Page 134 of Thunder's Reckoning
Heavy. Final.
I pulled Sable against me, buryin’ her in my arms, feelin’ the tremor in her chest and the heat of her breath. My heart was still racin’, still caught between fury and relief, but I didn’t let her go. Not now.
“We’re out,” I muttered into her hair. My voice was low, rough, a promise. “We’re out, darlin’. Ain’t nothin’ takin’ you back down there again.”
The night stretched wide around us, storm clouds churnin’ overhead. The world wasn’t safe yet. But for the first time in years, I could breathe like it might be.
The night air hit like a fist, wet and cold, sharp enough to burn the lungs after the choke of the tunnel. For a second, all I could do was hold her, breath tangled with Sable’s as the world kept spinnin’ without us.
But then the others closed in.
Gearhead’s hand was firm on my shoulder, pullin’ me back to the here and now. “Come on, brother. It’s not safe to stop.”
He was right. Always was.
The treeline broke open into a narrow cut of dirt where the van waited with the back doors wide. Its paint was black, the windows tinted, the whole damn thing lookin’ like a coffin on wheels. But tonight it was salvation.
Spinner was already inside, reachin’ out. Chain helped Lark forward, her head lollin’ against his chest, her face pale as bone. He didn’t let go ’til she was strapped onto the bench, and even then, his jaw was locked tight like he was ready to dive back down the tunnel if she so much as stirred wrong.
Sable’s bare feet dragged in the dirt, her body still tremblin’ against me. I lifted her easy, her weight nothin’ in my arms compared to what I’d just carried out of that hell. She didn’t speak. Just buried her face against my cut like she could disappear inside it.
I laid her in the van, careful as if she was glass, my hands lingerin’ just long enough to make her look at me. Her eyes caught mine, and I swore the fire of that place was still flickerin’ there. But she was here. Alive.
“You hold on,” I whispered, low enough only she heard. “We’re almost home.”
Spinner slammed the doors shut. The sound cracked like a gunshot in the night.
Engines rumbled to life behind me. Devil’s bike first, low and mean. Then Gearhead. Then Chain. One by one, my brothers brought the night back to life, the growl of chrome and thunder roarin’ against the storm clouds.
I swung a leg over my own, the leather seat slick with dew, the grips familiar under my hands. For a moment, I let the weight of it all settle—the blood, the fire, the faces still trapped under rubble. But then I shoved it down, same as always.
This wasn’t over. But it was the first step out.
Ash pulled up last, his old truck rattlin’ like it might fall apart before we hit pavement. His eyes met mine through the open window, steady, grim, but lit with somethin’ like relief.
I gave him a nod. He returned it.
Then we rolled out.
The van in the middle, steel and rubber wrapped around the women we’d pulled from the fire. Bikes flanking it, lights cut, tires spittin’ dirt until we hit the blacktop.
The storm broke overhead as we tore down the road, rain poundin’ hard enough to sting, thunder crashin’ loud enough to rattle the bones.
Didn’t matter.
We were out.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
THE SHEETS CLUNGto me like they weren’t sure I belonged.Too clean. Too soft. Too safe. It was like my body had forgotten what softness felt like. My shoulder throbbed where Gabrial’s blade had cut me, stitched and bandaged now, though it burned with every breath. Exhaustion wrapped me tight, but sleep wouldn’t come. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw fire, heard chanting, felt the scrape of stone under my knees.
I turned my face into the pillow, inhaling the faint scent of detergent and fabric softener that clung to the clubhouse laundry. Not smoke. Not ash. Not incense. Here. Now. Safe.
But my body didn’t believe it yet.
The door opened, and my pulse spiked hot as lightning.
Zeke filled the frame. His cut was still damp from the storm, hair wild, face cut with shadows—but his eyes… God, his eyes weren’t hard anymore. Not the deadly fire he’d carried into the hall. They were soft, steady, holding something so fragile it nearly split me open.
