Page 45 of Thunder's Reckoning
His hand brushed the edge of my hair, tucking a strand behind my ear like it was nothing. Like it was everything. “You sleep okay?”
It should have been simple. But the way he asked, like he really wanted to know, knocked something loose in me. “Yes,” I whispered. “For the first time in my life.”
His gaze held mine, probing and gentle all at once. I felt myself leaning in without meaning to, drawn by the heat of him, by the safety and the danger wrapped in one. For a breath, I thought he might meet me there.
Then an engine cut through the quiet.
Zeke stiffened, head turning toward the window. Boots crunched on gravel outside. He muttered low and eased away, careful, before pushing to his feet.
I sat up slow, pulse racing.
He pulled the curtain back just enough to glance out, shoulders easing when he saw who it was.
“Hunter,” he said, and the name was both relief and business.
A knock followed a moment later. Zeke opened the door, and a young man stood there, tall, lean, leather cut stiff with a fresh prospect patch.
“You’re on time,” Zeke said, clapping him once on the shoulder. “Don’t get distracted. Nobody gets near this place while I’m gone, you hear?”
“Yeah, I got you,” Hunter said quickly, eyes flicking past Zeke to me, curiosity burning behind them.
Zeke shut the door behind him, gaze finding me. For a moment, it was quiet again, the weight of what almost happened still hanging in the space between us.
“I gotta head back to the clubhouse,” he said. “Hunter’ll keep watch. You and the kids don’t wander past the yard.”
I nodded, fingers twisting in my lap, heart still pounding from his closeness. From his words. From the way he hadn’t let go until the very last second.
I wanted to believe he meant it. That what I felt wasn’t just mine alone. But want and truth had never lived in the same place for me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I WALKED INTOthe war room like I was steppin’ intojudgment. Felt the weight of it in my bones.
Devil and my brothers were already there, circled around the scarred oak table. Smoke hung heavy in the air, mixing with silence thick enough to choke on. Arms crossed. Eyes locked on me the second I shut the door behind me.
They knew I had somethin’ to say. And if you speak in the war room, it better be worth hearin’.
I pulled out the chair across from Devil and sat slow, steadyin’ my breath. Then I got to it.
“Her name’s Sable. She’s runnin’ from Gabrial Lopez.”
The name cracked through the room like a whip. Chairs shifted. Brows lifted. The air itself tightened.
“She was born into a cult, calls themselves The Children of the Flame. Don’t think backwoods holy rollers, think a militia. Armed guards. Fenced in. Indoctrination from birth. And Gabrial?” My jaw clenched. “He’s not just their prophet. He’s the devil wearin’ a fuckin’ halo.”
A chorus of curses erupted. Fists hit the table.
Devil’s jaw ticked once, sharp. “Gabrial Lopez,” he repeated, gravel in his tone. “As in the cartel boss tied to Dragon Fire?”
“Yeah,” I said. “That Gabrial.”
Mystic leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. “Son of a bitch.”
“He took her when she was just a kid,” I went on. “Groomed her. Called her chosen. Kept her locked away like a possession. All while tradin’ women and kids like cattle. Preachin’ fire and salvation with blood on his hands. The man’s a monster.”
Devil leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes hard as stone. “And the kids?”
“Zara’s hers. Gabrial’s by blood. Malik too, but from another woman, and that one tried to kill Sable. Gabrial burned her alive, made ‘em watch.” I let that sink in. “She’s been raisin’ both ever since. They got out together. Barely.”
