Chapter 5
Rook moved faster than any of us expected.
At three in the morning, the power went out. The clubhouse went dark. Then — glass breaking. Shouting. Engines.
They'd come. Rook and his men. Fifteen of them. Armed.
Jesse grabbed my arm. "This way." He pulled me through a back corridor — a tunnel, old, used during prohibition, running from the clubhouse to a nearby barn.
"I'm not leaving," I said. "Jack —"
"Jack can handle himself," Jesse said. "You're the one they want. Move."
We ran through the tunnel. It was narrow, dark, cold. Jesse held my hand. His grip was steady. When we emerged in the barn, he started a motorcycle. "Get on."
I got on. He peeled out, down a dirt road, into the night.
Behind us, I could hear shouting. Gunshots. The clubhouse — my father's club — was under attack.
"Where are we going?" I yelled over the wind.
"Somewhere Rook won't find us," Jesse yelled back. "My cabin. Up in the mountains. No cell service. No road. Nobody knows about it but me and Jack."
We rode for an hour. Up. Up. Into the mountains. The air got thinner. Colder. Finally, we turned onto a barely visible trail. And there it was — a small log cabin, smoke already rising from the chimney.
"How is there smoke?" I said.
"Jack had it prepared," Jesse said. "In case. He knew Rook might make a move tonight."
We went inside. The cabin was small. One room. A fireplace. A bed. A kitchenette. Jesse lit lamps. He checked the windows. He locked the door.
"We're safe here," he said. "For now."
I sat on the bed. My hands were shaking. "Jack. The others —"
"They're trained," Jesse said. "They knew it was coming. Rook didn't surprise them. He walked into a trap. Jack had men waiting. By now — Rook is either dead or running."
I hoped he was right. But I couldn't shake the feeling — the look in Rook's eyes. The hunger. He wanted the card. And he wanted me.
We stayed in that cabin for three days. No phone. No news. Just Jesse and me, and the mountains, and the quiet.
We talked. About my father. About Silver Ridge. About my aunt Ruth. About the years of running, of hiding, of never knowing why. About the mark on my arm — the mark I'd always hated, always covered, that was now the only thing connecting me to the father I'd never known.
Jesse told me about growing up in the club. About losing his parents. About Jack raising him. About the brotherhood. About the good Silver Ridge could do — the toy runs, the charity events, the way they protected their town.
And slowly, I began to see. Silver Ridge wasn't the monster my aunt had warned me about. It was a family. Broken. Imperfect. But trying.
On the third night, Jesse kissed me. It was gentle. Quick. He pulled back immediately, afraid.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have —"
May you like
I kissed him back.
Outside, the mountains were dark. Inside, the fire crackled. And for the first time in my life, I didn't feel like I was running.
