"Someone from that life. Trying to stay connected. But it just reminds him of what he lost, so he avoids it."
"That's so sad."
"Yeah. It is." I watch Banshee lean against the truck, arms crossed, staring out at the highway. "But he's been there for methrough everything. My exile, your kidnapping, all of it. So we're there for him. Even if he doesn't talk about it."
Grace nods. "Of course."
We walk back to the truck, and Banshee straightens. "Ready?"
"Yeah," I say. "Let's get home."
Hours blur together.
Soon we’re in New Mexico, and then we’re driving into our home state.
"Welcome to Texas" appears on a road sign, and Grace sits up straighter.
"Home," she says.
"Yeah. Home."
But we both know—this isn't over yet.
Venom's still out there, somewhere in Houston, waiting to make his move.
We can't relax, can't let our guard down.
Not yet.
Grace must be thinking the same thing because her hand tightens in mine.
"We'll end it," I say quietly. "I promise."
"I know."
We pull into the Shotgun Saints compound around six in the evening.
The sun's starting to sink toward the horizon, painting everything gold and orange.
The second the truck stops, I hear shouting.
Dakota comes running out of the clubhouse, blonde hair flying, and the second Grace opens the door, Dakota's pulling her into a crushing hug.
"Oh my God, oh my God, you're okay—" Dakota's crying, holding onto Grace like she's afraid to let go.
"I'm okay, Kota. I promise."
"I heard—Dad told us—they put you in a cage—" Dakota pulls back to look at Grace's face, sees the bruising, and her expression goes murderous. "Who did this?"
"He's dead," Grace says simply. "Shadow and Dad killed him."
Dakota looks at me with something like respect. "Good."
Then Jolene appears.
Grace's mom is smaller than I remember, but there's steel in her spine as she walks toward us.
She takes one look at Grace's face—the bruise, the exhaustion, the trauma barely hidden—and tears start streaming down her face.
