Page 56 of Vengeance

“This time.”

She frowned. “You’ll keep that promise every time.” Vengeance looked toward the mountains beyond the windshield. Dante had escaped with pages from Savage’s journal; a mysterious file connected to Vengeance’s mother waited somewhere beyond their reach, and beneath the floor of Doc’s abandoned clinic lay evidence powerful enough to frighten theformer leader of the Dragons and current head of the Black Veil Syndicate. The war wasn’t over. Hell, it had barely begun. But when Chloe rested her head against his shoulder, Vengeance understood something Savage and Doc had spent years trying to teach him. Survival wasn’t only about escaping the people who wanted him dead. Sometimes it was about finding someone who gave him a reason to live. He tightened his fingers around Chloe’s, and Bowie opened the door to the SUV.

“This is Butcher, and he’s going to patch you up before you leave for the safehouse,” Bowie said.

“Yeah, the name Butcher isn’t very comforting, man,” Vengeance said. “Are you sure he’s going to be able to fix me up?”

Bowie and Butcher both laughed, and Vengeance couldn’t help but smile. “Have a little faith,” Bowie said. “He’s not as bad as his name would let on.” Vengeance nodded and got out of the SUV.

“Be back in a minute, honey,” he said to Chloe.

“I’m coming with you,” she insisted.

“You don’t need to watch me get sewn up again, Chloe,” Vengeance insisted.

“Bullshit—where you go, I go,” she said. God, she was adorable when she was stubborn, not that he’d tell her that in front of her father. Bowie seemed to take a new interest in watching the two of them together, and the last thing he needed was for her dad to figure out that he had the hots for his daughter. In just a few minutes, they’d be on their way to the safehouse, and he could tell her how he felt about her then. For now, he needed to keep his head in the game and get her to safety because for the next two months, he and Chloe would have no one but each other.

Chloe

Two Months Later

The mountains had begun to change. The brilliant greens of late summer had slowly surrendered to streaks of gold and crimson, painting the forest surrounding the new safehouse in colors Chloe had never noticed back home in Alabama. She stood on the porch, wrapped in one of Vengeance's flannel shirts, a steaming mug of coffee warming her hands. For the first time in weeks, the silence didn't feel lonely. It felt peaceful.

A motorcycle engine rumbled somewhere behind the cabin, and she smiled before she even turned around. She knew that it was Vengeance. He'd spent the last two months healing. At first, simply walking across the cabin had exhausted him. Now he was rebuilding an old Harley that Savage had hidden beneath a tarp in the detached shed. He was determined to have a reliable motorcycle if the time came when they’d need to leave.

He still moved carefully, and she noticed when the stitches pulled. He always insisted he was fine, but she'd long since stopped believing him. "You're supposed to be resting," she called.

He rounded the corner carrying a toolbox. "I rested yesterday."

"You said that yesterday,” she mumbled, rolling her eyes at him.

"I was probably lying,” he admitted.

She laughed. "You definitely were." It still surprised her how easily laughter came now. Not because life had become easy—it was far from it. Dante was still out there, and they lived with the threat of him finding them every day. But Bowie checked in through coded messages that arrived every couple of weeks through an old handheld radio she had found. His messages were always brief—asking if they were safe, and warning them not to come home yet. Those messages had become their lifeline.

Vengeance set the toolbox down and leaned against the porch railing beside her. She couldn’t help but look his body over. They slept in the same bed every night, but she was worried that touching him might reopen his wound or cause him pain. So, she kept her hands to herself and felt as though she was holding her breath all night long until morning came again.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked. She had a pretty good idea that telling Vengeance that she was thinking about all the dirty things she wanted him to do to her was a bad idea.

"My family,” she said, giving him a partial truth.

He nodded. "They're okay."

"I know." She looked out over the trees. "I just hate not being there."

"I know,” he said.

She smiled faintly. "You say that a lot."

"Because I do." The comfortable silence returned. It amazed her how much had changed. Two months ago she'd barely trusted him enough to ride on the back of his motorcycle, but now, she knew exactly how he took his coffee—strong, no sugar. She knew he whistled quietly whenever he worked with hishands, and that he always woke up before sunrise. She knew that nightmares still found him at least twice a week, but she never asked about them anymore. Instead, whenever she heard him pacing outside in the darkness, she'd quietly make two mugs of coffee. Eventually he'd wander back inside, and they’d sit together. Sometimes they'd talk, and sometimes they wouldn't, but neither seemed to mind.

"You've been staring at me,” he said.

She blinked up at him. "I have not."

"You have,” he said.

"I was thinking,” she covered.