Page 104 of Mystic's Sunrise

I closed my eyes, letting myself lean into her warmth. But deep inside, where the pain sat thick and unmoving, I couldn’t make promises. Not to her. Not to him.

Not even to myself.

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

THE RUMBLE OFmy bike was steady beneath me,a low growl that usually kept my head clear, helped me stay grounded when the noise in my head got too loud. Most nights, that vibration was enough to quiet the ghosts. But not tonight.

Tonight, my mind was still wrapped around Zeynep. Still tangled in the look on her face, the pain, and her walls slammed back into place the second Chelsea opened her mouth and spilled her poison.

I could still hear her voice. That cold, calculated venom slipping out like it cost her nothing.

I should’ve stopped it the second Chelsea showed up. Should’ve shut her down, told Zeynep everything before she ever had the chance to hear it from anyone else.

But I didn’t.

I just stood there—silent, useless, watching the damage happen in real time. Watching Zeynep close up like she’s probably done a thousand times before when she was trying to survive something too painful to face.

The weight of it hadn’t left me since. It sat like a stone on my chest as I rode through the darkness toward the clubhouse, headlights cutting through the quiet backroads, eating up pavement while my thoughts refused to settle.

Up ahead, the gates came into view—familiar, solid, and guarded. Devil stood just beyond them, cigarette glowing between his fingers like a slow-burning fuse. Chain was there too, leaning against the fence, boots crossed at the ankle, arms folded.

They saw me before I saw what was coming.

It happened fast—too fast for the unease to fully settle before it snapped tight.

Blue and red lights flashed out of nowhere, flooding the night like an alarm had gone off in the sky.

The sound of sirens followed seconds later, sharp and jarring, cutting through the stillness like a scream.

My instincts kicked in immediately. I slowed, easing off the throttle, every muscle in my body going tense. My jaw locked, shoulders squared, eyes tracking the movement behind me as three sheriff’s department cruisers closed in—two from behind, one pulling up ahead to block the gate.

I was boxed in before I even had time to blink.

Chain straightened, his stance no longer casual. He flicked his cigarette to the ground, lips tight, gaze tracking every move.Devil stepped forward from the fence, already moving with purpose, his expression dark and unreadable.

What the fuck is this?

I hadn’t even killed the engine before the doors of the cruisers flew open and uniformed deputies spilled out, weapons already drawn, aimed straight at me like I was some rabid animal that needed to be put down.

“Hands where we can see them, Blackwood!” one of them barked, the command slicing through the air.

I didn’t move at first. Didn’t blink. Just let out a slow, tight breath, the kind you take when you know something is about to get a hell of a lot worse before it gets better. My fingers flexed once around the grips, then I raised them slowly into the air.

This wasn’t random.

This wasn’t coincidence.

This was Chelsea.

That conniving bitch.

She didn’t just want revenge—she wanted destruction.

One of the cops rushed forward, grabbed me hard by the arm, and yanked me off the bike. The force sent me stumbling, boots scraping against the gravel before I was slammed chest-first onto the hood of the cruiser. The hot metal burned through my shirt, and the cuffs bit into my wrists with practiced ease.

“What the hell is this?” Devil’s voice cut through the chaos, calm but coiled tight with threat.

He didn’t raise it. Didn’t need to.