Calculation slid in beside terror.
The father was still there, bleeding under his skin, but the outlaw came back fast.
“You hid my bike?”
“Enough for now,” Nate said. “Not forever. It needs retrieving before cops sweep wider.”
Callum stepped closer. “I already sent two men back from the east trail. They’ll take it apart and load it if they have to.”
Edge looked at Callum.
Callum looked back.
No apology.
No hesitation.
“We had your back,” Callum said. “Dylan found her. Nate covered the bike. We got her out before anyone sober enough to matter saw her being carried away.”
“I did nothing but save her,” I said, because some things needed saying before panic turned into confusion. “I found herin the brush, checked her, called Callum, and brought her home. That’s it.”
Edge looked at me then.
Really looked.
The kind of look one man gave another when thank you was too small and the situation was too big.
“I know,” he said.
Two words.
Heavy as iron.
Regan saw Destiny’s hand still tangled weakly in my shirt. Her face crumpled, not with anger.
With pain.
Like she understood exactly how scared Destiny had to be to cling to the first solid thing that had pulled her out of the dark.
“Can we get her inside?” I asked. “She needs help.”
That snapped everyone into motion.
Edge stepped beside me, one hand sliding under Destiny’s shoulders with more care than I would have believed possible from hands that looked built to break bone.
“I’ve got her,” I said quietly. “Move with me.”
His jaw flexed.
I expected him to argue.
He didn’t.
Together, we carried her toward the clubhouse.
Regan walked on the other side, one hand on Destiny’s hair, whispering things too soft for most men to hear.
“I’m here, baby. I’m here. You’re home. You’re home, sweetheart. Edge has you. I’m right here. Nobody’s taking you. Nobody’s touching you.”
