Four days since I showed Luna the video of what the Iron Eagles are capable of. Four days of waiting for her to change her mind, to pack her bags and run back to Seattle where she'd be safe from the storm that's coming. Four days of being surprised as hell when she not only stays but throws herself into rebuilding her grandmother's house with the kind of determination that makes me proud and terrified in equal measure.
The morning sun beats down on the back of my neck as I haul another load of rotted timber from what used to be the back porch. Around the property, my brothers are working non-stop: Beast is on the roof, his massive frame making quick work of replacing damaged sections. Rage and Torch are rewiring the electrical system, arguing good-naturedly about the best approach. Steel's splitting his time between plumbing repairs and directing the overall renovation, his engineer's mind perfect for the task.
We've made more progress in four days than I would have thought possible in two weeks. The house is still a long way from habitable, but it no longer looks like it's about to collapse in on itself. The new roof is nearly complete, the foundation has been stabilized, and most of the water damage has been addressed.
It's strange seeing my brothers like this, covered in sawdust instead of grease, wielding hammers instead of weapons, laughing and bullshitting like regular guys working a construction job. Strange, but good. A reminder that before we were an MC, before we were soldiers, we were just men who knew how to build things.
And at the center of it all is Luna.
She's across the yard now, sorting through debris from the kitchen renovation, separating what can be salvaged from what needs to go. Her hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, face smudged with dirt, wearing jeans and one of my old t-shirts that's too big on her and keeps slipping off one shoulder. She looks fucking beautiful.
Not because she's perfectly put together. She's actually a mess, sweaty and dirty from hard work, but because she's completely authentic. No pretense, no games, just a woman who knows what she wants and isn't afraid to get her hands dirty to make it happen.
Everyone knows about us now. It was impossible to hide the way we look at each other, the casual touches, the fact that she's been sleeping at my place since that first day at the clubhouse. I expected push-back from the club, questions about my judgment, concerns about involving a civilian in club business.
Instead, they've accepted her with a readiness that surprised even me. Beast barely talks to anyone, but I've seen him showing Luna how to properly use a sledgehammer, his normally grim face cracking into what might be a smile when she demolished a rotted wall section on her first try. Rage brought his kid by yesterday, and Luna spent half an hour patiently teaching the boy how to identify different medicinal plants in what's left of Emma's garden.
Even Torch, who's suspicious of everyone, has taken to calling her "Doc" with a gruff affection that he usually reserves for his bike.
The only one who pulled me aside was Tank, cornering me yesterday when Luna was inside making lunch for the crew.
"You sure about this?" he asked, nodding toward the house where Luna was visible through the kitchen window. "It'sone thing to protect her property, another to get involved personally."
"I'm sure," I told him, not needing to think about it. "The Savage Riders have their queen now. She'll be protected as such."
Tank stared at me like I'd grown a second head, then shook his own. "Never thought I'd hear those words from you, brother. But if there's one thing I've learned, it's that sometimes you've gotta trust King even when things don't seem quite right."
Then he actually laughed, a rare sound from my normally serious VP. "Besides, the way she handled Steel's injury yesterday... woman's got skills we can use."
He was right about that. When Steel sliced his arm open while working on one of the club's bikes, Luna had him patched up before most of us even realized what happened. No drama, no squeamishness, just efficient, professional care followed by a stern lecture about tetanus boosters that had the rest of us hiding our grins behind our hands.
She's already proven herself useful to the club in ways that go beyond her connection to me. The same way her grandmother did, providing medical care without questions or judgment, but with a warmth and humor that makes even the most hardened of my brothers feel at ease.
Luna looks up suddenly, as if sensing my gaze, and smiles. I can't remember the last time someone looked at me that way, like I'm something good in their life rather than something to be feared or used or avoided.
"Need help with that?" she calls, gesturing to the pile of rotted lumber I've been hauling.
"I've got it," I answer, loading the last of it into the dumpster we've parked in the driveway. "How's the kitchen coming?"
"Chaos says another day and we should have running water," she reports, walking toward me with that easy confidence that's become so familiar in just a few days. "Though I think he's being optimistic."
"Always is," I agree, reaching out to brush a smudge of dirt from her cheek. "You look good like this."
"Filthy and exhausted?" She laughs, but leans into my touch.
"Working," I correct her. "Building something instead of just treating the aftermath of destruction."
As a nurse, especially in the ER, she's spent her career dealing with the results of violence and accidents, patching people up after the damage is done. Just like I've spent most of my adult life either causing destruction or responding to it.
"It feels good," she admits. "Seeing progress, knowing we're creating something that will last."
That's exactly it. The satisfaction of building rather than breaking, of making something better than it was before. It's a feeling I'd almost forgotten existed.
Luna steps closer, her body fitting against mine despite the height difference between us. My arm circles her waist, pulling her closer still. Four days, and touching her already feels like the most natural thing in the world.
"Thank you," she says quietly. "For all of this. I know you didn't have to mobilize your entire club for my house."
"Our house," I correct without thinking, then freeze as I realize what I've implied.
