Page 108 of Boulder's Weight

Amara meets me at the door with a serious look on her face.

"Boulder's bringing your brother in," She studies my face carefully, almost like she’s looking for something. "Are you absolutely sure he's on our side?"

"Positive," I say without giving it a second thought. "Sam would never betray me."

She nods once, accepting my word. "Then he'll have our protection too."

I pace the main room, unable to sit, ignoring the concerned glances from the old ladies who've gathered.

Oakleigh tries to distract me with coffee, but I can't even consider drinking it, my nerves are too shot.

The tension in the clubhouse is insane as we wait. It feels like I’m waiting a century.

The rumble of motorcycles outside makes me freeze.

Several club members shift silently, hands drifting toward concealed weapons.

They don’t take any chances, and with Benji’s psychotic ass running around, that makes me feel so much better.

The door opens, and Brick enters first, scanning the room before stepping aside.

And then, there he is, alive and well.

My baby brother stands in the doorway, barely recognizable.

His face is sunken in, with dark circles under his eyes.

There's a fading bruise on his cheekbone, and he's lost so much weight that his clothes hang on his frame.

But it's his eyes that hurt me most—still the same warm brown as mine, but now haunted, aged beyond his twenty-four years.

For a moment, we just stare at each other across the room.

Then my paralysis breaks, and I'm running toward him.

"Cady," he breathes, using my birth name as he catches me in his arms.

The collision nearly knocks us both over, but Sam braces himself, holding me tight against him.

I cling to him, tears I didn't know I was holding back streaming down my face.

"You're here. You're really here," I sob into his shoulder. "I thought I'd never see you again."

Sam's arms tighten around me, and I feel his body shaking with his own silent tears. "I'm sorry it took so long. I had to be careful. Benji's been watching me."

I pull back just enough to look at his face, cupping his cheeks in my hands, looking at every change since I last saw him. "Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"

Sam tries to smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "I'm fine, sis. Just tired."

He's lying.

I can see it in the way he holds himself, slightly hunched as if in pain.

But before I can ask him anything else, Amara clears her throat, reminding us we're not alone.

I turn, keeping one arm wrapped around Sam's waist, unwilling to let him go now that he's here.

The entire clubhouse is watching us with mixed expressions—caution, curiosity, and in Boulder's case, something I can’t read.

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