Page 19 of The Steel Beast’s Heart

The second dawn comes warmer than the first.

I check Knox before he asks. The swelling is gone. His color is back, his pulse is better, his lungs filling all the way. He breathes without catching, stands without favoring his left side, and rolls his shoulder with a wince but no hesitation.

"You're clear."

He nods. That's all he needs.

The camp breaks around us. Tents come down, forge fires go dark, the factions dispersing with the worn-out relief of men who just agreed to stop fighting. Dravik clasps Knox's forearm one more time. Varak nods from across the clearing, a single dip of his chin, the bruising across his face dark in the early light.

I pull my phone from the saddlebag. One bar. The second message is shorter than the first.

On the road.

The message shows delivered. By the time we hit the highway, the compound will know. Including the one woman who stood in my apartment five days ago with her hand on my chest and told me to come back in one piece.

I strap the kit to the saddlebag. The buckles cinch tight. Knox mounts up, stiff, and Finn slots beside him, and the column forms without discussion.

I swing onto my bike. The engine turns over, and the vibration runs through the frame and into my chest, and I point the front wheel south.

Home.

Chapter 9

Isla

I hear the bikes before anyone else does.

The text hit the group chat yesterday morning. Four words. Knox won. Coming home. I didn't hold the phone against my chest the way I've done every night in Tom's bed listening to his voicemails. I put it in my pocket and walked to the gate.

A low rumble past the tree line, too far to count, but the sound separates as it gets closer. I pick out the sound of Tom's Harley because I've stood at this gate since yesterday waiting for exactly that sound.

Sarah reaches the lot before the first bike clears the bend. Reeve on her hip. She plants herself in the center of the gravel and waits.

Knox comes through the gate first. He rides stiff, one arm braced against his side, his left shoulder sitting lower than his right. He swings off the bike and Sarah crosses the last ten feet, he pulls her and Reeve against him with the arm that works. His face goes into her hair. His hand cups the back of his son's head.

Jess comes out the front door fast with her son on her shoulder. Finn barely gets his leg over the bike before she's in front of him, and he lifts her off her feet, and the sound she makes against his neck carries across the lot.

Rex goes to Holly, his hands on her face, her hands on his cut, both of them talking at once. Colt pulls Ellie close with one arm and reaches for Lily with the other, and Lily buries her face against his shoulder like a fourteen-year-old who spent two days pretending she wasn't scared. Diesel parks and walks straight to Kim. Drops to his knees on the gravel and presses his forehead to her belly. Kim's hand slides into his hair.

Chain stops beside Morgan. He dismounts without a word. She stands at the edge of the lot, he steps into her space and puts his arms around her, whispering something no one else can hear.

Bruiser reaches Ava at the door. She grips the front of his cut with both fists and pulls him down and kisses him hard enough that his hand catches the doorframe so they don't fall over.

I stand near the gate with my hands in my pockets. Nine bikes, eight women crossing a gravel lot. Like I have room to judge. I've been out here since yesterday and Jess stopped asking if I needed anything around hour six.

Tom parks his bike and dismounts heavy and stiff, every movement comes with fatigue from riding for so long. Road dust on his clothes, his shirt pulled loose from the ride, his glasses smudged in both lenses.

He walks toward me, I walk toward him and we meet in the lot, halfway.

He opens his mouth, and I know what's coming. The species update. The medical report. Whatever safe, correct sentence he's about to put between us because that's what Tom does. He finds the right word and uses it like a wall.

I put my hand over his mouth.

"Don't."

He goes still. His hot breath hits my palm.

His glasses come off first. The wire frames fold in my fingers, lenses filthy with road grit, and I tuck them into his shirt pocket. His eyes are brown and tired, and he's looking at me like nothing else in this lot exists.