Page 5 of Mystic's Sunrise

He stood, offering me his hand. I hesitated.

“It’s not a trick,” he said. “But you have to decide now. I took care of the guard, but it won’t be long until another one comes along.”

My legs shook as I stood and took his hand.

Outside, the world waited like a stranger. We stopped by a motorcycle, he handed me a jacket and helmet.

The bike roared to life, black and gleaming. He swung his leg over and glanced back. “Come on, Zeynep.You’re safe now.”

I climbed on, arms wrapping around his waist. The engine growled, and we flew into the night.

The wind tore at my jacket, my hair, my thoughts. But I held on.

Because maybe, just maybe, this was the end of the nightmare.

Or maybe it was only a new one.

***

THE CLUBHOUSE WASN’Tquiet.

Music thumped through the walls like a second heartbeat. Laughter rose and fell in sharp bursts. Boots stomped. Bottles clinked. Someone was always shouting.

It was chaos. And I didn’t know where to look.

I stayed close to Drago, clinging to the feel of his arm around me. His leather jacket hung heavy over my shoulders, still warm from his body. His scent—smoke and cologne—was soaked into it. I’d fallen asleep wrapped in that jacket more than once this week. Curled against his chest in motel beds where he kissed me like I was special to him. Where he whispered that I was safe. That no one would ever hurt me again.

He’d taken me from that place, fromhim. From the man with too many rings and not enough soul. Drago said I didn’t belong in that cage, that I deserved better. And for the past sixdays, riding beside him, wrapped in his world of leather and soft lies, I believed it.

But now… this place was different.

The men looked at me. Some curious. Some cold. A few with lust in their eyes that made my skin crawl. Their cuts all bore the same mark—Dragon Fire MC.I didn’t know what that meant yet, not really. Only that they all followed Drago. Or feared him.

And one woman—the tall one across the room with too much lip gloss and a dress that looked painted on—she looked at me like she wanted me gone.

Her name was Kenna. I heard someone whisper it when she walked past.

She was blonde, bold, loud—confident in the way women get when they believe they own not just the room… but the men in it. She leaned against the bar like she’d been carved into it, her eyes locked on us as Drago talked business with his men.

Then she stood. Started walking toward us. Each step slow. Intentional.

Something inside me tensed.

“Cute,” she said, stopping just short of where I sat on the arm of Drago’s chair. “Didn’t know you were into strays, Drago.”

I didn’t answer. Just dropped my gaze, like I’d learned to do. Like I was supposed to.

But my stomach twisted.

Drago looked up. “Walk away.”

Kenna smirked. “Oh, come on. I’m just saying hi. I don’t mind sharing.”

She reached out—like she still thought she had a claim.

Drago caught her wrist mid-air. His fingers dug in. Tight. Unforgiving.

The music didn’t stop. The voices didn’t pause. But something in the air changed.