She glanced up at him with her eyes wide. “Why?”
“Because the storm’s already here,” he said. “And you just walked straight into the center of it.”
JUNIPER
Juniper wasn’t prepared for any of this. She had imagined the Road Reapers MC as faceless shadows, men who moved like monsters whispered about on dark highways. She had imagined danger, menacing men, and guns tucked into their waistbands. She hadn’t imagined feeling the weight of the four men who were staring at her like she wasn’t just a stranger at their gate, but a riddle with teeth. And she definitely hadn’t imagined Venom.
He stood slightly apart from the others, arms crossed, shoulders broad enough to block out the world if he wanted to. He radiated something cold and ruthless—but not careless. Not empty. Just tightly controlled.
Juniper didn’t remember anything from her past except for some instinct inside her—one of the few things her brain hadn’t lost—that told her men like him didn’t scare easily. Yet he looked at her as if she were the one thing tonight that unsettled him. That thought alone made her hands shake. She pressed them together to hide the tremors, but failed.
The one they called Ink seemed to notice anyway, tilting his head. “You all right there, sweetheart?”
She flinched at the term of endearment. It felt too soft for a place like this. “I’m fine,” she lied. “Just tired.”
Venom’s gaze flicked to her trembling fingers. Juniper felt his stare like a physical touch—hot, unwanted, but grounding in a way that made her breath hitch. The one they called Cyclops stepped closer. “You said you woke up in a ditch.”
Juniper nodded, her voice strained. “Yes.” That was about all that she could remember. The four men had been questioning her for the past hour, trying to get to the bottom of her story. She didn’t want to tell them that her story had no end—well, not one that she could remember.
“When?” Ink asked.
“Two months ago.” Saying it out loud felt like admitting to a crime. “I don’t—I don’t know what happened before that. Or who was with me. Or why someone tried to—” She swallowed. “To kill me.”
Venom’s brow creased. “I’m guessing that you got amnesia from some kind of trauma, then.”
“This isn’t soap opera amnesia,” she snapped, a little too sharply. “I didn’t hit my head and forget a birthday party. I woke up covered in mud with blood coming from my neck, and no idea why my hands looked like I’d been digging for my life. I still can’t sleep without dreaming of headlights and screaming. I can’t remember anything.”
Silence, raw and heavy, filled the space between her and the men. Her chest tightened when none of them spoke. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to hold in the pieces that threatened to spill out whenever she spoke too much truth.
Ink cleared his throat quietly. “Sorry,” he breathed. “We didn’t mean to upset you.” She nodded but didn’t speak. She couldn’t. If she opened her mouth again, she might fall apart right there in their compound.
Venom was the one who broke the tension. “Come with me,” he ordered.
She spun toward him. “Why?”
“You need to see something,” he insisted. She glanced toward Cyclops, Razor, and Ink, expecting them to object, but no one did. Cyclops looked thoughtful—too thoughtful, like he was cataloging the danger she represented. And maybe he was right to do so. She had no idea if she was a danger to any of them, but she hoped that wasn’t the case.
Venom didn’t wait for her to make a decision. He turned and walked toward a hallway lit by dim yellow bulbs. Juniper hesitated. Something about following Venom felt off. Like she was stepping into a place she wasn’t sure she’d walk back out of. But she followed anyway, because she couldn’t explain it—not even to herself—but she trusted him more than she trusted the others. Even more than she trusted her own shattered memory.
Venom’s boots thudded steadily down the hall. He stopped at a small room that looked like an office and flicked on the light. Inside was a table, a filing cabinet, and a chair that had definitely seen better years.
“Sit,” he said, and she did. He closed the door behind them. The sound clicked through her spine like a lock sealing shut. The air changed instantly as he stood across from her, his arms braced on the table, leaning forward slightly. He wasn’t threatening, just focused—too focused.
“You said you have nightmares,” he said.
She blinked. “What?” she asked.
“You said that you couldn’t sleep at night without having nightmares about headlights and screaming. That your hands looked like you had been digging in the dirt for some reason.” His voice stayed low and level. “Tell me about your dreams.”
Her stomach dropped. “I—I told you I don’t remember what happened.”
“And I didn’t ask for what you remember,” he said. “I asked you to tell me what you dream about.” Her breath stuttered. She had never told anyone about her dreams. She never dared to. Dreams felt too close to memories, and memories felt like broken glass to her right now. But Venom waited her out--not impatiently, just steadily. As if he knew the answer mattered and that sooner or later, she’d give it to him.
Juniper squeezed her eyes shut. “It’s always the same. I’m running. I think from someone, or toward someone. I don’t know for sure. It’s raining hard. There’s mud everywhere. My hands keep slipping. Someone’s yelling—a man, I think. But I can never make out the words.”
Venom didn’t move. “And then there’s a light,” she whispered. “Headlights, I think, and they were coming fast—too fast. I try to scream, but my throat—” Her hand lifted unconsciously to the scar beneath her scarf. “It burns.”
Venom’s voice dropped even lower. “And then?”
