Page 22 of Mystic's Sunrise

I didn’t answer, just moved to the counter and grabbed a bottle. Didn’t bother with a glass.

Thunder was leaned back in one of the chairs, arms crossed, his gaze steady. “You alright, brother?”

“I’m fine.”

Gearhead smirked. “You’ve been holed up in her room for days. Devil’s startin’ to ask if we need to check for a pulse.”

“She needs someone to watch her.” I took a long pull from the bottle, the burn grounding me. “I volunteered.”

“Yeah, we noticed,” Thunder said, his voice even, not mocking, just observant. “Damn strange, if I’m bein’ honest.”

“Nobody’s business but mine,” I muttered.

Thunder nodded slowly. “Not arguing that.”

I raised a brow. “Go ahead. Say what you’re thinkin’.”

Gearhead leaned forward, forearms resting on the bar. “You’ve been with the club a long time, Mystic. Never brought a woman in. Never looked twice at any of the sweet butts sniffin’ around.”

I stared at him.

“So,” Gearhead continued, “when you start gettin’ all territorial over a woman you barely know, yeah—we’re gonna notice.”

I didn’t respond right away. Just twisted the bottle in my hand, staring at the label like it might offer answers.

“She’s been through hell,” I said finally. “What happened to her... it’s not over. Dragon Fire had her. They’re not done.”

Thunder nodded. “You think she’s in danger?”

“Iknowshe is.”

Gearhead exhaled through his nose. “That why you’re protectin’ her? Or is there more to it?”

I looked up then, locking eyes with him. “Does it matter?”

He held my gaze, then leaned back with a small shake of his head. “Not to me.”

Thunder stood and grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair. “We’re ridin’ out. Devil wants more eyes on the back roads for any sign of Dragon Fire.”

“Need me to run with you?”

“Nah, we got it,” Gearhead said, reading me clear, knowing I didn’t want to leave her.

Thunder clapped a hand on my shoulder as he passed. “Take it easy, brother.”

I watched them go, and as though my legs had a mind of their own, they took me straight back to her.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THE SOFT HUMof the ceiling fan filled the silence,the sunlight through the window casting long shadows along the walls. My body still ached, but the pain was secondary to the exhaustion pressing into my bones. The sweatshirt I wore was too big, swallowing me up in warmth, but it brought me comfort, though I didn’t know why. I barely noticed the quiet creak of the door opening, my mind drifting in the fog of medication and exhaustion.

Then I heard it. My name.

“Zeynep.”

The voice was barely above a whisper, but it reached through the haze, pulling me back. I turned my head slowly, my muscles protesting the movement.

Lucy.