The man who steps off it looks carved out of shadow and violence held tight. His leather cut catches the light. The Damned Saints emblem is stark across his back like a promise.
It's Havoc.
He walks toward us with a steady, unhurried stride that somehow fills the whole yard. Mr. Hayes shifts, releasing my arm. I can feel him calculating escape routes.
Havoc’s stare cuts straight through Mr. Hayes, leaving him pale and shrinking back.
Then his eyes settle on me.
My knees nearly give out. Something inside me pulls tight like a wound stitched too fast.
“You have a reason to be this close to her?” Havoc asks, voice calm enough to be terrifying.
Mr. Hayes forces a laugh that sounds like a breath being strangled. “Just talking is all.”
Havoc studies him with bored disdain. “You should take a step back. Right now.”
Mr. Hayes scrambles to obey, hands lifted as if Havoc already has a weapon drawn.
“I didn’t mean anything by it,” he stammers.
“That’s good to hear,” Havoc says, tone flat. “Because putting hands on a woman who doesn’t want it tends to end rough around here.”
Mr. Hayes’ face drains. “I wasn’t hurting her.”
“She didn’t look fine to me,” Havoc replies, voice quiet and even. “And if she wasn’t fine, neither are you.”
Mr. Hayes backs toward the door so fast he nearly slips. He mutters apologies as he disappears inside and slams the door behind him.
The shift is so sudden that my body can’t keep up. The adrenaline drains and my legs give out. I reach for the railing but miss.
A strong arm catches me before I fall.
“Easy, sweetheart. I’ve got you,” Havoc says, voice still low but edged with something protective and dangerous.
He pulls me upright, one hand settling at my waist with a grip firm enough to hold me steady but not cage me.
My palm lands flat on his chest. Heat, muscle, the slow heartbeat of a man who is not scared of anything on this street.
“Look at me,” he says.
I don’t want to. I’m shaking too hard. But my gaze lifts anyway.
His eyes lock on mine, and something inside me finally breathes.
“Did he hurt you?” Havoc asks, voice darker now.
“I… I don’t know,” I whisper, my throat tight. “I mean… no. Not really.”
His jaw tightens. “If he did, he will not get another chance.”
The certainty in his tone sends a shiver through me. He notices instantly and shifts closer, bracing me without crowding me.
“I—um, I saw you last week,” I blurt, against my better judgment. “At the charity ride.”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just watches me, steady and unreadable.
My stomach twists. Why did I even say that?
