Page 4 of Bolt's Flame

This wasn’t just another rescue mission for club family. There was something about it that felt heavier. It may have been the way Horse’s voice had trembled as he worried about Fiona, or maybe it was the memories of my own past clawing their way back to the surface.

I gave myself a shake, trying to clear it as we sped into the darkness. I couldn’t afford to get distracted, not now. Fiona was in trouble, and whatever it took, we’d get her out of it. That was all that mattered.

The truck rumbled beneath us as we sped down the highway, the headlights cutting through the darkness. Horse sat beside me, his jaw clenched so tight I thought his teeth might crack. We hadn’t said much since we left the clubhouse.

“How long has this been goin’ on?” I asked, breaking the silence.

Horse gave a weary sigh, his eyes looking out the window. “She’s been married to the asshole for five years. The last time I saw her was three years ago... and I knew... I could see it in her eyes. So, I cornered the bastard and had a word.”

“Oh yeah? What happened?”

“James moved Fiona two hours away to Wilmington, North Carolina and cut off contact. She would call and text me here and there to say she was okay, but I never believed it.”

“You never went after her?” I asked, curious because Horse wasn’t the type of guy to let this shit slide.

“Fucker made sure she never told me where they lived. I didn’t even know she was in Wilmington until tonight.” Horse gave a bitter laugh. “He knew I’d kill him and he’s right.”

“Well, tonight we just get her out,” I reminded him. “We’ll take care of him later, in a way that won’t get your ass landed in the state cage.”

Horse gave a grunt and got quiet again and I prayed Fiona’s husband wasn’t around, because there was no way I could stop Horse. If he decided to send James straight into hell’s flames tonight, there would be no stopping him.

My mind struggled to see Fiona, and what I remembered was the picture of a quiet, shy girl who kept to herself. The kind of girl who’d bake cookies for the neighbors and call everyone “sir” or “ma’am” like she was straight out of some old TV show. It didn’t make sense to me. How could a woman like that end up in this kind of mess?

Just like my mom.

I couldn’t wrap my head around it. Why wouldn’t she just leave? Why would anyone stay with someone who treated them like that?

The thought ate at me, rubbing up against memories I didn’t want to dig into. My mom’s face flashed through my mind—bruised, crying, always making excuses. The anger I thought I’d buried flared up, hot and raw, and I gripped the steering wheel tighter, trying to keep it under control.

Horse’s voice broke the silence. “He’s got her scared out of her mind. She’s never called me like this before, Bolt. Never.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. Part of me wanted to ask why she hadn’t called sooner, why she hadn’t packed her bags and gotten the hell out of there the first time he laid a hand on her. But I kept my mouth shut. This wasn’t the time for my questions, and it sure as hell wasn’t the time for my judgment.

The houses started to blur together as we entered the neighborhood, each one as silent and dark as the last. I kept my eyes on the road, but my mind was racing, trying to piece together what we’d find when we got there. Memories of my mom’s bruises and broken spirit as she lay on the floor came to mind.

We pulled up in front of a small, yellow, nondescript house. One light on, no movement inside—just the kind of place you’d never notice if you weren’t looking for it. I killed the engine, and the sudden silence pressed down on us, thick and heavy. Horse was out of the truck before I could even unbuckle my seatbelt, moving toward the front door with a kind of determination I hadn’t seen in him before.

I followed, the gravel crunching under my boots as I approached the house. My gut was twisting in knots, and I had to fight the urge to tell Horse to hang back because maybe her husband was inside. But this was his daughter we were talking about, and there was no way in hell he was going to wait outside and cower like some yellowbelly.

“Fiona,” Horse called out, his voice low and urgent as he knocked on the door. “It’s me, honey. Open up.”

For a moment, nothing happened. The house remained silent, and a cold dread started to creep up my spine. What if she was too scared to open the door? What if she was hurt so bad she couldn’tgetto the door? What if that bastard was still inside, waiting for us?

But then, the door creaked open, just a crack, and I saw her. Fiona. She looked even smaller and more fragile than my fuzzy memory remembered, her brown hair hanging around her pale face. Her eyes were wide, red-rimmed, and full of fear, and I could see the bruises marring her face.

She opened the door wider when she saw for certain it was Horse, and her lip trembled as she stepped aside to let us in. I followed Horse into the house, the air inside oddly heavy with the smell of cooked food, and something else—fear. Most folks wouldn’t believe fear had a smell, but it does, a strong one. I scanned the room, half-expecting her husband to come barreling out of the shadows, my hand on my revolver, but the place was empty.

“Where is he?” Horse asked, his voice tight as he looked around, itching to kill the man who hurt his girl.

My eyes landed on the blood on her neck, a knife wound, no mistake, and my jaw tightened in anger. The fucker had held a knife to her throat, and I knew right then he wasn’t just a casual abuser, a man who drank too much and became mean. Nope, her husband was a sadistic asshole who got off on her pain and her suffering.

“Gone,” Fiona whispered, wrapping her arms around herself like she was trying to hold herself together. “He left a while ago. I—I don’t know when he’s coming back. We should hurry.”

I exhaled a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding, relief mixing with the fear that had been building since we left the clubhouse. No confrontation, no bloodshed—at least not tonight. But that meant he didn’t know she was leaving. Which meant he’d come looking for her, eventually. That was a problem for later, if Horse let him live that long.

Horse pulled Fiona into a hug, holding her like he was afraid she might slip away. “You did the right thing, honey. We’re gettin’ you out of here.”

She nodded against his chest, but she didn’t say anything. I could see the fear in her eyes, the uncertainty, and I couldn’t help the flare of frustration that surged up again. Why hadn’t she done this sooner? Why had she let it get this bad? It was my mom all over again.

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