Page 26 of Salvation (Reckless Kings MC #6)

Salvation

I steered the truck around another bend in the forest road, the tires crunching over fallen pine needles and gravel.

Beside me, Yulia gazed out the window, her profile softened by the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees.

In the rearview mirror, I caught glimpses of Clover in the back seat, headphones on, her fingers tapping against her knee to some silent rhythm. My family.

“How much farther?” Yulia asked, her accent slightly more pronounced in the quiet of the truck cabin. Her left hand rested on her thigh, the rose-gold ring catching light every time we passed through a break in the canopy.

“About ten minutes,” I said, reaching over to cover her hand with mine. “The turn-off is easy to miss. Beast said to look for the lightning-struck pine just past mile marker sixteen.”

Yulia’s fingers curled around mine, the simple contact sending warmth up my arm. After eleven years of careful distance, these casual touches still felt new, almost illicit -- a pleasure I was only beginning to allow myself.

Clover tugged her headphones down around her neck, leaning forward between our seats. “Is it really right on the lake? Beast didn’t just say that to make it sound better?”

I glanced at her in the mirror, taking in the excitement that had replaced the shadows in her eyes. The kidnapping had left its mark on her -- nightmares, a new wariness -- but moments like this, when she looked like any normal teenager, eased the constant ache of guilt I carried.

“Right on the water,” I confirmed. “Private dock and everything. Beast said they acquired it a few months ago for private getaways for the club families, but mostly it sits empty.”

“Awesome!” Clover’s enthusiasm made both Yulia and me smile. “I call the bedroom with the best view.”

The road narrowed further, tree branches scraping occasionally against the truck’s roof.

We were deep in the forest now, far from the compound, from club business, from the world that constantly demanded pieces of me.

Just us three, for three whole days. The weight that permanently lived between my shoulder blades began to ease, muscle by muscle.

“There.” Yulia pointed to a massive pine split down the middle, its trunk blackened by an old lightning strike. “The turn-off.”

I slowed the truck, carefully navigating onto what was little more than a dirt track.

The suspension groaned in protest as we bounced over exposed roots and small rocks.

Through breaks in the trees, I caught glimpses of water -- sunlight dancing across the surface of the lake like scattered diamonds.

The cabin appeared suddenly as we rounded a final bend, the forest opening up to reveal a clearing by the lakeshore.

It was exactly as Beast had described -- rustic but solid, with weathered wooden walls and a wide porch that wrapped around two sides.

A stone chimney rose from the pitched roof, and large windows faced the water, promising views from inside.

“It’s perfect,” Yulia breathed, her eyes taking in the peaceful setting. I watched her shoulders drop slightly, tension I hadn’t even realized she was carrying visibly draining away.

I parked near the steps leading to the porch and cut the engine. The sudden silence was profound -- no motorcycles, no shouted conversations, no constant activity of the compound. Just birdsong, the gentle lap of water against the shore, and the whisper of wind through pine needles.

Before I could open my door, Clover had already leapt from the back seat, racing toward the cabin with the boundless energy of youth. “Can I look inside? Is it unlocked?”

“Key’s under the mat,” I called after her, unable to keep the smile from my voice. “Security system code is 0824.”

Yulia and I climbed out more slowly, stretching limbs stiff from the three-hour drive. I moved to the truck bed, starting to unload our bags, but paused when I noticed Yulia standing motionless, her face tilted up toward the sun, eyes closed.

“You okay?” I asked, studying the planes of her face, the curve of her throat.

She opened her eyes, meeting mine with a softness I was still getting used to seeing directed at me. “Better than okay,” she said.

I understood completely. The past weeks had been a whirlwind of emotions and adjustments -- our new relationship, Clover’s enthusiastic acceptance, the club’s knowing looks and occasional crude jokes.

Every moment had felt observed, commented on, part of the communal life we lived.

This was our first chance to just be us. A family.

“Dad! Mom!” Clover’s voice rang out from inside the cabin, stumbling slightly over the new name she was still getting used to. “This place is amazing! There’s a loft with a skylight!”

Yulia’s eyes brightened at the word “Mom,” the simple syllable still new enough to bring a flush to her cheeks. I caught her hand, squeezing gently, understanding without words passing between us.

“You go on in,” I said. “I’ll get the bags.”

She nodded but surprised me by rising on tiptoes to press a quick kiss to my lips before heading toward the cabin.

I watched her walk away, still marveling at how different everything felt now.

The same woman I’d lived with for eleven years but suddenly transformed by the simple acknowledgment of what had been building between us for so long.

I grabbed our duffel bags and two grocery sacks, muscles bunching under the weight.

Inside, the cabin was just as impressive as the exterior had promised -- open-plan living area with exposed beams, a stone fireplace dominating one wall, comfortable-looking furniture arranged to take advantage of the lake view through floor-to-ceiling windows.

Clover had already disappeared, her excited voice echoing from somewhere upstairs. Yulia stood in the center of the main room, turning slowly to take it all in.

“Beast said they keep it stocked with basics,” I said, dropping the bags near the sofa. “But I figured we’d want our own stuff too.”

I carried the groceries to the small but well-appointed kitchen, Yulia following behind me.

We fell into a familiar rhythm, unpacking and storing food side by side.

When our hands brushed as we both reached for the same cabinet, neither of us pulled away.

Instead, her fingers lingered against mine, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

“This feels different,” she said softly, voice pitched just for me. “Being away from everything.”

“Good different?” I asked, though I could read the answer in her relaxed posture, the absence of the vigilant awareness that usually accompanied her every movement.

“The best different,” she confirmed, her accent wrapping around the words like warm honey.

I allowed myself to really look at her then.

Her blonde hair hung loose around her shoulders, free from its usual practical ponytail.

The bruises from her ordeal had faded completely, leaving her skin pale and perfect in the afternoon light.

Her blue eyes held mine without the careful avoidance that had defined our interactions for so long.

“I love you,” I said simply, because I could now. Because the words no longer had to be swallowed back, hidden away, denied.

Her smile widened, and she leaned into me, her body fitting against mine like it had always belonged there. “I love you too,” she whispered against my chest.

Upstairs, Clover’s footsteps thundered across the ceiling, followed by her voice calling down, “There’s a canoe in the boathouse! Can we take it out later?”

Reality intruded, but gently, reminding us we weren’t alone. “Tomorrow morning,” I called back, reluctantly releasing Yulia to continue unpacking.

As I worked, I felt something unfamiliar settle into my bones -- a sense of rightness, of pieces clicking into place.

For the first time in longer than I could remember, I wasn’t a member of the Reckless Kings first and a man second.

Here, I was just a father and a husband, spending time with his family in a peaceful place. And somehow, that felt like enough.

* * *

The forest trail wound around the edge of the lake, narrow but well-maintained, dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy overhead.

I led the way, my footsteps instinctively quiet despite the peaceful surroundings, old habits impossible to break completely.

Behind me, Clover chattered excitedly, stopping every few yards to examine something new -- a uniquely shaped rock, an interesting insect, the tracks of some small animal pressed into the soft earth.

Yulia brought up the rear, her pace leisurely, hair loose around her shoulders.

Away from the compound, she looked younger somehow, the vigilant awareness that normally characterized her movements replaced by a gentle ease that made my chest tighten with emotion.

“Dad, what kind of bird is that?” Clover pointed upward, where a flash of blue darted between branches.

“Blue jay,” I answered, scanning the trees automatically for any sign of actual threat, finding none. “Noisy bastards, but pretty.”

“Language,” Yulia chided, but her smile took any sting from the admonishment.

I shrugged, unrepentant. “Just telling it like it is.”

The trail curved sharply, and I held back a low-hanging branch for them to pass.

“Wait,” I said suddenly, stopping in my tracks. I pointed toward a small clearing about thirty yards off the trail. “Look there. Don’t move.”

Clover and Yulia froze instantly, their bodies responding to the command in my voice before their minds could question it. A moment later, Clover’s sharp intake of breath told me she’d spotted what I had -- a doe and two fawns, grazing peacefully in the dappled light.

“Oh,” she breathed, barely audible. “They’re beautiful.”