Page 42 of Salvation

“We’ve got all day,” I assured her, resisting the urge to pull her against me again. If I started kissing her now, we might never make it out of the garage.

Instead, I focused on final preparations, and explaining the route I had in mind. Yulia listened attentively, asking questions about road conditions and how long we’d be gone. The conversation was ordinary, practical -- the kind we might have had before. But the undercurrent had changed, electricity running beneath every exchanged glance, every casual touch.

“Ready?” I asked finally, swinging my leg over my bike.

Yulia nodded, settling onto her own machine with a grace that belied her claimed rustiness. She’d always been a natural on a bike, though she rarely indulged. Something about the way she straddled the seat, her back straight and hands confident on the grips, sent heat spreading through my chest. That’s when I noticed the back of her jacket. It was the same as her property cut and said Property of Salvation.

I started my engine, the familiar rumble vibrating up through my bones. Yulia followed suit, her smaller bike purring to life beneath her. She flashed me a smile that was equal parts excitement and nervousness, then lowered her visor.

I led the way out of the garage, across the compound toward the main gates. In my mirrors, I could see Yulia following, her form compact and perfect on the bike. Pride swelled in my chest at the sight -- my wife, my woman, riding with me. No longer just a name on paper or a responsibility to protect, but a partner. My partner.

The gates swung open as we approached, the brothers on security detail nodding as we passed. I throttled up as we hit the open road, but kept my speed moderate, constantly checking my mirrors to ensure Yulia was comfortable with the pace. Her riding was smooth, confident, and I felt myself relaxing incrementally as we put distance between ourselves and the compound.

For the first time in days -- maybe years -- I felt something like freedom unfurling in my chest. The road stretched before us, Yulia rode safely behind me, and we had a whole day just to be together. To figure out what this new reality meant for both of us.

I gunned the engine, feeling Yulia do the same behind me as we roared toward the distant hills, leaving the shadows of the past week behind us -- at least for today.

The road climbed steadily through pine forests, unspooling before us like a ribbon of black silk against the green. Yulia had pulled up beside me, and I kept an eye on her as she leaned into each curve with growing confidence. The farther we got from the compound, the more her body language changed -- shoulders relaxing, head tilting up to take in the scenery flashing past. Freedom looked good on her. It always had, from the first tentative steps she’d taken away from her trauma all those years ago to now, following me up mountain roads with the kind of grace that couldn’t be taught.

Wind buffeted my body as we accelerated around a sweeping bend, the valley opening up on our right side. Sunlight dappled the asphalt through breaks in the tree canopy, creating patterns of light and shadow that blurred beneath our wheels. The familiar vibration of the engine between my legs, the smell of pine and wildflowers, the occasional flash of wildlife darting into the underbrush -- everything felt heightened, more vivid than usual.

Or maybe it was just that Yulia was with me, really with me, for the first time.

I watched her take a curve perfectly, her body shifting with the bike as if they were a single entity. Her earlier claim about being rusty was clearly false modesty. She rode like she’d been born to it, like the machine was an extension of herself. My chest tightened at the sight, pride and something fiercer, more possessive, surging through me. Most of our old ladies didn’t ride, but Brick had suggested it might be a good way for her to heal, and she’d taken to it well.

We’d ridden together before, of course. Brief trips to town, or a quick jaunt down the highway. But never like this -- never as a couple, never with the knowledge of how her skin felt against mine, how her lips tasted, how she whispered my name in the darkness. The memories from last night sent heat spreading through me that had nothing to do with the sun beating down on my leather cut.

The road twisted higher. Eventually, I spotted what I’d been looking for -- a small turnout perched on the mountainside, offering an unobstructed view of the landscape below. I signaled to Yulia and began to slow, guiding my bike off the main road and onto the gravel turnout.

We parked side by side at the edge of the clearing, kickstands down, engines cooling with metallic ticks in the mountain silence. Below us stretched the valley in panorama -- a town nestled against the river, distant farms creating patchwork patterns of green and gold, and beyond it all, the compound, just visible as a cluster of buildings.

Yulia removed her helmet, shaking out her hair with a small, breathless laugh. Her cheeks were flushed from the ride, her eyes bright with exhilaration. She’d never looked more beautiful.

“That was amazing,” she said, setting her helmet on the seat. “I’d forgotten how good it feels.”

I pulled off my own helmet, running a hand through my flattened hair. “You ride like you never stopped.”

She ducked her head slightly at the compliment, but I caught her smile. “It comes back to you. Like muscle memory.”

We moved to the low stone wall that bordered the turnout, standing side by side as we looked out over the valley. The morning sun warmed the left sides of our faces, while a cool mountain breeze kept the heat manageable. Birds called to each other from the trees behind us. For a long moment, we just stood there, shoulders almost touching, absorbing the peace of the moment.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” Yulia said finally, her voice soft.

I glanced at her, taking in her profile against the backdrop of sky and distant mountains. “I used to come here to think. When things got complicated with the club, or when…” I hesitated, then decided on honesty. “When I needed to get away from how I felt about you.”

She turned to me then, surprise and something deeper in her eyes. “You came here because of me?”

“More times than I can count.” I shrugged, a gesture that felt inadequate for the weight of the admission. “Especially in the last few years. When pretending was getting too hard.”

Yulia’s hand found mine, her fingers sliding between my own with a confidence that was still new, still thrilling. “We wasted so much time,” she murmured.

“No.” I squeezed her hand gently. “We weren’t ready before. You needed to heal. I needed to learn patience.” I paused, then added, “Clover needed stability.”

Her lips curved into a small smile. “And now?”

“Now we’re here.” I brought our joined hands to my lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “Together. Finally.”

Her eyes softened at the gesture, the reserve that had been part of her for so long melting away by degrees. She leaned against me slightly, and I released her hand to wrap my arm around her shoulders instead, drawing her closer to my side.

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