Page 7 of Salvation (Reckless Kings MC #6)

“Don’t be.” I let my fingers slide against hers before withdrawing, heat crawling up my neck.

We ate in silence for a moment, both of us watching the roller coaster and pretending that’s all we were focused on. She laughed at something and the sound wrapped around me like a physical touch.

“Your accent,” I said without thinking. “It gets stronger when you’re happy and when you’re nervous.”

“You’d think after all this time it would be gone.”

“Not gone.” I shook my head. “Just… softer. Except when you’re emotional.”

“You’ve been paying attention.” Her voice was quiet, almost wondering.

I looked at her then, really looked at her.

The woman beside me was so different from the broken girl I’d married to protect.

Her eyes, once vacant with despair, now held a quiet confidence.

The hesitant way she’d moved, always braced for pain, had given way to a grace that drew my eye whenever she entered a room.

“Yeah,” I admitted. “I have.”

She ducked her head, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she reached for more popcorn.

“She’s growing up so fast,” Yulia said, nodding toward where Clover now stood near the front of the line. “Almost a woman.”

I grunted, not ready to acknowledge that reality. “Too fast.”

“You can’t keep her at the compound forever, you know.” Yulia’s voice was gentle but firm. “College is only two years away.”

The thought sat like lead in my stomach.

“Cyclops’ kids stayed close. Not all will.” She shifted beside me, her shoulder pressing against mine. “She has dreams. Big ones.”

“I know.” I did know. I’d heard Clover talking about universities on the east coast, about traveling abroad. Each conversation had felt like a knife twisting in my gut. “I just worry.”

“About what she’ll face out there? Or about being left behind?”

The question hit too close to home. I stared at the roller coaster, watching as the next group of riders was secured into their seats. “Both, I guess.”

Yulia’s hand settled on my forearm, her touch featherlight. “You’ve given her a good life, Salvation. A safe one. That’s more than most can say.”

I turned to face her, struck by the certainty in her voice. “We both have,” I corrected. “Don’t sell yourself short, Yulia. You’ve been as much a parent to her as I have.”

Something flickered in her eyes -- surprise, maybe, or gratitude. “I’ve tried. She made it easy to love her.”

“Like her mom that way,” I said, the old grief a dull ache now, not the sharp pain it once was. “Carina had that same quality.”

Yulia nodded, her fingers tracing absent patterns on my arm. The touch sent heat spiraling through me. “Clover talks about her sometimes. Asks me questions.”

“What kind of questions?”

“If I think Carina would be proud of her. If she looks like her.” Yulia’s eyes met mine. “If you still miss her.”

My throat tightened. “What do you tell her?”

“That of course Carina would be proud. That yes, she has her mother’s eyes and smile.” She paused, her gaze dropping to where her fingers still rested on my arm. “And that missing someone doesn’t mean you can’t move forward.”

The words hung between us, loaded with meaning. Around us, the fair continued its chaotic dance -- children laughing, barkers calling, music blaring from rides. But in our small bubble on the bench, the world had narrowed to just us two.

“Yulia,” I began, my voice rougher than intended. “About the other night --”

“I know.” She lifted her gaze to mine, something vulnerable and brave in her expression. “We need to talk.”

“Yeah.” I shifted closer, the popcorn forgotten between us. “But maybe we need to do more than talk.”

Her breath caught. The air between us seemed to thicken, charged with eleven years of unspoken feelings. Slowly, giving her every chance to pull away, I raised my hand to her face. My thumb brushed across her cheekbone, and her eyes fluttered shut at the touch.

“Salvation,” she whispered, leaning slightly toward me.

I closed the distance between us, drawn by a force I’d been fighting too long. Her breath, warm and sweet, mingled with mine as our lips hovered a hairsbreadth apart --

“That was awesome!”

Clover’s voice shattered the moment. We jerked apart, Yulia nearly knocking over the popcorn as she straightened. My daughter bounded up to us, hair windblown, cheeks flushed with excitement.

“Did you see that last drop? I had my hands up the whole time!” She flopped onto the bench beside me, oblivious to what she’d interrupted. “Can we get something to eat? I’m starving.”

I cleared my throat, struggling to shift mental gears. “Sure. What do you want?”

“Corn dogs. No, funnel cake. No, wait -- both!” She jumped up again, energy seemingly inexhaustible.

I glanced at Yulia, finding her cheeks flushed, eyes bright with what might have been disappointment or anticipation. When our gazes locked, a silent promise passed between us: Later. We would finish this later.

“Come on, slowpokes!” Clover called, already several steps ahead.

I stood, offering my hand to Yulia. After a moment’s hesitation, she took it, her fingers sliding between mine as if they belonged there. Neither of us let go as we followed my daughter into the crowd.

* * *

I felt the satisfied fatigue of a night well spent with the two people who mattered most. I caught Yulia’s eye as Clover examined a henna tattoo stand, and the small smile she gave me sent warmth spreading through my chest. Later, I promised myself. We’d finish what we started.

“We should head back,” I said, checking my watch. “It’s getting late.”

Clover groaned, clutching the oversized tiger I’d won her at the shooting gallery. “Just one more ride? Please?”

“Tomorrow,” I promised. “Fair’s here all weekend.”

“Fine,” she sighed dramatically, then brightened. “But we’re definitely coming back.”

Yulia laughed, the sound lighter than I’d heard in years. “Of course we are. Your father still needs to prove he can handle the Tilt-A-Whirl without turning green.”

“That was the Gravitron, not the Tilt-A-Whirl,” I grumbled, but couldn’t keep the smile from my face. Something had shifted between us today -- walls coming down, possibilities opening up. The thought made my heart beat faster.

We started toward the exit, the fairgrounds now more crowded than before as teens and adults poured in for the final evening shows.

Colored lights blinked overhead, casting moving shadows across the packed dirt paths.

Clover walked ahead as she pointed out things she wanted to try tomorrow.

Yulia walked beside me, close enough that our hands brushed occasionally.

Each touch sent electricity racing up my arm.

“Today was nice,” she said.

“Yeah,” I agreed, wanting to say more but not finding the words. Not here, surrounded by strangers. “It was.”

My phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out, recognizing Beast’s number on the screen. A text message glowed in the gathering darkness: Need you back at compound. Trouble with the Diablos. How soon can you get here ?

I frowned, reading it twice. The Diablos were a small-time gang who’d been making noise about expanding into our territory for the last six months. Nothing serious yet, but Beast wouldn’t text unless it needed attention.

“Everything okay?” Yulia asked, noticing my expression.

“Yeah, just club business.” I typed a quick response: Heading back now. 30 minutes .

I slipped the phone back into my pocket and looked up, ready to call Clover back from where she’d wandered ahead.

She wasn’t there.

I scanned the crowd, expecting to spot her dark hair, the ridiculous tiger. Nothing.

“Clover?” I called, stepping forward. “Where’d she go?”

Yulia moved to my side. “She was just ahead of us. Maybe she stopped at one of the booths?”

I looked to my right, where a row of food vendors lined the path. No sign of her. To my left, more game booths, all packed with fairgoers, none of them my daughter.

“I’ll check this way,” Yulia said, already moving toward the food stands. “She probably got hungry again.”

I nodded, heading toward the games, my eyes searching for Clover’s familiar form.

The crowd seemed to thicken, bodies pressing against me as I pushed through, calling her name.

Carnival music blared from all directions, drowning out my voice.

Sweat beaded on my forehead despite the cooling evening air.

After checking three game booths with no success, I turned back toward where I’d left Yulia.

She’d be searching the food stands, and maybe Clover had already found her way back to our meeting spot.

When we’d first arrived, I’d made sure to set up a place in case we got separated.

I quickened my pace, shoving more forcefully through the crowd.

But when I reached the place where I’d last seen Yulia, she wasn’t there.

A cold knot formed in my stomach. “Yulia?” I called, louder than before. A few people glanced my way, but most ignored me, too wrapped up in their own fair experiences.

I pulled out my phone, dialing Yulia’s number. It rang four times, then went to voicemail. I tried Clover next. Same result.

“Fuck,” I muttered, earning a glare from a nearby mother with small children.

I moved methodically, checking each food stand, each game booth, retracing our steps to rides we’d enjoyed earlier. With each empty search, the knot in my stomach tightened. Ten minutes became fifteen. My calls went straight to voicemail now, both phones apparently off or dead.

“Have you seen a teenage girl, dark hair, about this tall?” I asked a cotton candy vendor. “Or a woman, dark blonde hair, slight accent? They were here twenty minutes ago.”

The woman shook her head, already turning to her next customer.

I kept moving, kept searching, but a sickening certainty was building inside me. This wasn’t just getting separated in a crowd. Something was wrong.

Years of club life had honed my instincts, trained me to recognize threats before they fully materialized. Those instincts were screaming now. I returned to our last meeting spot, scanning the area with new eyes. Looking for signs I might have missed.

That’s when I saw it -- a small slip of paper partially hidden under a discarded popcorn box. I wouldn’t have noticed it if not for the corner that peeked out -- paper too white, too clean to be regular trash. I bent down and picked it up, unfolding it carefully.

Two words, written in neat block letters: FOUND YOU.

The blood in my veins turned to ice. Yulia’s past. Her father’s enemies. The people we’d been protecting her from for eleven years. They’d found us.

I crumpled the paper in my fist, panic clawing up my throat. My eyes swept the crowd again, this time looking not for my family but for watchers. For men who didn’t belong. For threats I should have seen coming.

How long had they been following us? Days? Weeks? Had they been waiting for the perfect opportunity -- a moment when we were relaxed, in public, surrounded by civilians?

I dialed Beast’s number with shaking fingers.

“Yeah?” His gruff voice answered on the second ring.

“They’re gone,” I said, my voice tight with controlled fear. “Yulia and Clover. They’re gone.”

A beat of silence. Then: “What happened?”

I explained in clipped sentences, ending with the note. “It’s them, Beast. The Russians. They’ve found her.”

“Where are you exactly?” His voice had shifted, all business now.

I gave him the location, describing landmarks near where I stood.

“Stay put. We’re on our way. All of us.” I heard him barking orders in the background. “Five minutes, brother. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“They have my family,” I growled, desperation making my voice shake.

“I know. And we’ll get them back.” His tone brooked no argument. “But we do it smart. Together. Five minutes.”

The call ended. I stood rooted to the spot, my heart pounding so hard it hurt. Around me, the fair continued its cheerful chaos -- lights spinning, music blaring, people laughing. The contrast to the horror unfolding in my life was unbearable.

Five minutes stretched like an eternity. I scanned every face that passed, memorizing features, looking for anyone watching me too closely. The note burned in my clenched fist. FOUND YOU. Two words that destroyed the life we’d built. Two words that threatened everything I loved.

The first motorcycle engines reached my ears three minutes later, a low rumble growing louder as they approached the fairground entrance. People turned to look, murmuring as leather-clad men appeared at the edge of the crowd, moving with purpose.

Beast reached me first, Hawk and Crow flanking him. More brothers followed -- Brick, Forge, at least six others. Their faces were grim, hands hovering near concealed weapons.

“Any contact?” Beast asked without preamble.

I shook my head, handing him the crumpled note. “Nothing since this.”

He read it, jaw tightening. “We’ve got guys watching all exits. No one matching their description has left the fairgrounds.” He gripped my shoulder, his eyes hard. “We’ll find them, Salvation.”

But as I stood amid the swirling fair lights, surrounded by my brothers, all I could think was that I’d failed. Failed to protect the two people who mattered most. Failed to see the danger until it was too late.

“They’ll want to take her back to Russia,” I said, my voice hollow. “Finish what they started all those years ago.”

“And Clover?” Hawk asked quietly. “Why would they want her? I’m not sure this is the Russians.”

The question hit me like a physical blow.

Clover was collateral damage -- an innocent caught in a war that had nothing to do with her.

What would they do with a witness? A sixteen-year-old girl who could identify them?

As to his other question, it had to be the Russians. Who else would target Yulia?

“We need to move,” I said, panic surging fresh. “Now.”

Beast nodded, already directing brothers to search patterns. As they dispersed into the crowd, a terrible certainty settled in my gut. This wasn’t a simple case of getting separated. This was the beginning of a nightmare I’d spent eleven years trying to prevent.

And as the colorful lights spun around me, as families laughed and children squealed on rides, all I could think was: I should have seen it coming .