Page 13 of Thunder's Reckoning
“If we’re fast.”
The engine coughed, then died. My heart stopped with it.
Again. Turn. Nothing.
A third time, and it caught, loud in the stillness.
I glanced in the mirror. The road was empty. No sign of the guard. No sign of Gabrial, though that didn’t stop me from imagining him there, standing in the middle of the road, his eyes calm, as if he’d known I’d run all along.
I gripped the wheel so hard my fingers ached. Pressed my foot to the gas. The tires bit into the dirt, and the car rolledforward. I focused on remembering how to drive and found it came easy enough.
Every foot we put between us and the house felt like breath returning to my lungs after years underwater.
But then—movement.
A shadow broke from the tree line to our right, too quick to place. Just a flicker in my peripheral vision before it was gone. Malik sat forward in the back seat, his eyes locked on the spot.
“Keep driving,” he said.
I didn’t ask what he thought he saw.
I didn’t want to know.
I kept my eyes on the road, pushing the car faster. The trees closed in behind us, swallowing the house from sight.
But even as the darkness deepened, I could feel the weight of him still on me, the invisible gaze that distance couldn’t erase.
Gabrial would know.
Maybe not at this moment.
But he would know, and soon.
And when he came, he wouldn’t be gentle.
CHAPTER SEVEN
OUTSKIRTS OF CHARLESTON, South Carolina
I hated drivin’ the cage.
Every damn time I slid behind the wheel of this truck instead of throwin’ a leg over my bike, it felt like somethin’ in me got left behind. Like my lungs didn’t pull in air right. My knuckles itched for the bars. I needed the roar in my ears, the wind tearin’ at me, the sting of gravel spittin’ up behind my back tire.
But my bike was laid up at the garage—clutch issue I’d been ignorin’ too long—and tonight, I had to get to The Pit.
The underground gambling hall wasn’t just club business, it was my business while Mystic was tied up with other shit. Devil handed me the keys, and I kept that place runnin’ smooth. No bullshit. No screw-ups. No outsiders. I didn’t play around with responsibilities, not when my brothers were countin’ on me.
The road curved ahead, Carolina blacktop stretchin’ long under moss-heavy oaks, their branches bowin’ low like they were tryin’ to keep secrets. My headlights cut just enough into the dark to show me the world I’d grown up in, muddy, quiet, and full of ghosts.
That’s when I saw it.
Car sittin’ on the shoulder. Hood up. Hazards blinkin’ like they were beggin’ for someone to stop.
Normally? Wouldn’t be me.
Folks break down every damn day, and most times, it ain’t my problem.
But somethin’ made my foot ease off the gas.
