When we reach the truck, Switch opens the back door and I settle her onto the seat, still holding her until she’s steady, until I’m sure she’s not going to slip or panic or fall. I climb in beside her and pull her back into my chest immediately, not even pretending I’m okay with giving her space. “You with me, Princess?”
She nods, eyes fluttering. “Yeah.”
“Good,” I tell her, low and rough. “I ain’t letting you go.”
Switch slams the door and runs around to the driver’s seat, and the engine roars to life as Blade climbs into the front. Only then, when she’s warm and breathing and safe between my arms, do I let myself feel the full weight of how close this came to going real damn bad, and how lucky he is that he’s not here right now.
I keep Brooke tucked against me in the back seat, her head under my chin, her breath warming the front of my shirt in these uneven little puffs like she’s trying to remember how to breathe right. She’s quiet, but it isn’t calm. It’s the kind whereher body is still braced for another hit even though she’s not in the car with him anymore.
Switch drives like a man with a mission, hands tight on the wheel and eyes locked on the road. Blade sits in the passenger seat like a statue that might move and kill something at any second. His phone stays in his hand, the map still up even though we’re already headed back, and his knee bounces in a way that says he’s holding back pure violence with nothing but willpower.
“Princess,” I murmur, keeping my voice low because she flinches at loud sounds right now, “you still with me?”
She nods without lifting her head. Her fingers curl in the front of my shirt, tight enough to wrinkle the fabric, and that grip hits me right in the chest because it isn’t just fear. It’s trust. It’s her choosing me when she’s shaken down to the bone.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, and her voice cracks on the last word.
I pull back just enough to look at her, and even in the dim light from the dashboard I can see the swelling on her cheek, the red line already turning darker. My stomach turns.
“Don’t,” I say, and the word comes out rough. “Don’t say that.”
Her eyelashes flutter. “I ruined game night.”
I bark out a laugh that isn’t even real, it’s just something to keep my voice from breaking. “Fuck game night. You hear me? You matter. That’s it.”
She makes a soft, broken sound like she wants to cry again, and I press my lips to the top of her head without thinking, just a quick touch, and I feel her shoulders ease a fraction like her body remembers what safe feels like for one second.
Blade glances back for half a heartbeat, eyes catching mine in the rearview mirror, and I can tell he’s clocking everything. Not judging. Not accusing. Just seeing. Blade sees too damn much.
Switch’s jaw flexes as he takes another turn too hard. “Ghost and Riot make it?”
Blade checks his phone, thumb flying over the screen. “Yeah. They’re already there.”
Something in my chest loosens by a fraction. Not relief exactly, because nothing about tonight is going to feel good, but the smallest easing of pressure. Bella isn’t alone. Bri isn’t alone. Ansley isn’t alone. And the baby sure as hell isn’t alone.
“Good,” Switch mutters, voice tight. “Bella keeps the damn doors locked.”
Blade doesn’t look up from his phone. “She will.”
That’s when it hits me how quiet the truck is besides her breathing and the engine. No music. No bullshit. Just all of us locked in, listening, watching, ready. Like we’ve done this a thousand times for the club, but it’s different now because it isn’t business or beef or some asshole at Perdition needing to be taught a lesson.
It’s Brooke.
And somehow that makes it worse.
We pull into Switch and Bella’s driveway, and the porch light is already on, bright and steady like a beacon. The house looks too normal for what just happened, like it doesn’t know the world tilted on its axis tonight. I can picture Bella inside, pacing holes into the floor, trying to keep it together because she’s got Jaxasleep down the hall and fear tastes like metal in the back of her throat.
The second the truck rolls to a stop, the front door cracks open. Not wide. Not careless. Just enough.
Ghost fills the doorway, big frame blocking most of the light, eyes sweeping the driveway before they land on us. Riot stands a step behind him, half in shadow, half in light, arms crossed and jaw set like he’s been holding himself back from doing something stupid with his hands.
Ghost steps out first, then Riot, both of them moving with that quiet, controlled purpose that says they’ve been posted up and ready since the second Blade called.
Switch kills the engine and jumps out. Blade’s out right after him. I stay in the back seat for a beat because Brooke’s shaking again, and the moment the truck stops moving it’s like her body remembers it’s allowed to feel everything.
“Princess,” I say softly. “We’re here.”
She lifts her head, eyes wide, and I can see it on her face, that moment where she’s bracing for the next thing, for the next shoe to drop, because trauma doesn’t let you relax just because the danger is over.
