The clubhouse at night was different. Quieter, but not empty—members drinking at the bar, playing pool, working on bikes in the garage. Music drifted from somewhere, low and bluesy. The smell of leather and whiskey wrapped around me like a blanket.
They nodded as we passed. Some with curiosity, others with knowing smiles that made heat creep up my neck.
Hawk met us in the common room, his presence filling the space the way a king fills a throne room—not demanding attention, just inevitably commanding it. "They hit the apartment?"
"Four of them." Axel's hand hadn't left my back. "Slash leading."
"Casualties?"
"Their pride, mostly." Irish grinned. "Kai dropped one before we got there. It was beautiful." Hawk's eyes found mine—really seeing me, measuring me against some internal standard. "You good with this? Being here?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Always." His voice was surprisingly gentle. "But some choices are smarter than others."
I thought about Slash's threats. The shattered vase. The gun in Jenkins' trembling hand. Then I looked at Axel—the worry he was trying to hide, the way his body curved toward mine like gravity. "I'm good with it."
Hawk nodded once. "Blade. Show Kai the prospect room."
A man looked up from the pool table—Hispanic, handsome in that effortless way some men managed. His eyes swept over me, taking in the violet highlights, the jade pendant, the way Axel's hand pressed possessive against my lower back. A knowing smile crossed his face.
"This way, hermano."
The prospect room was small but clean. Single bed, battered dresser, tiny bathroom. After my destroyed apartment, it felt like a fortress.
"Axel's room is three doors down," Blade mentioned, leaning against the doorframe. "In case you were wondering."
"I wasn't."
"Sure." His grin widened. "Word of advice? Axel's complicated."
"Complicated how?"
"You know." He made a vague gesture. "Feelings. Attraction. Things that don't fit in neat boxes." His expression softened. "He's still figuring himself out. But the way he looks at you? Haven't heard of him looking at someone like that since Daniels, and that was more than three years ago."
I studied him closer. There was something in his eyes—a recognition, a kinship.
"You're..."
"Bi? Yeah." He said it easily, without shame. "Not a secret. Most of the club's cool with it." A shrug. "The ones who weren't learned to keep their mouths shut."
"And Axel?"
"Axel's working through some things. Old programming, old wounds." Blade pushed off the doorframe. "Just... be patient with him. He's worth it."
Speaking from experience?" I asked. Something wistful crossed his face. "Nah. Still waiting for my person. Had plenty of wrong ones—men, women, everything in between." He shrugged, but there was an old ache underneath the casual gesture. "Someday, maybe. Right now, the club's enough."
I recognized that loneliness. I'd worn it myself for years. "Someday," I agreed.
After he left, I sat on the narrow bed and tried to process. Four days ago, my biggest worry was being late for my shift. Now I was hiding from a rival MC in a biker clubhouse, under the protection of a man who kissed like I was oxygen and looked at me like I was something terrifying. A knock interrupted my spiraling.
"It's me," Axel called.
"Come in."
He entered carrying whiskey and two glasses, filling the small room with his presence. He'd changed into a fresh henley that stretched across his shoulders, his chest, every ridge of muscle. Dark circles under his eyes spoke to sleepless nights.
"Thought you might need this."
