Page 17 of Gatsby's Starlet
What the hell she’d think if she ever saw the place filled with fifty bikers and a couple cases of beer was another matter entirely.
I didn’t stop to sit.
Instead I crossed the room and pushed through the back door, stepping out onto the wide wraparound porch that circled most of the house.
Evening in the Lowcountry had settled in soft and heavy, the air thick with humidity that clung to your skin the second you stepped outside. Spanish moss hung from the branches of the old oak trees like gray curtains shifting in the slow breeze, and somewhere out near the marsh the bullfrogs had started up their deep croaking while cicadas buzzed in the trees.
The property stretched out around the house in every direction.
Beyond that the land sloped gently toward the marsh, the brackish water catching the fading light of the sky and throwing it back in slow ripples. The dock stretched out over it, weathered boards bleached pale from years of sun and salt, a place where more than a few of us had spent long nights drinking beer and watching the tide roll in and out.
Charleston wasn’t far. You could hear the faint hum of it sometimes when the wind carried the sound right. But once you turned onto that long dirt road lined with ancient oaks and warning signs making it real clear strangers weren’t welcome, it felt like stepping into another world.
And this one belonged to us.
I leaned against one of the porch columns, letting my gaze drift across the property while the quiet of evening settled in around the house.
Most men in this life talked about freedom like it was something they were still chasing.
Standing there, looking at that old house we’d claimed as our own, I knew damn well I’d already found mine.
But the thought of Fire Dragons trying to rise again crept back into my head whether I wanted it there or not.
If someone really was rebuilding that chapter… the quiet around here wasn’t going to last.
CHAPTER SIX
THE ROAD HADturned to dirt about ten minutes ago,and the farther we drove the more the trees seemed to close in around us, tall pines crowding the narrow path until the last traces of Charleston had disappeared behind us. I kept watching the thin ribbon of dust trailing behind Ruby’s car in the side mirror, wishing, not for the first time since we left, that I had refused to get in.
But refusing Ruby had never really been an option.
She drove with both hands on the wheel, her shoulders tight, eyes fixed ahead with that stubborn focus she always had whenever Drago was involved, and the look alone was enough to make the knot in my stomach pull tighter. I’d seen it before, that same rigid determination whenever she convinced herself something had to be done, and once she got there nothing, not logic, not pleading, not family, seemed capable of changing her mind.
Still, I had to try.
“Ruby,” I said quietly, twisting my fingers together in my lap as the tires crunched over loose gravel. “We don’t have to do this.”
She didn’t even glance my way. “Yes,” she said simply. “We do.”
The firmness in her voice made something sink in my chest.
“Please,” I tried again, forcing myself to keep my voice calm even though the woods around us were already starting to feel too dark, too empty. “We can turn around. He doesn’t even have to know we came.”
Ruby let out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “I already told him we were coming.”
My pulse skipped. “Then tell him we changed our mind.”
She shook her head slightly, eyes still locked on the road ahead. “No way. It’s my night off and I want to see him. Being with him…” She hesitated for a second, as if searching for the words. “I can’t explain the feeling I get.”
The road curved deeper into the trees, the branches overhead knitting together so tightly the fading daylight struggled to break through.
“You talk about him like he’s some kind of god,” I said softly.
Ruby’s mouth tightened. “He’s not a god.”
“No,” I said quietly. “He’s dangerous.”
That finally earned me a glance. Her eyes flicked toward me, irritation flashing across her face. “You’ve never even met him.”
