Five
Miles
North Carolina greets me like it always does, humid air, familiar roads, the low hum of the clubhouse bleeding into the night.
It should feel like coming home.
It doesn’t.
Something inside me is unsettled worse than before.
I roll into Salemburg just before sunset, bike dusty from miles I shouldn’t have taken and nights I shouldn’t have stayed away for. The Hellions’ lot is already filling up—trucks, bikes, laughter spilling out of the open doors like the place itself is breathing. There’s a party tonight. Someone’s birthday. Someone’s release from prison. Someone’s patch. Someone’s divorce or wedding. Someone’s something.
Doesn’t matter which.
I kill the engine and sit there longer than necessary, helmet still on, hands resting on the grips like if I let go too fast I might lose something important.
I can still taste her.
It’s ridiculous. Three weeks of silence, one night I shouldn’t have allowed myself, and she’s still there—warm and steady and real as the road under my tires. The memory isn’t sharp. It’s worse than that.
It’s soft.
I swing off the bike and head inside before I can think too hard about Arkansas or porch lights or the way she said my name like it wasn’t something I planned to leave behind.
The bar’s loud. Music thumps. Someone shouts my name. Hands clap my shoulders. A beer appears in front of me without me asking for it.
Normal.
I take a swallow and barely taste it.
Women notice. They always do. Barflies with sharp smiles and practiced curves, leaning close like proximity is permission. One presses a hand to my chest as she laughs at something I didn’t say.
“Hey, Miles,” she purrs. “You disappear on us?”
“Something like that,” I reply.
She tilts her head, studying me. “You don’t look right.”
I step back, gently disengaging her hand. “Find someone else to play with tonight.”
Her smile falters. “Your loss.”
Maybe it is. I don’t give a fuck. She’s not going to taste like Danae’s lips. She’s not going to wrap around my body like she was made to fit against me. Her pussy isn’t going to milk my cock like her sole purpose is to suck me dry.
I move through the room like a ghost, nodding where I need to, listening just enough to not be rude. The noise washes over me without sinking in. Every laugh feels too loud. Every single body feels too close.
I don’t want any of it.
Which is a problem.
Raff corners me near the back, one eyebrow raised, beer dangling loose in his hand. Raff’s been with the Hellions long enough to know when something’s off. He doesn’t waste time pretending otherwise.
“You look like shit,” he says cheerfully.
“Missed you too,” I answer.
He leans his shoulder against the wall, eyes sharp. “You turn down three women in ten minutes. That’s not normal behavior for you.”
