Yeah. She’s going to be okay.
The thought settles something deep in my chest, steady and grounding, especially knowing we took care of the fuckhead who did this to her. Knowing he’s not walking around breathing thesame air she is anymore makes the night feel just a little safer, a little quieter inside my head.
Switch chooses that moment to walk over and toss me my keys. “I brought your bike.”
I catch them and nod. “Thanks, man.”
The weight of the metal sits familiar and solid in my palm, anchoring me back in my body after the last few hours of low-grade adrenaline and watchful tension. Switch tips his head toward the back door and starts moving, Blade falling in step beside me as we head out into the night.
The cooler air hits as soon as the door shuts behind us, carrying the faint bite of oil, dust, and distant rain, the shop settling into quiet around us. My bike waits near the fence line, chrome catching the glow of the security lights like it’s been standing guard in its own way. My eyes automatically sweep the lot, clocking shadows, angles, exits. Old habits don’t power down just because the immediate threat is gone.
“How’s she really doing?” Blade asks once we’re far enough from the door that the noise inside fades into background hum.
I roll my shoulders, easing some of the tightness loose. “She’s still pretty shook up by the whole thing. Sleeping in short stretches. Jumps when the house creaks. But she’s eating. Drinking water. Even laughed earlier. That felt like a win.”
Blade’s mouth tips slightly at the corner, relief flashing there before he locks it back down. “Good. She’s tougher than people give her credit for.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “She is.”
A short stretch of silence settles in, the kind that only happens when everyone’s thinking the same thing but nobody feels the need to say it out loud.
Switch glances back at me. “Riot’s been keeping an eye on that motherfucker. He hasn’t notified the police and he already hightailed it out of town. Riot’s tracking him and has alerts set up if he steps foot in Jackson again or tries contacting her.”
“Good,” I mutter. “I don’t think he’ll be that stupid.”
“No, we don’t either,” Switch says.
I shift my weight, fingers brushing the cool seat of the bike without thinking, my gaze drifting back toward the building where Brooke’s light still glows. “Any updates with the Russians? They’ve been quiet since we got Bri back. I know this shit isn’t over. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
“Nothing yet,” Blade answers.
I glance at him. “You still think something’s up with Lucky?”
Blade shrugs. “I don’t know. He doesn’t exactly scream biker, you know. There’s just something about him. Maybe it’s because he’s not as fucked up as the rest of us and he’s so damn normal. Then there’s the fact that he only patched in about a year ago. Knowing we’ve been dealing with this Russian fallout for a few years has me second-guessing everything. I think someone’s feeding the Russians information. I’m just not sure who.”
I rub the back of my neck, the unease settling heavy and familiar. “Yeah. Something feels off.”
I push off the wall and head back inside toward the living room. Cutting through the noise and laughter, my eyes go straight to Brooke without meaning to. She’s on the couch betweenher sisters, a paper plate balanced on her knee, smiling and laughing like I’ve seen her do a hundred times before. Like nothing’s broken. Like the world didn’t just try to chew her up and spit her out.
Good. That settles something in my chest.
She looks up and catches me staring, her smile softening when our eyes meet.
“I’m gonna head out,” I tell her.
She watches me for a second, then sets the plate down and stands, closing the few steps between us. My shoulders tighten automatically the closer she gets. She smells like food and clean skin and something familiar I can’t name, and suddenly she’s close enough that I have to keep my hands to myself on purpose.
“Okay,” she says. “I figured you couldn’t stay forever.”
“Yeah.” I nod once. “I’ll check in tomorrow. If you need anything though, you call me. Doesn’t matter what time.”
Her mouth curves up. “I know.”
There’s a pause. One of those quiet ones where neither of us seems in a hurry to move.
Then Brooke steps in without warning and wraps her arms around me.
It catches me off guard enough that my body stiffens for half a second before instinct kicks in. Her forehead presses against my chest, her arms solid and sure around my ribs, like she’s anchoring herself there instead of asking permission. She’s warm. Real. The kind of contact that hits deeper than it has any right to.
