Page 57 of Thunder's Reckoning
“Don’t cry when they take you.”
I stumbled to a stop, chest heaving. The words were dust and ash in my head, carryin’ the weight of firelight and shadows I’d buried years ago. I didn’t know whose voice it was. Didn’t wanna know. But the dread it left in my chest was the same one I felt now, deep, suffocatin’, like the world could split open and swallow a child whole.
I forced it back. Shoved it down. Kept movin’.
Minutes stretched like hours. Every empty bush felt like a grave. My fists clenched tighter with each step.
Then the radio crackled.
Horse’s voice, muffled, calm: “Got somethin’. Out near the big hickory, fifty yards past the west tree line. She’s here. Shaken, but okay.”
Relief hit so hard my knees damn near gave.
I ran. Didn’t think, didn’t breathe. Just ran.
Zara was crouched against the base of the tree, dirt smeared on her hands, eyes wide and wet. Horse was kneelin’ beside her, talkin’ calm, his cut spread over her shoulders like a shield.
The second she saw me, she bolted. Arms locked around my neck, sobs shakin’ her tiny body.
“I’m sorry,” she hiccupped. “I didn’t mean to get lost. I thought—I thought I heard someone say my name. It sounded nice. I followed it… and then I couldn’t find my way back.”
Ice slid down my spine.
Someone called her.
I looked at Horse. His jaw was tight, eyes already on the treeline like he wanted to burn the woods to the ground.
This wasn’t a kid wanderin’ off.
I held her tighter. “You’re okay now, baby girl. Nothin’s ever gonna hurt you. Not while I’m breathin’.”
Back at the house, Sable collapsed to her knees the second Zara was in sight. Pulled her in, kissed her face over and over, cryin’ so hard she shook.
I gave ’em space. But I didn’t stop watchin’. Didn’t stop thinkin’ about that voice, hers, mine, or the one buried deep in my past.
And when Sable looked up at me, eyes red and desperate, her voice broke on my name. “Zeke… I can’t do this alone. Not anymore.”
“You’re not,” I said. “You’re comin’ back to the clubhouse with me.”
She nodded, no fight left in her. And under all the fear, there it was.
The first flicker of real trust.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
ZEKE DIDN’T ASKquestions. He just loaded usinto the truck, Zara curled in my arms, Malik silent in the back seat, his wide eyes locked on the trees like he half-expected them to come alive and take her again.
He drove hard, his gaze fixed on the road, jaw set, both hands tight on the wheel until the leather creaked under his grip. He didn’t look at me. He didn’t have to. I could feel what he was feeling—the same pressure, the same fury—that we’d almost lost her.
I didn’t ask where we were going. I didn’t care. Anywhere with him was safer than nowhere without him.
The house appeared as the sun began to fall, the sky bleeding gold and red across the gravel lot. Shadows stretched long over the house, but instead of the menace I expected, the place gave off something else. Laughter drifted from an open door. Music vibrated from inside. A line of bikes stood parked like soldiers, chrome catching fire from the sunset.
I braced myself for chaos, for something that matched the men who resided in this place. What I didn’t expect was… warmth.
Zeke threw the truck into park and finally turned toward me. His voice was even but quieter than I’d ever heard it.
“You don’t have to be afraid. Nobody here is gonna to hurt you. You have my word.”
