Page 69 of Bolt's Flame
The reality of the clubhouse—of being here,not there—slowly sank in, but memories of James flooded back, cold and relentless. Boots, the hotel, James, his hands... No, that was over now. This was the clubhouse. Familiar. Safe.
“Bolt...” The sound came out as a rasp, each syllable weighed down by a throat dry from silence. He reached over to the bedside table, passing a glass of water and helping lift it to my lips. The coolness soothed my throat, grounding me, his warm fingers steady against mine. “Take it easy,” he murmured. “You’re goin’ to be okay.”
The words should have dissolved the fear clinging to every thought, yet the memories refused to loosen their grip, their shadows lurking just behind my eyes.
“Where...?” The question was barely out when Bolt’s jaw tightened.
“He’s gone,” he said firmly, his gaze unyielding. “He won’t ever hurt you again.”
The certainty in his voice should have been enough, but doubt lingered. Something inside felt fractured, too worn to believe in anything lasting, as though shattered pieces had yet to find their way back.
“Look at me,” he said softly, his voice drawing me from the shadows. The intensity in his gaze was almost too much, pulling out feelings too raw to hide. “You’re safe now. He’s gone for good.”
A shaky nod was all that could manage, but the tears that spilled spoke the rest—relief, yes, but pain and fear, too, tangled in a knot that wouldn’t easily come undone.
“I... thought...” The words broke, a sob slipping free before it could be stopped. “Thought it was too late.”
His face twisted, a mixture of regret and something darker. His fingers tightened around mine, anchoring me. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I should’ve... I should’ve found you sooner—”
“No.” The word left in a rush, weak but firm. “You saved me.”
His thumb traced gentle circles over the back of my hand, as if convincing himself that I was really here. Guilt hovered in the air between us, thick and unspoken, but no blame existed in this heart. Bolt had done everything he could. I was the one who had strayed into danger by wandering into the woods.
A soft creak signaled the door opening, and Brenda stepped in, her gaze warming at the sight of me awake. “Good to see you back with us, sweetheart,” she said. “The doc will be by soon to check on you, but for now, rest. We’ll take good care of you.”
A small nod of gratitude was all the thanks I could muster, though her presence was comforting. She slipped out, leaving Bolt and me alone again in the heavy, unspoken silence.
“Bolt.” His name escaped in a whisper, my hand tightening in his. “I won’t be afraid as long as I have you.”
He leaned closer, his gaze capturing mine in a way that dissolved the space between us. “I’ll always be here,” he said, a soft promise. “You’ve got me, your dad, and the club. We’re all here.”
The quiet strength in his voice, the solid warmth of his hand in mine, felt like a lifeline, pulling me from the edges of dark memories, grounding me in something real.
Wasit finally over?
With eyes closed, I leaned into his touch, the steady weight of him beside me.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
STEPPING INSIDE THEroundhouse was like enteringa different world, one that made your skin prickle with a mix of dread and discomfort. The walls were lined with rough-hewn wooden planks, the original paint faded to a sickly gray, while deep shadows pooled in every inch of the space, barely touched by the single, dim bulb swinging from the center beam overhead.
In the center of the barn, an old wooden chair sat under the light, bolted to the floor. The chair’s arms were nicked and scarred, with grooves and dents that told stories of men who had sat there before. Around it, various tools and chains hung from the walls, some rusted, some polished, all of them ready to make an impression—each one a silent threat that hinted at the room’spurpose. A faint smell of oil and metal lingered in the air, mixed with a damp, earthy scent that settled into your bones.
The floor was bare concrete, cracked and stained, with a dark, almost reddish tint in places that made you wonder if the rumors about this barn were true. On one wall, a metal locker held an assortment of supplies, its door slightly ajar, as if to offer a glimpse of what it held—a crowbar, a length of rope, and a heavy chain coiled like a waiting serpent.
Every sound inside the barn sounded loud, vibrating off the walls: a creak, a footstep, a low murmur. It was a space designed to strip away confidence, to make even the toughest men feel small. Here, there was no escape, no windows, and the only door was thick and heavy, its lock turning with a slow, deliberate finality.
For the club members, this barn was a tool, a place where business was handled. But for anyone brought in against their will, it was something else entirely—a place that whispered of secrets kept, debts settled, and a warning not soon forgotten.
It had a dirt cellar in the back that was used to hold any problems that needed taken care of.
I stood inside the roundhouse, this old round barn, that we turned into a torture chamber of sorts. The air in the roundhouse was thick, heavy with anticipation as we gathered inside. The low murmurs of the club members, all of us waiting for what we knew was coming. Jenny and Barbie had crossed the line—betrayed the club in the worst possible way—and now, they were going to answer for it.
Old Boots wouldn’t be having a trial, his body found in the dumpster behind the old hotel. James shooting him was an easier death than what he would have faced by the club. He got lucky that way.
Devil stood at the head of the room, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes cold and unflinching as he stared at the door.I could feel the anger simmering beneath his calm exterior, the same anger that had been eating me whole since we found out what they’d done.
They were the reason Fiona had been taken. Barbie may have given James the information he needed, But Jenny knew, and she hadn’t cared about the consequences. She hadn’t cared about Fiona’s life.