Page 67 of Thunder's Reckoning
The fear in her eyes flickered, broke, replaced by somethin’ hotter, darker. A shiver ran through her, and I felt it, straight to the pit of me.
I leaned closer, close enough to feel the hitch of her breath against my mouth, close enough she could taste the promise on the air. My knuckles grazed her hip before I curled my fist against the wall, holding myself back with every ounce of will I had.
Her eyes dropped to my mouth, then back up.
“Zeke…” she repeated, and it came out like a plea, fragile and raw all at once.
“Christ,” I muttered, my forehead almost touchin’ hers, my voice a rasp from the pit of me. “You don’t even know what you’re doin’ to me.”
The space between us was a spark away from burnin’. I wanted to crush her mouth under mine, claim her so hard she’d never doubt who she belonged to.
But I held. Gritted my teeth until my jaw ached.
“When I take you,” I whispered, rough and final, “it ain’t gonna be ‘cause you’re scared. It’ll be ‘cause you want it. ‘Cause youneedit. And when that time comes, Sable…” My mouth hovered over hers, heat spillin’ between us. “There won’t be any stoppin’ me.”
Her breath shuddered out, eyes glassy, pulse jumpin’ at her throat. She didn’t move. Didn’t push me away.
I dragged myself back an inch at a time, every step like ripplin’ barbed wire through my veins. My hand fell from the wall, but my voice stayed soft, dangerous.
“Believe this much, darlin’. You ain’t runnin’ alone anymore. Not while I’m breathin’.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
GABRIAL
THE KNOCKon my door was sharp. Not rushed.Not hesitant. Measured, precise, the kind of rhythm that told me a man valued discipline over panic.
I didn’t look up right away. My attention lingered on the papers spread across my desk—photographs, maps, names printed beneath blurred faces. Her face hovered among them, her eyes too bright, too defiant. Even grainy, she carried a fierceness that made my teeth ache. My hand hovered over herpicture, not touching, but close enough to imagine crushing it into dust.
Finally, I raised my head and gestured for the guards to let him in.
Emilio stepped inside, carrying the road with him. His jacket was stiff with grit, the collar of his shirt still crusted in old blood. He hadn’t changed, hadn’t washed. I approved. A man should wear his work. Let the stink of violence linger, it told a story before he opened his mouth.
“Well?” I asked, steepling my fingers beneath my chin.
“We think we found her.” He didn’t waste time with pleasantries. Smart. “Sable. The children. We picked up word two nights ago outside a place called High Voltage, a biker bar on James Island. Owned by a club called The Devil’s House MC. A man swore he saw her and the kids along the road, being helped by one of their men.”
I arched a brow at the name. “High Voltage.” My mouth twitched. “Poetic.”
“They’re territorial,” Emilio continued. “Dangerous, but contained. They don’t run flashy like some of the other clubs. Local enough to keep things quiet, tight. Our sources say there’s been talk of a new woman at their clubhouse. Two children. Matches the description.”
I leaned back in my chair, the leather groaning beneath my shift of weight. “I see.”
Silence pooled thick and heavy. I let it stretch, watching Emilio shift on his feet. A lesser man would’ve rushed to fill the quiet, babbling, grasping at scraps. Emilio had learned better. His unease was written in the flicker of his jaw, but he held his tongue.
Good. I hated men who mistook noise for progress. Silence is a blade. It cuts deeper than words.
“Gather everything you can on this club,” I said finally, voice quiet. “Names. Businesses. Their women. Their weaknesses. I want to know what kind of men take another man’s property and imagine they can keep it.”
Emilio nodded once. “We’ve already started.”
I rose from my chair, rolling down my sleeves with slow precision, one button at a time. My movements deliberate, sure. Patience was strength. Rage wasted itself too quickly. “Then I’ll begin my own investigation. Always better to start with someone who knows them intimately.”
Confusion flickered across Emilio’s face. “Sir?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to.
The walk through the compound was hushed, my steps echoing across cracked tile. Shadows stretched long in the corridor, the overhead lighting muted, dust curling in the air. Men straightened as I passed, eyes lowered, their silence as practiced as prayer. Fear was thicker than incense here, and it pleased me.
