Page 15 of Thunder's Reckoning

And now I was in it.

Shit.

***

KIDS WERE OUTcold before we even hit the first stop sign. Heads lollin’, mouths slack, the kind of sleep you only get when you’ve been burnin’ on fear and finally crash. I kept my eyes on the road, lettin’ the silence ride with us like a third passenger.

She didn’t say a word. Didn’t tap her fingers. Didn’t shift in her seat. Just sat too damn still, like she thought even the wrongbreath might shatter whatever thin thread of luck had pulled her off that shoulder.

I didn’t ask her name.

Not yet.

Some things you wait on.

The turnoff to The Pit came up quick, a narrow ribbon of gravel just wide enough for two bike tires, never mind a truck. Trees crowded close, hangin’ low like they wanted to hide the sky. The deeper I drove, the more the world behind us just… fell away. That was the point. This place wasn’t built for strangers to stumble across.

We rolled up behind the structure, concrete sunk into the earth like it’d grown there. Camouflaged. Industrial. Quiet.

Above it sat a house.

Three bedrooms, solid roof, clean water. Devil kept it stocked in case a brother needed to crash in the middle of somethin’ heavy. Chain’s sister had been rentin’ it till she moved on, and Devil decided to keep it for club use. Right now, it was sittin’ empty.

I cut the engine.

That’s when she finally looked at me. Not quick. Not curious. Hard. Like she was runnin’ the numbers in her head, tryin’ to decide if I was about to turn into the monster she clearly knew from experience.

“You and the kids can stay up there,” I said, noddin’ toward the porch light barely glowin’ through the trees. “No rent. No rules. Just one thing…”

Her shoulders pulled tight, arms lockin’ around her ribs like a shield.

“If you see or hear things comin’ from down there”—I jerked a thumb toward the concrete buried in the dirt—“you look the other way. Don’t ask. Don’t get curious. The Pit’s club business. I keep it clean, but it ain’t for outsiders.”

“I don’t care what you do down there,” she said, voice flat as a worn road.

I believed her.

“You need food, it’s in the pantry. Beds are made. Hot water still works—mostly. Heat and AC too. Ain’t fancy, but better than the back seat of a busted car.”

She didn’t thank me. Just gave one short nod.

I got out first and opened the back door. The little girl had her teddy bear in a death grip, eyes peekin’ over the top of it as I lifted her down. The boy met my stare head-on when I set him on the gravel, brave as he could be, but I saw the quick flick of his gaze toward the trees, like he was keepin’ watch for somethin’ else.

She climbed out last. Sundress catchin’ the breeze, arms cinched tight around herself. She looked so damn tired it hit me like a punch, like it hurt just to see her still movin’ when she clearly had nothin’ left in the tank. There was a bruise half-hidden under the hem of her sleeve.

Still, she didn’t ask for a damn thing. Didn’t try to make small talk. Just followed me toward the porch like she’d already decided to make it work, whatever “it” ended up bein’.

I unlocked the front door and flicked on the light. It sputtered, then hummed to life. “You’ll be safe here,” I said, half to her, half to convince myself.

She stepped inside slow, eyes sweepin’ the place like she was checkin’ for traps. The boy made straight for the kitchen, openin’ cabinets like he was on a mission. The girl curled up on the couch, still holdin’ her bear. Only then did I see her shoulders loosen a notch.

“I’ll call my club brother to tow your car tomorrow,” I told her. “It’s gonna need serious work, and it may take a while. Gearhead’s the best, but he’s got a backlog.”

She nodded.

I waited.

No name.