Page 28 of Fallen Flame

Clash pushed away from the bar. “Where are you going?”

“Outside.”

Jude was already reaching for his phone. “I’ll call Ever and see if she’s in our room.”

I shoved through the front door before he finished.

Cold night air hit my face.

The clubhouse parking lot stretched out beneath the yellow light from the building. Bikes stood in a dark line near the side of the lot. A couple of trucks were parked near the fence. Beyond them, the road was empty.

I scanned every shadow. Nothing moved.

“Lark!”

My voice carried across the gravel, but nobody answered.

I checked between the vehicles, then walked toward the edge of the property. The front gate was still closed.

I turned and moved around the side of the clubhouse. The yard behind the building was darker, with only one porch light and the glow from a few windows cutting through the night. The Fallen Lords had built the area years ago for cookouts and club parties. A stone fire pit sat in the middle of a wide circle of mismatched chairs. Picnic tables were spread closer to the building, and an old swing hung from a wooden frame near the back fence.

At first, I didn’t see anyone.

Then a shadow shifted near the fire pit.

Lark sat curled into one of the wide outdoor chairs, her feet tucked beneath her. She wore the same oversized black hoodie she’d borrowed that morning, and her hair fell loose around her shoulders.

She wasn’t hurt. She wasn’t running. She was curled into a chair by the fire pit like she’d simply stepped outside for fresh air.

The pressure in my chest released so suddenly it turned into anger before I could stop it. “What the hell are you doing?” The words came out rougher than I intended.

Lark blinked at me. “Good evening to you, too.”

I stalked toward her. “What are you doing out here?”

“Sitting.”

“I can see that.”

“Then why did you ask?”

My jaw clenched. I stopped a few feet from her, forcing myself not to grab her just to make sure she was real and unharmed.

The back door opened behind me. Mason stepped onto the porch barefoot, his jeans still unbuttoned. He pulled a black T-shirt over his head as he came down the steps, his hair sticking up on one side.

“There she is,” he muttered.

Lark’s eyes traveled over him, then her mouth curved. “I see what Adley saw in you all these years.”

Mason stopped with his shirt halfway down his chest.

I stared at Lark.

She looked completely innocent.

A second later, Adley stepped outside wearing pajama pants and one of Mason’s old shirts. She took one look at her husband and smiled widely. “Sometimes the mileage doesn’t match the body.”

Lark lifted one hand into the air. Adley slapped her palm against nothing from several feet away, returning the air high five.