Page 62 of Nomad: Violent Devotion

Something cracks open in my chest, warm and aching. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t respond, but his hand drops from the grip to his thigh, palm up. An invitation. I press my palm against his and feel his fingers close around mine, tight and certain.

We ride.

****

The Las Vegas Sons of Sin chapter house rises from the desert like a monument to organized chaos. It’s exactly how I remember it. The compound sprawls behind wrought-iron gates topped with razor wire, all sun-bleached concrete and chrome and the perpetual smell of gasoline and cigarette smoke. Bikes line the front in neat rows, their chrome catching the dying light and throwing it back in blinding flashes.

My stomach does something ridiculous as we pull through the gates. Nerves. Actual nerves. I haven’t felt nerves since my first kill, and the fact that a clubhouse full of people I consider family can trigger them tells me everything I need to know about how much the road has changed me.

Walker parks beside a row of custom Harleys, and I swing off the back, stretching muscles that have been locked in position for hours. My legs ache. My ass is numb. I feel alive.

The front door flies open before Walker even kills the engine.

Raven.

She comes barreling across the lot like a woman possessed, dark hair streaming behind her, and she hits me so hard I stagger backward. Her arms lock around my neck, and she squeezes with a strength that shouldn’t exist in someone her size.

“You absolute piece of shit,” she snarls into my shoulder. “Three months. Three fucking months, Poppy.”

“I’m here now.”

“You’re here now,” she repeats, pulling back to look at me. Her eyes are wet, and she punches my arm hard enough to bruise. “Don’t you ever do that again.”

“Ow.”

“Good.” She releases me and turns to Walker, who’s been standing silently beside his bike, watching the reunion with an expression I can’t quite read. “And you. You kept her alive. I guess you’re not completely useless.”

“Nice to see you too, Raven.”

She snorts, then surprises us both by hugging him. Walker goes rigid for half a second before his hand lands awkwardly on her back. The sight does something to my heart that I’m not prepared for.

Harper appears next, cooler and more composed, but her eyes betray her. She pulls me into a gentler embrace, holding on a beat longer than necessary. “You look good,” she murmurs. “The road suits you.”

“It does.”

Her gaze flicks to Walker. “Both of you.”

The chapter fills up around us as we walk inside. Faces I recognize, some I don’t. Handshakes and back-slaps for Walker, curious glances and cautious smiles for me. I’m still the outsider here in many ways, the woman who came from an enemy club, but the suspicion has softened into something more accepting over the months. I’m Judge’s old lady now, and that carries weight.

The thought still makes me smirk. Old lady. Such a biker term. I prefer to think of myself as his, plain and simple.

The night unfolds the way clubhouse nights always do. Beer flows. Music pounds. Someone fires up the grill outside, and the smell of burning meat drifts through the open windows. I find myself surrounded by the women, pulled into their circle like I never left.

Raven fills me in on everything I’ve missed. Club business, patched-in members, drama I’ve missed. But the moment I’ve been waiting for comes when she mentions Crimson.

“He’s up,” she says, and her voice softens. “Has been for about three weeks. Physical therapy’s been kicking his ass, but he’s walking. He’s...” She pauses. “He’s different. Quieter. But he’s fighting.”

I swallow hard. “I need to see him.”

“Tomorrow. He’s resting tonight.” She squeezes my hand. “He’s going to be so pissed at you for taking so long.”

“Good. I’d be worried if he wasn’t.”

Walker catches my eye from across the room, where he’s leaning against the bar talking to one of the patched members. He lifts his chin slightly, a silent check-in. I nod. We’re good.

Hours pass and the party doesn’t slow down, but my energy does. The road has made me softer in some ways and harder in others, and the noise of the clubhouse, once familiar, now feels claustrophobic after months of open sky.