Page 96 of Jolt's Vengeance

Aggie's emerald eyes meet mine, a storm of emotions swirling in their depths.

"I know," she whispers. "It's just... I've spent so long trying to be strong, to not let it define me."

"Being strong doesn't mean you can't hurt," I tell her softly. "And talking about it doesn't make you weak."

She's quiet for a moment, her fingers absently tracing patterns on my chest.

When she speaks again, her voice is low, tinged with a pain that makes my heart ache.

"I can still hear her screams sometimes. Still see the blood on her face. He was like a monster, Jack. And I was too small, too weak to do anything."

I tighten my arms around her, wishing I could shield her from those memories. "You were a child, Aggie. It wasn't your job to protect her."

"I know that now," she says, her Scottish lilt more pronounced with emotion. "But back then... it felt like I'd failed her somehow."

I press a kiss to her forehead, struggling to find the right words.

How do you comfort someone who's been through something so horrific?

"You survived," I finally say. "You and your mom both. That's not failing. That's strength."

Aggie nods against my chest, her voice slightly muffled. "Aye, we did. Mum was a warrior through it all. She packed us up one night, just the clothes on our backs, and we fled here to Montana."

I listen intently as she continues, her words painting a vivid picture of their escape and new beginning.

"We stayed with my grandparents at first. Mum was so broken, but she was determined to give us a better life. That's when she met Grim."

A small smile tugs at her lips, softening the hard edges of her memories. "He was like no one she'd ever known. Rough around the edges, sure, but with a heart of gold. He treated her like she hung the moon and stars."

I can't help but grin, thinking of the gruff biker who's become such an important part of Aggie's life. "Sounds like quite the love story."

"It was," Aggie agrees, her eyes brightening. "Still is, really. They fell hard and fast, and the rest, as they say, is history."

I brush a strand of her hair behind her ear. "You're lucky to have had a step-father like Grim," I say softly.

Aggie sits up suddenly. "He might formally be called my step-father," she says, her Scottish lilt more pronounced, "but Grim is my da, through and through. He's always been there for me, Davina, Sorcha, and then Mum and him had Conrad."

The intensity of her words catches me off guard, but I understand.

Family isn't always about blood.

Sometimes it's about who shows up, who stays, who loves you unconditionally.

And it's clear that Grim has done all of that and more for Aggie and her siblings.

A sharp knock at the door breaks the moment.

I squeeze Aggie's hand before standing up, my muscles screaming slightly after sitting for so long.

As I make my way to the door, I can't help but wonder who'd be dropping by on Christmas Eve.

I swing the door open, and for a second, I'm hit with a strong sense of déjà vu.

The girl standing there could be Aggie's twin, except for the different eye and hair color.

It takes me a moment to place her—Davina, Aggie's sister.

I've met so many people since arriving in Montana that faces are starting to blur.

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