“Viper was your brother,” he says quietly. “But he was a monster, too. You didn’t kill a man. You put down an animal.”
I swallow hard. “He saved my life. More than once.”
He lifts a hand to stop me. “And you saved Riley’s. That’s what matters.” Rabid leans forward, his elbows folding onto his knees, bringing him closer, as if we’re no longer prospect and president, but two battered survivors in the same trench. “We protect our own. That’s what family means. You lived that before you even had the patch.”
The words hit me sideways. “Before?” I echo, voice hoarse. There’s a ringing in my ears, a kind of swelling pressure, like the whole world is about to tilt.
He cuts me off with a sharp nod.
“You’re patched in.” My breath stops, and before I can say anything, Rabid goes on. “We voted while you were unconscious. After everything you did… killing two predators who were ready to tear apart our town… there was nothing to debate. The vote was unanimous.”
A silence grows in the room. Heavy, but not empty. Full of the weight of things I never thought I’d have—acceptance, belonging, purpose. My vision blurs at the edges, and I wonder if it’s the concussion or the tears that refuse to fall.
“Where’s my cut?” I ask, the words as fragile as the memory of my mother’s voice.
“Waiting at the clubhouse,” Rabid says. He stands, looming, but there’s a pride to his posture, a kind of fatherly weight that makes my throat tighten. “Try not to bleed on it again. Took a lot of work to clean it.”
I bark out a laugh, sharp and unfiltered. It hurts my ribs, and I clutch my side, but the pain feels less like punishment and more like proof of survival. I keep laughing, my voice echoing off the hospital walls, until I taste salt and something like gratitude. Then the moment passes, replaced by a single thought. “Where’s Riley?”
Rabid’s face flickers with something close to warmth. The lines around his eyes soften. He’s seen death a thousand times,and he’s never flinched, but now, the mention of her name seems to thaw him. “She’s fine,” he says, enunciating every syllable as if he’s reading a line from scripture. “Awake. Healing. Worried sick about your ass.”
My shoulders sag with relief. “I need to see her.”
Rabid stands, stretching his back. “She’s already on the way. Along with a few others.”
That makes me frown. “What others?”
A glimmer — an actual, honest-to-god glimmer — dances in Rabid's eyes. If there’s ever been a time the man looked close to joy, it’s now.
“You’ll see,” he says. “Consider it a surprise. The good kind.”
I narrow my eyes. “Rabid, what did you do?”
“Relax, Breaker.” He claps a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Focus on what matters. Riley’s alive. You’re alive. She wants to see you.”
Those words ground me. Riley. Alive. Wanting to see me. For the first time since that basement, I let myself breathe.
Rabid opens the door, steps halfway out, then glances back at me. “And Breaker?”
“Yeah?”
“You earned that patch. Don’t forget it.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
Riley
When the door opens, I swear my heart forgets what beating is.
I stand there, breathless, taking in the sight of him; Breaker, alive, battered but undeniably breathing. His face is half-shadowed by the thin hospital curtain and half-lit by the sterile glow of the fluorescents. He looks like a war story: bruised, cut, bandaged, his wrist bound in white, his ribs cinched tight beneath the gown. But he is here. Alive, and mine, all mine, his blue eyes sharp, and the force of his presence pulling me across the room.
Me, to him.
I choke on a sob before I even make it to him. “Breaker—” But his name is a broken bottle in my throat, all jagged edges and bleeding relief.
He laughs, the sound catching like sandpaper in his chest, and then his good arm stretches, beckoning me in, as if he can’t wait another second. My body forgets everything but him, and I close the space between us, crashing down onto the mattress at his side. His fingers find my waist first, then my back, then the nape of my neck, and suddenly I am wrapped in Breaker, inhaling the sharp electric tang of antiseptic and under that, the warmth of his skin, the familiar oil-and-leather scent that means home.
I burrow my face against his shoulder. I soak the thin blue fabric of his gown with tears I don’t care to hide. He winces but holds me tighter, all caution abandoned.
