arms crossed.
Next to him is Viper, coiled and ready. Just behind him stands Ava. Her eyes scan the yard. Sharp, anxious, searching.
Then she sees us.
She runs.
I cut the engine and swing off the bike. Nadia’s right behind me, fumbling with her helmet, fingers shaking. She barely gets it off before her sister collides with her. They wrap around each other, arms tight, shoulders shaking with relief and sobs.
Viper steps up behind them and folds both women into his arms. He looks over Ava’s head at me and gives the kind of nod men like us don’t give lightly. Gratitude. Respect.
