Page 9 of Her Outlaw Biker (Vanishing With the Rebel #2)

Clover

Somehow the silence after he leaves feels worse. It’s too quiet. Too still. Like the world is holding its breath. The air outside the cracked window smells like blood and death…or maybe that’s just all in my head.

I press my hand to the glass, hoping to feel something—wind, noise, him. But there’s nothing. Just the heavy, hollow absence of Jack Maddox.

I stand up again, restless. My bare feet sink into the worn motel carpet as I move back and forth across the room. My fingers keep reaching for my phone even though I know there’s no new message. No missed call.

No Ghost.

I hate this.

I hate this feeling of helplessness.

“God, what time is it?” I murmur to myself, glancing at the cheap wall clock. Three forty-seven.

He said he’d be back…that he’d definitely come back to me. That there was a plan.

But all I heard was goodbye.

I stop by the window, parting the curtain with trembling fingers. Nothing but blackness out there. No headlights. No bikes. No Ghost.

My chest squeezes so tight I almost fold in on myself. I feel sick. Like I’m going to throw up or scream or both.

Why didn’t I tell him?

I love you.

It was at the tip of my tongue—why didn’t I just blurt it out?

He looked so calm when he left, like he’d made peace with whatever was coming. Like he already knew he might not make it back. And I just stood there, letting him kiss me, touch me…one last time, hoping it wouldn’t be the last.

“Coward,” I whisper to myself. “You should’ve told him.”

Now it might be too late.

I drop onto the edge of the bed and bury my face in my hands. For a second, I let myself cry. Quiet tears, nothing dramatic. Just the kind that slip out when your soul can’t hold the weight anymore.

And then, without really thinking, I clasp my hands together and bow my head.

“I don’t even know if you’re real,” I whisper, eyes squeezed shut. “I haven’t prayed since Mom died…but if you’re out there, if you can hear me, please…please bring him back.”

The silence that follows feels like judgment.

But I don’t care. I said it. I meant it.

And I’ll say it a hundred more times if it means he walks back through that door in one piece.

Suddenly, the door crashes open. I jump, spinning around, then freeze.

“Ghost,” I whisper, my breath hitching.

His large frame fills the doorway like some shadowy warrior from a dream. His jacket is splattered with blood, and there’s blood trickling from his temple, his knuckles split open. His chest rises and falls like he’s been running for miles. His eyes find me immediately.

“Baby,” he rasps, and then I’m moving.

I rush to him, grabbing his face with trembling hands. “Oh my God…what happened? Are you okay? You’re bleeding—”

“I’m fine,” he cuts in, gently brushing my hair back from my face. “It looks worse than it is. But we gotta move. Now.”

My heart skips violently. “What? Why? What happened?”

“I took care of it,” he mutters, already grabbing the duffel bag and slinging it over his shoulder. “Rigs is dead. The Vultures are scrambling, trying to figure out new leadership. But they’ll come back hard when they regroup. We’ve got a small window.”

I don’t ask for details. I can see it in his eyes, the fight. The fury. The cost. So I nod and follow him outside.

But when he tries to start up the bike, it makes a whining sound and then sputters. “Shit.”

The bike’s a mess. I’m surprised it even got him back in one piece. One side of the handlebar is bent out of shape, and the headlight’s cracked.

“You gotta be kidding me,” he mutters, letting out a long streak of curse words.

“I’ll check it out,” I say, already kneeling beside the bike.

I start working fast, checking connections, straightening what I can, yanking tools from his pack.

It’s not perfect, but I’ve done this countless times.

Years of watching Dad fix things with shaking hands and a cigarette hanging from his lips taught me more than any textbook ever could.

Ghost stands beside me, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “You really are your father’s daughter.”

I shoot him a glare. “Seriously? You’re making jokes now?”

“What?” He shrugs. “I think it’s hot.”

I grunt and keep working, my pulse racing like it’s trying to punch through my skin. “I swear, if you weren’t half-dead right now—”

“I’d still be falling harder for you,” he says smoothly.

I roll my eyes, cheeks flushing. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Damn right.”

The bike roars back to life with a guttural growl. I wipe my hands on my jeans, heart pounding.

“I’ll drive,” I say, already swinging one leg over.

He lifts a brow, amused. “You sure?”

“Get on the damn bike, Ghost.”

He grins. “Yes, ma’am.”

The ride is long and winding, the stars twinkling above us. I drive until we’re out of the desert, moving north, surrounded by trees. I follow Ghost’s directions, and eventually, the asphalt gives way to gravel, then dirt. The wind bites at my cheeks, but I don’t care.

I just want to keep him safe.

We finally pull up to a small, weathered cabin tucked between tall pines. The porch light flickers as I kill the engine. Silence swells around us, deep, and still.

Ghost swings off the bike, stretching with a groan.

“What is this place?” I ask, glancing around.

“Called in a favor from an old friend,” he says, grabbing the duffel from the back. “It’s off-grid. We can lie low here for a while. No one’s gonna find us.”

I look around. There’s nothing but trees and the sound of our breathing. For the first time in a while, I feel the smallest hint of relief.

Inside, the cabin smells like cedar and dust. It’s small, just one room and a bathroom, but it’s dry and safe and warm, and that’s more than enough.

“Sit,” I say, pointing to the wooden chair by the fireplace. “Now.”

Ghost doesn’t argue. He shrugs out of his jacket and drops into the chair with a grunt, muscles stiff, blood still trailing slowly down the side of his face.

I grab the first aid kit from the bag and kneel in front of him, unscrewing the cap on a bottle of antiseptic.

“Hold still,” I murmur.

He flinches slightly as I dab the cut on his temple.

“You should see the other guys,” he mutters, smirking.

I roll my eyes but smile anyway. “Of course you’d say that.”

“I’m serious. You should. One of them won’t be sitting right for a week.”

I huff out a breath that’s half a laugh, half a sob. “You’re impossible.”

He lifts his eyes to mine, softer now. “Hey. I told you…I’m fine.”

“I know.” I press gauze against the wound. “But I needed to see it for myself.”

His hand settles gently on my knee. “Clover…”

I know he was trying to lighten the moment, keep it from weighing too heavy. And I’m grateful, so damn grateful for the way he always carries the hardest parts so I don’t have to.

As I work in silence, something swells in my chest. A quiet realization that’s been building all along, from the second he stepped between me and danger on that desert night.

He saved me.

Not once, but twice.

The Iron Vultures, my dad’s debt, the fear that used to keep me up at night…it’s all behind me now. I used to believe no one was coming for me. That I’d have to carry my burdens alone forever. But then he came into my life…

Jack Maddox. My guardian angel in leather and scars.

And I know it now, clearer than anything…

“I love you.”

The words fly out before I can stop them.

He freezes. Blinks. Like he’s not sure he heard me right.

“What did you just say?”

I look up, heart thudding. “I said I love you.”

He stares at me for a breathless second. Then he’s moving. He grabs me, lifts me clean off the floor, and spins me once before setting me back down in his lap and crashing his lips to mine in a hot and hungry kiss.

I giggle against his mouth, gently cradling his jaw.

“You love me,” he says, like it’s the best damn thing he’s ever heard.

“I do,” I whisper. “So much.”

He leans his forehead against mine, still breathless. “I fell in love with you the moment you showed up at my door. You knocked the wind outta me, baby.”

I smile, blinking back tears. “Guess I’ve got a thing for haunted, gun-toting outlaws.”

He chuckles low in his chest. “You’re stuck with one now.”

“Good.”

He kisses me again, slower this time, like he’s sealing something sacred. “I love you, my little bird.”