Page 71 of Thunder's Reckoning

THE BONFIRE WASburnin’ high out back, flames lickin’ at the sky, sparks spittin’ into the dark. Music thumped low from the speakers somebody’d dragged outside, near drowned by laughter, curses, and the crack of bottles knockin’ together. Smoke curled thick in the air, heavy with the stink of spilled beer, charred wood, and perfume.

This was where the wild shit always happened. Devil kept the clubhouse clean, business, family, loyalty. Out here? Out here was chaos, and the brothers liked it that way.

Sweet butts circled like moths, leanin’ close, their laughter shrill, the firelight catchin’ on too much makeup and the shimmer of cheap jewelry. A couple prospects were already half-drunk, shovin’ each other too close to the flames until someone barked at ‘em to back the hell off.

I cut across the yard, stickin’ to the edge. Didn’t plan on stoppin’.

“Thunder!”

I turned at the sound. Gearhead was propped against a picnic table, a fresh beer in his hand, another empty at his boots. Firelight danced across his face, throwin’ shadows that made his tattoos look like they were crawl in’. He jerked his chin at me. “Get over here.”

I walked over, boots crunchin’ gravel, and dropped down on the bench beside him.

“You look like a man chewin’ on ghosts,” he said, pushin’ the cold beer my way.

I shook my head. “I’m good.”

He smirked, takin’ a long pull from his own. “Funny. I remember when you were the first son of a bitch in line for nights like this. Now you’re sneakin’ around the edges like an old man lookin’ for his slippers.”

“Things change.”

“Yeah, they do.” He eyed me over the rim of the bottle. “You serious about that, brother? About her?”

I felt the weight of his stare, the fire poppin’ between us. “Yeah.”

“Don’t ‘yeah’ me.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I ain’t bustin’ your balls, Thunder. I’m askin’ if you’re sure. Woman with a past like hers? Kids in tow? That ain’t just takin’ a woman to bed. That’s takin’ on her ghosts, too. And they don’t always stay buried.”

I clenched my jaw, starin’ at the fire. “I know what I’m doin’.”

He studied me a long moment, then nodded. “Alright. Just makin’ sure you’re not lettin’ a pretty face and a sad story drag you under. I’ve seen it happen. Strong men get weak when they start thinkin’ with their heart instead of their cut.”

“She’s not draggin’ me under.” I met his gaze, steady. “She’s the only thing keepin’ me from drownin’.”

Gearhead sat back, whistle low between his teeth. “Well, shit. Guess you really are gone for her.”

Before I could answer, a sweet butt wandered over, hips swayin’, perfume hittin’ heavy even over the smoke. She laid a hand on my arm, nails painted blood red, leanin’ in so close I could feel the heat of her skin.

“Thunder,” she purred, lips glossed, eyes already glassy from booze and firelight. “Haven’t seen you out here in forever. Thought maybe you forgot what fun looks like.”

I stepped back, her hand fallin’ away. My voice was flat, final.

“Not interested.”

She blinked, pout faltering, then turned toward Gearhead with a roll of her eyes. He barked a laugh, but I was already walkin’ away, shovin’ my hands into my pockets, leavin’ the fire, the laughter, and the smell of smoke behind.

Because all I could think about was Sable in the kitchen, the image of her wide-eyed and trembling when I’d had her against the wall, the way her voice had cracked when she whispered my name.

Sweet butts didn’t mean a damn thing anymore.

Not when I already knew who I wanted, and she was burnin’ me alive without even tryin’.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

THE MUSIC WAStoo loud, pounding throughthe clubhouse speakers, the bass thumping in the floorboards until my teeth hurt. Voices rose over it, gravel-thick laughs, curses, the clink of beer bottles, cue balls cracking across felt.

Chaos everywhere. And no one seemed to notice.

Lucy leaned across the table, popping a peanut in her mouth like she hadn’t just threatened to stab a man with a knife earlier that morning. Zeynep sat to her right, twisting her red braid around two fingers, her eyes thoughtful, always watching everything without really looking at anything. Fiona was half-listening, half-scrolling through something on her phone, grinning like she had a secret.