Page 58 of Fear

The fire grew quickly, devouring everything in its path any evidence, bodies gone with the flames. Smoke curled into the sky, thick and black, visible for miles.

They stood for a moment, watching it burn, not in celebration, but in silence, in closure.

King was the first to turn away. “Mount up.”

Boots crunched over gravel. Engines roared back to life. The Wolverines rode out one by one, their headlights cutting through the early morning mist, their mission complete.

No words were spoken. What needed to be said had been written in blood and fire, and no it was time to go home. Sofia was sitting on the couch in the quiet lounge near the infirmary, wrapped in one of Goliath’s black hoodies, her knees pulled up and a blanket across her lap.

She didn’t hear him enter at first, but the second she looked up…

Her heart stopped.

“Goliath.”

She was on her feet before he could say a word. Her eyes went wide, darting to the blood at his shoulder, the tear in his shirt, the bruises blooming across his ribs. “Oh my god—what happened—are you—?”

“I’m fine,” he rasped.

“You’re not—” she reached for him, her hands hovering, unsure where to touch without hurting him.

He caught her wrists gently. “It’s not my blood that matters.”

Her lip trembled; eyes bright. “You found him?”

He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to.

She saw it in his eyes—the storm had passed, and Jason Rodes was no longer breathing. She exhaled in a shudder, stepped closer, and pressed her forehead to his chest.

He wrapped his arms around her carefully, wincing slightly as her body pressed against the bruises across his ribs and the still-bleeding gash along his shoulder—but he didn’t let go. He couldn’t.

His hands, rough and bloodstained, trembled slightly as they cradled her back. Her warmth. Leaning down he breathed in her scent, it grounded him. For the first time in days, he was able to breathe.

“You did it,” she whispered, her voice small, breathless against his chest. “You came back.” Her fingers fisted gently in his shirt as if she needed to hold on just to believe he was real.

Goliath leaned down, resting his cheek against the crown of her head. His voice came out low, hoarse, frayed with too much pain and too much relief. “I told you I would,” he murmured. “Always.”

The word hung there…always. Not a promise. Not a vow. A truth.

Her body sagged against his, finally letting go of the tension that had kept her upright. She inhaled deeply, like she was letting the nightmare bleed out with every breath, like the scent of him was enough to steady her world again.

Goliath pulled back just enough to look into her face. Her eyes were wide, shimmering, her bottom lip trembling.

“You’re hurt,” she said softly, eyes darting to his shoulder, the crimson stain spreading beneath torn fabric.

He shook his head. “Not really.”

“Goliath—”

“I felt everything you went through, Sofia.” His voice cracked again, rough and uneven. “And none of this—” he motioned to his bloodied chest “—comes close. I would’ve taken it all for you if I could’ve.”

She reached up, fingers brushing along the bruising on his jaw with a touch so gentle it nearly undid him. “But you did take it,” she whispered. “You went to war for me. You killed for me.”

“I lived for you,” he said. “That’s what matters.” And then he kissed her—slow, deep, aching. Not out of need. Not out of lust. Out of everything they’d just survived. Out of love.

Later that night, the main clubhouse was dim, firelight dancing in the hearth as the brothers gathered in the Chapel—not in strategy, not in bloodlust—but in solidarity.

Dixon nursed a busted knuckle and a half-empty bottle. Frost sat back with a cigarette, staring into nothing, quietly sharpening his blade. Fang leaned against the door, one arm crossed, the other clutching a beer. King stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back. Hunter has his elbows on the table, his head in his hands as he massages his forehead. Blue, Dash and Gunner still patrolling the perimeter with the prospects.

---