Page 68 of Mystic's Sunrise

“I do not know,” she said, gripping my hand tighter. “and I don’t want to know. The things he did to me before he sold me… I…” Her words faded away as the memories hit her hard.

I reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re free now.” I would be finding out if he was and he’d pay.

She searched my face like she wanted to believe me. Like she needed to.

Then, without warning, she stepped closer and wrapped her arms around my waist, resting her head against my chest. Not hesitant. Not unsure. Just… needing me.

I let out a slow breath, wrapping my arms around her, holding her tight.

This was dangerous. Letting myself have this. But at that moment, with her warmth against me and the night stretching wide around us, I couldn’t bring myself to care.

I’d brought her out to breathe, to escape the weight of the club and the past clawing at her heels.

But maybe I’d needed this just as much as she did.

***

THE ENGINE CUToff, leaving nothing butthe sound of her breathing against my back. I stayed still a second longer than I should’ve, her hands fisted in my hoodie like she wasn’t ready to let go.

Neither was I.

Slowly, I felt her fingers loosen, the fabric dragging against my ribs. She slid off the bike, legs a little shaky, but she held herself steady.

The night stretched around us—wide, dark, endless. Stars hung low and heavy overhead, throwing a silver glow across her face as she tilted her head back, breathing deep like she hadn’t tasted real air in years.

I watched her, couldn’t fucking help it. The way the wind tugged at her hair. The way her hands clutched my hoodie like armor. The way she stood there, fragile and fierce at the same time, and made my whole goddamn chest ache.

She turned toward me, tugging the sleeves tighter around her fists, like she didn’t even realize she was still holding on.

“That was…” she said, her voice rough-edged. She hesitated, trying to find the words.

I waited. Didn’t push. Wouldn’t ever push her.

“That didn’t feel like it used to.”

Didn’t need her to say his name. Didn’t need to hear Drago to know exactly what she meant. I felt something crack loose inside my ribs, something dangerous and wild. “Good,” I said, voice low.

She let out a slow breath, eyes dropping to the ground like she was grounding herself there, and for a second I thought she might pull away. Instead, she stepped in. Closed the space between us.

Pressed her forehead against my chest like she was staking a claim she didn’t even know she had the right to.

I froze, everything in me locking down on the moment. Then I wrapped my arms around her, careful but firm, feeling the way she settled against me like maybe—for just a second—she was right where she was meant to be.

Her voice broke the quiet, barely a breath against my skin.

“I loved just being with you.”

God help me.

I dropped a hand into her hair, fingers threading slow and rough through the strands. Held on like she was the last real thing left in a world gone to shit.

“Zeynep,” I rasped. “I…”

She tipped her face up to mine, her eyes wide and open, and for one wrecked, reckless second, I almost did it.

Almost bent my head, closed the breath of space between us, and took what I didn’t deserve.

Her mouth. Her trust. Her heart.

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