When she stepped outside again, the Kings were still astride their bikes; Nash hadn’t moved from the bottom step.The warm air pressed close around her, feeling twice as thick as it had a moment ago.
Cassie moved toward him slowly, each step deliberate, keeping the cut pressed to her chest.She stopped several steps above him, nearly eye level, but made no move to hand it over.The funeral suddenly felt like a prelude to Connor’s real funeral—his final ride with his chosen family.
Nash’s gaze dropped to the leather, catching on the name patch.
“You did that,” he said quietly.
“It had fallen off,” she explained, her voice catching.“I just…stitched it back on.One last time—”
Tears slipped free before she could stop them.She shoved the leather into Nash’s hands and turned, taking the steps fast, aiming for the door.
“Cas!”
Fingers on the handle, she paused.
Nash had followed her up a step, stopping short.His chin lifted toward the waiting bikes.
“You’re not comin’?”
Cassie’s mouth parted, but no sound came.
“That’s not—” She swallowed.“That’s not how it works.”
“No, it ain’t,” he said.“But it’s what Con would want.”
Her eyes flicked past Nash to the line of bikes, where Sarge met her gaze and gave a single, firm nod.Behind him, Boone tipped his chin in silent agreement.Then, Rook, arms crossed, added his own small dip of assent.One by one, each of the men offered the same wordless consent, as if it had been decided long before they arrived.
The screen door creaked behind her, and she turned to find Margie reaching into the house, snagging a black leather jacket from the hook inside.Without a word, she draped it over Cassie’s shoulders and snapped the collar at her neck.
“Gloves are in the pocket,” she said firmly.“You already got boots on.Now tuck that dress between your knees”—she turned Cassie toward Nash—“and go say a proper goodbye to your brother.”
Chapter Fourteen
Connor’scuthungoverthe Beast’s front end, armholes looped over the hangers so the leather draped across the headlight like a shield.The bottom patch shivered with the engine’s idle while Nash waited for Cassie to climb on.
When she didn’t, he glanced back.She was still standing there, staring at the bike like it was a stranger.
Hell, maybe it was.
He reached a hand back in offering, almost against his better judgment.
Her eyes flicked down to his hand, something stubborn cutting across her face.Then she grabbed the bitch bar, planted her boot on the peg, and swung up on her own.Tucking her skirt tight between her thighs, she settled in behind him, just barely touching.
“You good?”he called over his shoulder.
“Yeah,” she answered, voice clear over the engine’s rumble.
He nodded once and eased out the clutch, the Beast rolling smooth as they wound down the ridge, deeper into the hollow.Fence lines sagged, rusted mailboxes jutted through weeds, porch lights flickered on where shadows stood behind screens, watching them pass.
The sun dropped fast, pulling the color from the hills.Cassie still hadn’t leaned in.Her knees barely touched him, hands gripping the bar behind her like she was keeping a promise to herself.
But distance didn’t hold at fifty miles an hour.Not on this road.
He downshifted at the old mill, the Beast snarling louder than it needed to.
She flinched—barely—and her hands caught his sides, thighs tightening at his hips.Nash grinned quick and mean.
The climb steepened.Moss slicked the switchbacks, guardrails rusted and bowed toward the drop.The air hung thick and wet, carrying the promise of a storm that hadn’t broken.Nothing but engines, wind, and Cassie goddamn Berry on the back of the Beast…after all these years.
