Page 173 of Beyond the Blue Horizon

“I’ll pull Jonah from security,” Kane said.

Jonah was one of the long-term bouncers at Kane’s. Usually manning the door but always there when we needed extra help.

He didn’t have the clear on all the details, but he knew there was a whole lot more to who we were, and he’d proven that we could trust him.

“Is that going to put you in a pinch?” River asked.

Kane rocked back in his chair. “Nah. My team is solid.”

“Good,” River said before he looked at me. “You okay with Jonah being posted at the motel?”

“Yeah. I would appreciate it.”

“Does that work for everyone?” River asked.

A round of “Yups” went around.

“Good. Any other business we need to talk about?”

Cash shook his head. “Everything else has been pretty quiet. Working a single lead that came in from a social worker in Michigan, but it’s only at the very beginning stages.”

“Okay, then.” River sat forward. “If no one has anything else to add, we’ll adjourn this meeting.”

He stretched his fist out into the middle of the table, and everyone repeated after him, “Our oath to the afflicted. Our oath to the forsaken. Our oath to Sovereign Sanctum.”

I would always stand for the forsaken. That was the easy part. Care given, but not the kind that really mattered. Not the kind that got mangled and twisted in your heart.

Compassionate but platonic.

My conscience clashed with my spirit. Guilt clotting off air flow as my mind raced back to my greatest sin. To the oath I had made to myself that I would never go there again.

All while my heart screamed that I’d already broken it.

THIRTY-FOUR

THEO

TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OLD

“I want to go with you.”

“Scarlett…” Theo breathed her name on a sigh of hesitation.

His arms were outstretched, hands gripping the handlebars and his boots planted on the ground. The powerful engine grumbled in the approaching night. A heavy vibration that tolled through his body. As volatile as the war that waged in his spirit.

He didn’t know how the fuck to turn her down. Didn’t know how to tell her no when the thought of hurting her fuckin’ killed him.

So why the fuck did he vacillate when it came to her?

Why didn’t his heart fully engage?

She shifted on her feet where she stood ten feet away, just outside the front door of the house where she’d been staying with him for the last three months. In his bed every night—even the nights when he didn’t come home.

She was dressed like a girl who should turn his eye.

Black leather, lace, and scuffed motorcycle boots.

Hope and desperation and that pure love she’d been showering him in for months radiated from her. Like she saw someone totally different than he actually was when she looked at him. Saw something better than he could ever be.