Page 19 of Wrecked By Rev

“It’s been five years, Angel. And you’re with me now.” He holds my gaze. “The brothers should know. No one has forgotten Wheels. They remember you. Let them see you again.”

The thought makes me want to throw up. The clubhouse. The place I haven’t set foot in since Jonah’s wake, when I stood in the corner and watched his brothers drink to his memory and couldn’t breathe for the weight of all that leather and chrome.

But Rev is looking at me with those steady eyes, and I know he’s right. I can’t keep running forever. Sooner or later, I have to face it.

“Okay,” I hear myself say. “Okay. I’ll come.”

The clubhouse looks exactly the same.

That’s the first thing that hits me when we pull into the lot—nothing has changed. Same building, same row of bikes out front, same hand-painted sign with the grinning reaper. It’s like the last five years didn’t happen. Like I could walk inside and find Jonah shooting pool in the corner, laughing at something Rogue said.

My chest hurts.

Rev’s hand finds mine. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to.

We walk inside together.

The main room is half-full. A few guys at the bar, a couple more at the pool table. Conversations stop when they see me. I watch recognition flicker across faces—some I remember, some I don’t.

“Holy shit.” Rogue sets down his beer and grins. “Angel Medina. It’s been a minute.”

“Five years,” I manage.

“Way too long.” He comes over and pulls me into a hug before I can protest. He smells like leather and beer andsomething that makes my heart ache with familiarity. “Good to see you, sweetheart. Wheels would be glad you’re back.”

The name hits me like a fist. But I don’t fall apart. I hugged him back.

“Thanks, Rogue.”

King appears from somewhere—taller than I remember, harder around the edges, but with the same quiet authority. He nods at me.

“Angel.”

“King.”

“Glad you’re here.” That’s all he says. It’s enough.

For the first time since I walked away, being around the club doesn’t feel suffocating.

It feels like coming home.

And that’s the hardest part.

I leave the clubhouse around four to close up the cafe.

Rev offers to come with me, but I wave him off. “I’ll be fine. It’s just the afternoon cleanup. Come by at six, like usual, and walk me to my car if you must.”

He doesn’t look happy about it, but he lets me go.

The afternoon rush was light, and by the time I’ve cleaned up and counted the register, it’s nearly six.

I should wait inside for Rev. That’s the routine we’ve established—he shows up, walks me to my car, makes sure I get home safe. But I’m feeling good for the first time in months. The clubhouse, the way it felt to be folded back into that world—I’m riding that high, and I don’t want to hide inside like a scared rabbit.

I step out the front door to lock up.

“Angel.”

My blood turns to ice.