Page 21 of Salvation (Reckless Kings MC #6)

Salvation

I woke to an empty bed, my hand instinctively reaching for Yulia before my eyes even opened.

The sheets beside me were still warm, her scent lingering on the pillow.

For one disorienting moment, panic flared in my chest -- the same blind terror I’d felt when she and Clover had disappeared from the fairgrounds.

Then reality settled back in. We were home.

They were safe. And after eleven years of marriage on paper, Yulia and I had finally crossed the line we’d danced around for so long.

I sat up, running a hand through my hair as I listened for sounds in the house.

The shower wasn’t running. No clatter of dishes from the kitchen.

Just the familiar ambient noise of the compound filtering through the windows -- distant voices, motorcycles rumbling to life, the rhythmic clang of weights from the club gym.

A folded piece of paper on Yulia’s pillow caught my eye. I reached for it, recognizing Hawk’s messy scrawl immediately.

Salvation -- Hayley’s got Clover for the day. Teaching her to bake or some shit. Take your woman somewhere nice. Bikes are gassed up. Don’t fuck this up. -- H

A postscript in different handwriting -- Hayley’s, I assumed -- added: The blue helmet in the garage is Yulia’s size. You’re welcome .

Then one more, this one from my daughter: Take her somewhere nice and don’t worry about me. She’s having breakfast with Ranger and Danica .

I stared at the note, a slow smile spreading across my face.

Hawk and Hayley, playing matchmaker. As if Yulia and I needed the push after last night.

Still, the thought of a day with just the two of us, away from the compound, away from reminders of what we’d just been through…

my chest tightened with something that felt like anticipation mixed with anxiety.

Our first real date. Eleven years into our marriage.

I showered quickly and dressed in my usual jeans and black T-shirt, before shrugging into my cut.

The compound was alive with morning activity as I made my way to the garage.

The smell of coffee drifted from the kitchen and I paused to pour a cup, taking a sip as I stared out the small window over the sink.

Everything normal. Everything as it should be.

Except nothing was normal anymore. Not since I’d finally told Yulia the truth. Not since she’d said she loved me too.

The thought sent a jolt through me that was equal parts terror and exhilaration.

I’d faced down rival clubs without flinching, had killed men who threatened what was mine, but this -- this fragile, newborn thing between Yulia and me -- terrified me in ways I couldn’t articulate.

I drained the cup and placed it in the sink.

The garage was cool and dim compared to the brightness outside.

My bike waited in its usual spot, the sleek black Harley a familiar comfort.

Beside it stood Yulia’s bike -- an older model I’d taught her to ride years ago, but that she rarely used.

I ran my hands over both machines, checking them with the methodical precision that came from years of riding.

Oil levels. Tire pressure. Brakes. Chain tension. I lost myself in the familiar routine, the smell of grease and metal grounding me in the present moment.

“Good morning.”

Her voice from the doorway of the open garage sent a ripple down my spine. I straightened, wiping my hands on a shop rag as I turned to face her.

Yulia stood framed in the entrance, backlit by morning sun.

She wore black riding jeans that hugged her curves and a leather jacket I’d never seen before -- fitted, feminine, but unmistakably protective.

I noticed something else about it… the Reckless Kings colors on the front in a small patch.

It made me wonder where she’d gotten it, since I hadn’t seen one like it before.

“Morning,” I managed, suddenly unsure what to do with my hands. Before last night, I would have nodded, kept my distance. Now? Everything was different, the rules rewritten.

She solved the problem by crossing to me, rising on tiptoes to press a kiss to my jaw. “Hawk and Hayley sent me to Ranger’s house for breakfast, so I figured they had something planned. Danica gave this jacket to me, as a gift from the club.”

“They’re not exactly subtle, but I can’t say I dislike their plan of setting us up on a date,” I said, allowing my hand to settle at her waist, still marveling that I could touch her like this now. “How are your ribs?”

“Better. Still sore, but the wrapping helps.” She glanced at the bikes. “Are we going somewhere?”

I nodded, my thumb tracing small circles against her leather-clad hip. “I thought we could. If you’re up for it.” I hesitated, suddenly feeling like a teenager with his first crush instead of a grown man with his wife. “I thought we could ride through the hills, maybe stop somewhere special.”

Her smile widened, the slight reserve in her expression melting away. “I’d like that.”

I reached past her for the blue helmet hanging on the wall -- the one Hayley had somehow procured in Yulia’s size. The one I’d bought for her previously had vanished at some point. “Try this on.”

She took it, turning it in her hands before slipping it over her head. It fit perfectly, framing her face in a way that emphasized her high cheekbones and blue eyes. Even with most of her features hidden, she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

“How do I look?” she asked, her voice muffled slightly by the helmet.

“Perfect,” I said simply.

A faint blush colored her cheeks as she removed the helmet. “It’s been a while since I’ve ridden. You might need to go slow.”

“We’ve got all day,” I assured her, resisting the urge to pull her against me again. If I started kissing her now, we might never make it out of the garage.

Instead, I focused on final preparations, and explaining the route I had in mind.

Yulia listened attentively, asking questions about road conditions and how long we’d be gone.

The conversation was ordinary, practical -- the kind we might have had before.

But the undercurrent had changed, electricity running beneath every exchanged glance, every casual touch.

“Ready?” I asked finally, swinging my leg over my bike.

Yulia nodded, settling onto her own machine with a grace that belied her claimed rustiness.

She’d always been a natural on a bike, though she rarely indulged.

Something about the way she straddled the seat, her back straight and hands confident on the grips, sent heat spreading through my chest. That’s when I noticed the back of her jacket.

It was the same as her property cut and said Property of Salvation .

I started my engine, the familiar rumble vibrating up through my bones. Yulia followed suit, her smaller bike purring to life beneath her. She flashed me a smile that was equal parts excitement and nervousness, then lowered her visor.

I led the way out of the garage, across the compound toward the main gates.

In my mirrors, I could see Yulia following, her form compact and perfect on the bike.

Pride swelled in my chest at the sight -- my wife, my woman, riding with me.

No longer just a name on paper or a responsibility to protect, but a partner. My partner.

The gates swung open as we approached, the brothers on security detail nodding as we passed.

I throttled up as we hit the open road, but kept my speed moderate, constantly checking my mirrors to ensure Yulia was comfortable with the pace.

Her riding was smooth, confident, and I felt myself relaxing incrementally as we put distance between ourselves and the compound.

For the first time in days -- maybe years -- I felt something like freedom unfurling in my chest. The road stretched before us, Yulia rode safely behind me, and we had a whole day just to be together. To figure out what this new reality meant for both of us.

I gunned the engine, feeling Yulia do the same behind me as we roared toward the distant hills, leaving the shadows of the past week behind us -- at least for today.

The road climbed steadily through pine forests, unspooling before us like a ribbon of black silk against the green.

Yulia had pulled up beside me, and I kept an eye on her as she leaned into each curve with growing confidence.

The farther we got from the compound, the more her body language changed -- shoulders relaxing, head tilting up to take in the scenery flashing past. Freedom looked good on her.

It always had, from the first tentative steps she’d taken away from her trauma all those years ago to now, following me up mountain roads with the kind of grace that couldn’t be taught.

Wind buffeted my body as we accelerated around a sweeping bend, the valley opening up on our right side.

Sunlight dappled the asphalt through breaks in the tree canopy, creating patterns of light and shadow that blurred beneath our wheels.

The familiar vibration of the engine between my legs, the smell of pine and wildflowers, the occasional flash of wildlife darting into the underbrush -- everything felt heightened, more vivid than usual.

Or maybe it was just that Yulia was with me, really with me, for the first time.

I watched her take a curve perfectly, her body shifting with the bike as if they were a single entity.

Her earlier claim about being rusty was clearly false modesty.

She rode like she’d been born to it, like the machine was an extension of herself.

My chest tightened at the sight, pride and something fiercer, more possessive, surging through me.

Most of our old ladies didn’t ride, but Brick had suggested it might be a good way for her to heal, and she’d taken to it well.