THE RUNAWAY LUNA RIDER

Chapter3

BLOOD AND ASPHALT

Rhea's POV

Five Years Later

"Mama, you're squishing my face."

I blink and realize I've been scrubbing the same spot on Rowan's cheek for the past thirty seconds. The washcloth is practically dry now, rough against his skin. I ease up, forcing myself to breathe.

"Sorry, baby. You had grease everywhere." I rinsed the cloth in the sink, watching the gray water swirl down the drain. My hands won't stop shaking.

Rowan doesn't notice. He's already wiggling away from me, his bare feet slapping against the worn linoleum as he runs toward his toy box. Five years old and full of energy that never seems to run out. He's got my dark hair, my stubborn chin. But those eyes… those golden eyes that catch the light just right… Those are all Darius.

I try not to think about that most days.

"Can I have cookies?" Rowan calls from the living room.

"After dinner."

"But I'm hungry now!"

"Then you should've eaten your lunch instead of feeding half of it to Copper." Copper is the garage dog, a massive mutt who thinks he's Rowan's personal bodyguard. The feeling is mutual.

I hear Rowan giggle, probably remembering how Copper's tongue is bigger than his whole sandwich was. The sound makes my chest ache in that good way that only he can cause. Five years. Five years of hiding, running, building a life out of nothing. And it's been good. Hard, but good.

Until today.

I grip the edge of the sink and close my eyes. That insignia. That gold wolf's head stitched onto the leather jacket of one of the visiting bikers. I'd know that symbol anywhere. It's burned into my memory, branded across every nightmare I've had for the past five years.

Goldblood pack.

They were here. In Pinecrest. In our garage.

This morning started normal. Well, normal for us. I woke up to Rowan climbing into my bed at six, his cold feet pressed against my legs and his sticky fingers in my hair.

"Mama, can we work on the blue bike today?"

"Maybe. If you eat breakfast and stay out of trouble."

He promised he would. He always does. And he always breaks that promise by noon.

The garage was already buzzing when we arrived. Steel Vipers MC doesn't sleep in. By seven, there were four bikes torn apart in various stages of repair, and Mack was yelling at someone about ordering the wrong spark plugs.

"Morning, Rhea!" That was Cassie, one of the only other women in the club. She runs the bar across the street but spends most mornings at the garage, drinking coffee and flirting with anyone who'll pay attention. "Brought you something."

She handed me a cup of coffee so strong it could strip paint.

"You're a saint," I told her.

"I know. Hey, little man!" She ruffled Rowan's hair. "Want to help me organize the toolbox?"

Rowan's eyes lit up. Organizing to him means taking everything out and playing with it, but Cassie doesn't mind. She's got three kids of her own at home. One more doesn't faze her.

I spent the morning elbow-deep in an engine, the familiar smell of oil and metal calming the constant buzz of anxiety that lives in my chest. This is what I'm good at. Taking broken things and making them run again. Engines don't lie. They don't betray you. They just need the right parts and the right touch.

"Rhea, got a minute?" That was Bear, the club president. He's built like his name suggests… six-foot-five, three hundred pounds of muscle and bad attitude. But he's got a soft spot for Rowan, so I trust him more than most.

"What's up?"

"Got some guys coming in this afternoon. Business deal. Weapons trade." He lowered his voice. "Nothing that concerns you, but I need you to keep the garage clear while they're here. Take the kid, maybe grab lunch in town."

My wolf stirred at that. She doesn't like being told what to do. Neither do I.

"What kind of business?"

"The kind you don't ask about." His tone was gentle but firm. "Trust me on this one."

I should've listened, and grabbed Rowan and left like Bear suggested. But something in my gut told me to stay. So I nodded, agreed to keep out of the way, and then promptly ignored that promise.

When the bikes rolled in around two, I was in my office… a glorified storage closet with a desk and a window that overlooks the garage floor. Rowan was on the floor, playing with his toy cars and making engine noises that sounded eerily accurate for a five-year-old.

Three bikes. Three riders. They pulled up slow, engines rumbling low and threatening. I watched through the window as they cut off their engines and climbed off. All men. All wearing leather cuts with patches I'd never seen before.

Except one.

The gold wolf's head on the back of the tallest rider's jacket made my blood turn to ice.

My wolf went crazy. After five years of lying dormant, of being pushed down and ignored, she suddenly surged forward with enough force to make my vision blur. I grabbed the edge of the desk, breathing through my nose, forcing her back.

Not now. Not here.

"Mama?" Rowan looked up at me, his golden eyes worried. "Are you okay?"

"Fine, baby. Just... stay here, okay? Stay quiet. Don't open the door."

"But…"

"Rowan." I crouched down so we were eye level. "I need you to listen to me… stay here. Understand?"

He nodded slowly, scared now. I hated putting that fear in his eyes. But better scared than discovered.

I stepped out of the office, closing the door behind me. The garage floor felt like a minefield. Every step brought me closer to them, to that gold wolf insignia that meant everything I'd run from was catching up.

Bear was talking to them, his voice low and casual. Business talk. Numbers and dates and drop-off locations. I stayed back, pretending to organize tools on the far workbench. But I was listening.

"...clean product, guaranteed delivery…"

"...need assurance on the route…"

"... Goldblood territory extends further than you think…"

My hands stilled on the wrench I was holding. Goldblood territory. They said it so casually, like it wasn't the name that haunted my nightmares. Like it wasn't the pack I'd run from five years ago.

One of the riders turned slightly, scanning the garage. His nostrils flared. He was scenting the air.

Oh no!.

I'd been so careful. Wolfsbane candles burning constantly. Human perfume layered thick. I even rubbed Copper's fur on my clothes sometimes, masking any trace of wolf that might linger. But Rowan was in the office. What if the door wasn't sealed well enough? What if…

The rider's eyes locked on mine.

For a second, everything stopped. His pupils dilated. His head tilted slightly, like he was trying to place me. Trying to figure out why I smelled familiar but wrong.

I forced myself to hold his gaze, to look bored and human and uninteresting. Just another mechanic. Another face in a human biker bar.

Then Cassie laughed at something Bear said, loud and bright, and the moment broke. The rider looked away. The conversation continued. And I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

They stayed for another thirty minutes. Long enough for me to memorize every detail of their faces, their patches, their bikes. Long enough for my wolf to pace restlessly beneath my skin, wanting to run or fight or do anything but stand there pretending.

When they finally left, engines roaring back to life and fading into the distance, I waited until I couldn't hear them anymore. Then I counted to one hundred, and I locked the garage door.

"Rhea?" Bear approached me carefully. "Are you good?"

"Fine."

"You don't look fine."

I didn't answer. Just went back to my office where Rowan was still sitting on the floor, toy cars scattered around him. He looked up when I entered, relief flooding his small face.

"They gone?"

"Yeah, baby. They're gone."

***

Now it's night. Rowan is finally asleep, curled up in his bed with his stuffed wolf… Ironic, I know… clutched to his chest. I stand at the window, watching the street below. Pinecrest is quiet at this time of night. A few streetlights. Some cars were parked at the curb. Nothing unusual.

But in the distance, I hear them… engines… multiple bikes, moving in formation. Too far to see, but close enough to hear if you know what to listen for.

My wolf hears them too. She's alert now, ears pricked, ready.

They're looking for me, and they're close, closer than they've been in five years.

I press my hand against the cool glass and whisper into the darkness.

"Not yet. Just... not yet."

The wind carries the sound of engines closer, then farther, then gone.

I stay at the window until dawn, thinking about how to protect my son if Darius finds us, one day.