Page 3 of Damascus & The Wildfire
Eva rolled her eyes. “Don’t make a big deal out of it.”
“Prison is a pretty big deal. Did they check him for shanks before letting him out?”
Eva sighed dramatically. “He’s not bad. I promise. It’s not my story to tell, but trust me. He’s a good guy who got caught up in a shitty situation.”
I bit my lip. “Are you sure we’re safe here? Some of the guys seem cool, but honestly, some look at me like they want to eat me for breakfast—and not in a fun way. Like, legitimately murder me before crunching on my bones.”
“They’re wary of outsiders, but they’re loyal to the club. To their brothers and the people who matter to them. Every man here would protect you with their life because you matter to me. They would literally take a bullet for you.”
I looked at Eva skeptically. “I’d never ask that of someone.”
Her lips tipped up in a half smile. “When you’re a part of this family, you don’t have to.”
I shook my head. What kind of world did these bikers live in, where loyalty was paid in blood?
“You have to come to the bonfire tonight,” Eva pleaded over the phone, her voice too chipper.
I rubbed a hand just below my neck where the pressure suffocated me. “I just want to stay home. Maybe drink some wine. Watch some bad movies.”
Silence hummed between us for a beat. I wanted to wallow in peace, but Eva seemed to have forgotten why. I hadn’t. I couldn’t. Despite the years that had passed, the ache of this day and the memories that haunted me lurked just beneath the surface.
“Please,” Eva said, her tone softening. “I want you to get to know them. They’re my family.”
“Eva, I just?—”
“I’m not taking no for an answer,” she interrupted. “I’ll drag your ass there if I need to. You need to make friends. Besides, I already told Hatchet you’d be making an appearance.”
She dangled the pretty, blonde-haired, blue-eyed biker who’d helped us unpack my moving truck the week before like catnip. His charming grin and the short beard shadowing his jaw made him look reckless. Guilt pulsed beneath my ribcage as I considered how much I’d enjoyed the way he made me laugh.
I rubbed my temples. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“I promise you’ll have fun. Besides, when have you ever said no to a party?”
I released a deep sigh, relenting. “Fine. I’ll come. But I’m leaving at nine.”
“We’ll see about that,” she sing-songed.
I choked in a shaky breath. “I need to go for a run. I’ll talk to you in a bit.”
My fingers trembled as I slipped my cell phoneinto a pocket. The walls in my small home leaned in, and my mind spun as I attempted to press away the memories I’d shoved to the back of my mind. But they were always there, waiting for a moment of weakness. I needed to relieve the pressure building in my chest before I exploded.
Within minutes, I laced my running shoes and bolted out the door with plans to hit the shaded trail around the corner. Despite the early evening, the thick and oppressive Texas heat clung to the air, making each breath feel like a struggle. But I welcomed the burn in my lungs, the ache in my legs—anything to distract me from the storm brewing inside.
I focused on the rhythm of my feet hitting the pavement, trying to outrun the ghost who haunted me. But the pressure in my chest only grew heavier. My breath caught in short, shallow gasps as the panic threatened to engulf me.
I grumbled and forced myself to slow my pace, opting to try the grounding technique my therapist constantly and annoyingly suggested. She promised it’d help me focus on the present when the past bit at my heels.
Name five things you can see.
Trees. The trail. A weather-worn bench. A crushed Coors Light can. Alec’s broken body slumped against the steering wheel.
Fuck. No, not that. Trees, the trail, a bench, a crushed can, and a patch of petunias.
Name four things you can feel.
The paved path beneath my running shoes. The sticky Texas heat on my skin. My necklace bouncing with each stride. Alec’s blood dripping down my fingers.
Name three things you can hear.
