Page 52 of Fear

She didn’t speak, she didn’t need to. Instead, she reached out…slowly, with hands that trembled and touched his face. Her fingertips brushed his jaw like she was afraid he wasn’t real.

“I knew you’d come,” she whispered. “I knew it.”

He grabbed her then, gently but desperately pulling her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her like a man drowning. She gasped into the crook of his neck, clinging to him, her small frame shaking against his.

And he let out a breath, a broken, guttural sound, part sob, part growl…because she was here, and she was alive. “I’ve got you,” he whispered fiercely, rocking her against him. “I’ve got you, baby. No one’s touching you again.”

Her hands fisted in his shirt, holding on like he was the only thing keeping her tethered to this world.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” he asked, pulling back enough to look at her face, his eyes scanning her like a soldier assessing battlefield damage.

Her breath hitched. “Just bruises… sore. They didn’t—” He tensed instantly, but she shook her head. “They didn’t do more.”

His jaw clenched. Fury rippled through every inch of his body, but he cupped her cheek, so gently, as if he was afraid she might break beneath his touch.

“Thank fuck,” he whispered. “Thank fuck you held on.”

“Just bruises,” she whispered. “I was so scared, but they didn’t manage to break me.” His hands trembled as he wiped blood from her cheek, because something inside him had snapped the moment he saw her. Her pain was his pain. And every bruise on her skin was a promise. He would make Rodes bleed for each one.

Dixon cleared the doorway seconds later, gun up, scanning for threats. “We’re clear!”

King followed, eyes landing on Goliath holding Sofia on the floor. He gave one nod and stepped back, motioning the others to give them space. They knew, every man standing in that corridor—King, Dixon, Hunter, Frost, Fang, Blue—they felt it.

This was Goliath’s moment. Not a moment of glory or victory. Not yet. This was the moment where a man stood at the edge of something uncontrollable. His mate, his fury, his reckoning, and no one stepped in his way, no one spoke, because they understood that the air between Goliath and Sofia wasn’t just heavy—it was sacred. His mate had been bonded, she was bleeding, bruised. Goliath stood slowly, lifting Sofia into his arms like she was made of glass and fire.

He didn’t grunt or growl. He didn’t flinch at her weight or her wounds. He held her like a vow, like something he’d been born for, like something he would never…not ever let be touched again.

She melted into him, arms curling weakly around his neck, her cheek pressing to his chest as if she belonged there. He looked down at her, the muscle in his jaw ticking, gold burning behind his eyes.

His voice, when it came, was low and hollowed out with rage. “I should’ve been faster.”

Her hand lifted slowly, fingers brushing his neck. “You came,” she whispered. “That’s all that matters.” But to Goliath, it wasn’t enough. He turned toward the door, the low light catching the shimmer in his eyes, not from tears, but from fury barely caged.

“She’s safe,” King said quietly behind him. “You got her back.”

Goliath didn’t turn. “He’s still breathing.” His voice was a low snarl. “That’s a problem.” The others didn’t argue, they didn’t try to calm him, because they all felt it—the unfinished weight in the air.

Jason Rodes had taken a Wolverine’s mate, had dared to lay hands on something sacred, this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot, Rodes had made his move, now it was their turn.

And the next time they found him, no one would stop Goliath from tearing him apart.

The warehouse was nearly clear, the firefight long over. Bodies littered the corridors—men who made the mistake of standing between wolves and what they loved.

Fang and Gunner were still in shifted form, prowling ahead of the group, ears twitching, ensuring no stragglers or last-minute traps. Their low growls echoed through the structure like warnings to the dead.

Dixon covered their rear, weapon raised, eyes constantly scanning. Frost and Hunter flanked Goliath on either side, a silent formation that dared the world to try again.

No one did, the emergency exit creaked open, and cool night air swept into the hall, wrapping around the scent of blood and gunpowder. But under all of it, there was something else now, relief, hope, survival.

Goliath stepped into the moonlight carrying Sofia close to his chest. Her arms were still looped around his neck, her body limp, but her eyes though swollen and rimmed red remained locked on his face.

“Almost home, baby,” he murmured into her hair. “I’ve got you now.”

Two black trucks idled in the clearing behind the warehouse. The Wolverines had left them running…doors open, engines ready for a fast extraction. Always ready. King moved ahead, opening the backseat door of the lead truck. “Here. Lay her down.”

“I’m not putting her down,” Goliath said, low and dangerous. King didn’t argue, he just nodded, shifted back, and let Goliath climb in with her still in his arms. Frost handed over a med kit without a word. Dixon passed up two water bottles. Fang dropped a clean hoodie across Goliath’s lap—soft, black, the scent of the clubhouse still clinging to it.

No one said anything sentimental, they didn’t need to. Their silence said it all. They weren’t just relieved, they were ready to bleed all over again if anyone tried to come for her.

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