Smoke grips my elbow, guiding me, protective in a way I don’t expect.
“Head down,” he mutters. “Don’t look.”
I don’t want to look. I don’t want to see blood. I don’t want to see any faces that will live in my nightmares. So I keep my eyes on Miles’ back, on the shape of him moving through the hallway like a force of nature.
We pass a man slumped against the wall, groaning.
We pass another on the floor, hands zip-tied behind his back. I can’t tell who belongs to which club.
A man with the patch saying Wrath’s voice booms from somewhere near the living room. “Clear!”
Someone answers. “Clear!”
It’s like a wave.
Control returning.
The front door is open, cold air pouring in, and outside the clearing is lit by headlights and the glow of a dozen bikes.
Men in cuts—Hellions and Saint’s Outlaws—spread out like a net, weapons low but ready, faces grim and focused.
The sight of them makes my stomach twist and my chest loosen at the same time.
I’m not alone.
Not anymore.
Miles moves me down the front steps, one hand steadying my back, the other keeping me close like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he lets go.
The cold air hits my face like a slap and I gasp.
The sky is pale now, night stretching across the tree line.
I blink hard, trying to convince myself this is real.
Wrath steps forward, eyes scanning me quickly.
“You Danae?” he asks. I nod, voice stuck.
Wrath gives a sharp nod to his men. “Get to the vehicles. Now. Meet at the clubhouse. Everyone take a different way.”
Country Boy appears from the side, his face tight with relief. “Thank God,” he mutters.
Smoke stays close, body language on edge still ready to explode.
Miles doesn’t look at anyone. He stays focused on me. “Get on,” he says, guiding me toward his bike.
I stare at it like it’s a miracle. “Miles,” My voice shakes. “My grandfather.”
His jaw tightens. “He’s safe.” I grab his arm. “How do you know?”
“Josie’s been in touch and is on the way,” he explains “Neighbor and a caregiver are with him. Deputy’s there. He’s breathing, Danae. He’s okay, but worried.”
My throat closes.
A sob escapes me before I can stop it. Miles’ face softens again, and he pulls me against him for one brutal second, crushing me to his chest like he needs the contact to stay alive.
Then he helps me onto the bike like I’m made of glass.
