Page 39 of Joker

I don’t like it. I definitely don’t like how immediate the relief is when the gate finally comes into view.

Beside me, Raven notices it too.

She sits a little straighter in the passenger seat, one hand tightening around the strap of her purse for a second before easing again. My sweatshirt still hangs off her frame, sleeves too long, dark hair loose over the front of it in thick waves that catch every flicker of light from the dash and the property lamps ahead.

She looks exhausted. Not the ordinary kind. Not tired from a long day and a cramped truck ride and too much bad coffee.

No, this is deeper than that. Bone-deep. The kind of exhaustion that comes from living in fight-or-flight for too long and finally running out of whatever reserve was keeping you upright. Her face is pale in the low light. Her eyes are heavy. Her shoulders are still too tight, but I can see the strain in the way she’s holding herself together now.

Lexi is out cold again in the backseat, Bunny mashed under her cheek, one little sneaker half-twisted sideways where she must’ve kicked it off balance sometime in the last stretch of road. She woke up once about an hour back, asked for water, stared at me like she was still deciding whether I was funny or just weird, then passed out again before I’d even merged back onto the main road.

Kid’s got stamina when she wants to be suspicious and absolutely none when it comes to sleep.

Fair enough.

I slow as I approach the gate and flash the lights once.

The prospect on watch tonight, Mason, steps out of the booth with a flashlight already in hand, looking bored right up until he catches sight of the passenger seat.

Then he freezes. Not in a stupid way. Just long enough to tell me his brain has stopped cooperating.

I lower the window halfway and look at him flat. “Open the damn gate.”

His eyes flick from me to Raven, then to the backseat where Lexi is barely visible in the shadows, then back to me again.

That’s when he notices my expression.

Smartly, he decides not to ask a single question. “Yes, sir.”

The gate starts rolling open immediately.

Good boy.

I ease the truck through, and the second we’re fully inside the property line, the last knot between my shoulder blades starts unwinding. Not all the way. I’m not that stupid. But enough that I can finally feel how hard I’ve been holding everything in place for the last six hours.

The clubhouse is lit up ahead, warm gold spilling from the windows, bikes lined up in the lot, a couple trucks parked off to the side, the usual late-night mix of movement and noise still going because this place never really sleeps. There are men outside smoking, somebody laughing near the front steps, music drifting faintly from inside. It looks like what it always looks like.

Home.

Chaotic. Loud. Questionable. Armed.

Home.

I pull around to the side where it’ll be easier to unload without half the county getting a full view of what I brought back, but it doesn’t matter as much as I’d like. The second the truck rolls to a stop, I can already feel attention shifting.

Because the club noticed immediately that I did not, in fact, bring back a package.

I brought back one gorgeous mystery woman, one sleeping little girl, and an atmosphere ofdon’t ask questions unless you want to die.

Hard combo to miss.

By the time I kill the engine, Blaze is already coming around the side of the building with Shadow not far behind, both of them moving with the kind of casual pace that means they’re trying very hard to look like they’re not nosy bastards.

They fail. Spectacularly.

“Jesus,” Blaze mutters when he gets close enough to see through the windshield.

Shadow stops beside him, takes in the passenger seat, the backseat, then me, and lifts one dark brow. “You brought home a family.”