“And you join the family.”Casey moved behind her to help slide the jacket over Marci’s shoulders.“These aren’t just for fun.You wear this, every brother here stands between you and trouble.”
Leather settled over Marci’s hoodie.Casey adjusted the collar and smoothed the back.It fitted her perfectly.Atilla had either guessed her size, or Casey had.Marci ran her hands over the front, testing softness and weight, her face caught between disbelief and gratitude.
“Family now.”Casey stepped back to admire the view.“Nobody touches family.”
“Nobody,” Maui echoed, lifting his beer.“We defend our own.Anyone tries to lay a hand on you, they run through all of us.”
Bottles lifted around the room in silent agreement.Marci studied the faces, the raised drinks, the certainty in the room.She been on the run for so long she barely knew what backup meant.Now she had over a dozen men who’d decided she mattered.
She turned toward me, jacket snug on her shoulders, and satisfaction rolled through me at the knowledge she had my name stitched across her back.Property of Ace.I wanted Mercer to see it, to understand exactly who stood between him and his favorite target.
“Thank you.”She faced the room but focused on me.“I don’t know how to thank you enough, just… thank you.”
“No speech needed,” Atilla answered from his corner.“Wear the leather.Let people see you have protection.That speaks loud enough.”
Celebration sparked from there.Shots appeared, stories followed.Wildcard launched into a tale about a disastrous run five years back.Ravager retold the story of his road name, adding extra drama for the new audience.Marci settled into a chair beside me, fingers wrapped around the beer Casey pressed into her hand, and I watched her loosen by degrees.
This, more than hiding, was what I wanted for her.Not only safety from Mercer but belonging.Laughter.Faces she could trust.She threw her head back and laughed at some comment from Maui, the sound bright and real, and my chest tightened again.My jacket on her shoulders, my name across her back, my brothers treating her like she had always sat at this table.
For a while, everything felt right.Felt like we had found solid ground.Mercer turned into a problem for another day.The future she described on the porch -- a little house and a garden -- felt real instead of imaginary.With one arm draped along the back of her chair, I let my beer go warm and just breathed.
Then tires rolled over gravel.
The sound cut under the music, wrong in a way every brother recognized.Heavy vehicles, not bikes.Years of skirting the edge of legal trouble trained your ears for the arrival of law.
Red and blue light splashed across the walls a heartbeat later, harsh flashes visible through the windows.I moved before my brain finished the thought, my hand finding Marci’s shoulder, positioning myself between her and the front.Around the room, the Raptors shifted in practiced unison, drinks disappearing, anything questionable vanishing from sight, expressions flattening into polite disinterest.
“Nobody panic.”Atilla’s voice sounded calm yet strong as iron.“Likely nothing major.Let me speak for the room.”
His shoulders told a different story.Hands curled once before he deliberately relaxed them.Cruisers never came out to a biker bar for friendly conversation.Someone had pulled strings.Someone wanted pressure.
I already knew the name behind that decision.
* * *
Marci
Uniforms stepped through the doorway and my lungs locked.Dark blue shirts, silver badges catching the rotating light from the cruisers outside.Two officers, side by side.Every muscle I had remembered every time James had used his badge as a weapon.Ace’s hand tightened on my shoulder, a steady anchor, reminding me this was a different town, a different department.Reason insisted we faced routine cops.Experience whispered another story.Local officers rarely stepped inside before opening hours carrying that level of presence unless someone had stirred them up.
“Routine inspection,” the first officer announced.His tone held practiced authority, the kind that shut down disagreement before a single word formed.Age showed around his eyes, gray threading dark hair.A career cop.His partner, younger and thicker through the shoulders, already held a notepad.
Atilla stepped forward.“Six months since the last one.Some particular concern?”
“Just checking compliance.Health codes, fire safety, alcohol licenses.Standard procedure.”The older man let his gaze drift over the room, taking in leather cuts, colors, the way we stood.Technically, a fire marshal would check for fire safety, a health inspector for the health codes.But the alcohol license?I could somewhat see that one.They were clearly here on a BS excuse.“We should finish quickly.”
Standard procedure.The phrase scraped across my nerves like sandpaper.Nothing about this felt routine.James had stirred the pot.He’d made calls, leaned on someone, pulled favors.This inspection worked like a message, a reminder he could reach into my new life whenever he wanted.
Ace steered me behind the bar and planted himself between me and the crowd.I tightened my fingers around polished wood, knuckles white.The auxiliary jacket suddenly weighed a ton on my shoulders -- promise and target rolled into one.Property of Ace.James would notice sooner or later.He’d realize I’d found someone willing to stand in front of me, someone who didn’t bow to fear.He’d know his hold had slipped.
The officers moved in slow, methodical passes.Cooler.Storage.Paperwork.Licenses on the wall.The older one scribbled on a clipboard while the younger checked corners and fire equipment.Brothers drifted through the room, not blocking, not threatening -- just watching, every muscle wound tight.
Every scrape and click echoed too loud.Doors swinging open.Pens digging into paper.Boots striking worn boards.My breathing turned shallow and sharp.The same jacket that had felt like belonging minutes earlier now pressed hard against my ribs, tightening until I swore my chest might crack.
“You okay?”Ace asked, voice so low only I could hear.
I gave a small nod.Choosing anything else meant James won, and I wouldn’t give him a single inch.Admitting the panic felt too close to admitting defeat.
Eventually the older officer circled back to the front.“Everything appears in order.We’ll be on our way shortly.”
