Page 76 of Reckless

Mace snorts out a laugh. “I remember introducing my face to the Nevada desert.”

A few of the brothers chuckle.

Ghost’s expression doesn’t change. “Can you lift your arm?”

Mace tries. His arm gets halfway before his face twists in pain, and it drops straight back to his lap. “That’s gonna be a no.”

Ghost nods once. “Thought so.” He rises to his feet, dusting his hands together before looking at Sin. “Probably a couple fractured ribs. Shoulder took a decent hit. He needs scans before we call it anything else.”

Sin nods once. “We’ll get him checked.”

Only then do I realize every brother is still standing.

Still counting.

Eyes moving from one face to the next, making sure everyone who rode out is still here.

Nobody says it out loud, but the relief settles over the group anyway, quiet and heavy beneath the buzz—not the good kind—that’s still humming through all of us.

Because Deek can replace a front wheel.

Mace will heal.

And somehow, against all odds…

Everybody will go home.

Only once Ghost is satisfied Mace isn’t about to collapse does the attention of the club shift. The questions that had been circling unspoken since the first shot was fired finally find somewhere to land.

The crippled SUV still sits thirty feet off the highway, its front corner buried in scrub where the blown tire dragged it to a stop. Steam curls lazily from beneath the crumpled hood, the windshield fractured into a spiderweb of white cracks that catch the afternoon sun.

Nobody inside has made another move.

Bear and Koa head over first, weapons drawn more out of habit than uncertainty. The rest of the brothers spread out behind them, naturally covering the road, the scrub, and each other without a single instruction being spoken.

Ghost brushes his hand lightly against the small of my back as he passes. “Stay here.”

It’s quiet.

Not a command, more pleading, and I nod.

But I only stay where I am for about three seconds before curiosity gets the better of me, following just far enough to see without getting in anyone’s way.

Bear yanks the driver’s door open, and the man inside groans. He’s alive. His forehead is split open where he’d hit the steering wheel, blood tracking down one side of his face while the deflated airbag hangs limply across his lap. His eyes flutter open, unfocused at first, before they widen as fifteen armed bikers come into view.

His hand starts drifting toward his waistband.

Koa catches his wrist before it gets there. “I wouldn’t.” The two words land with enough weight that the man’s fingers immediately stop moving.

Bear removes the pistol tucked beneath his jacket before hauling him roughly from the SUV.

The passenger is awake, and he climbs out slower, favoring one leg, only to find Anchor and Nitro waiting with weapons trained squarely on his chest.

Neither man looks particularly interested in making another bad decision.

Sin walks toward them with the same measured stride he uses when walking into Church, and he stops a few feet in front of the driver. “Who sent you?”

The man stares back, blood dripping steadily from his chin into the dirt between his boots.