ONE
LOGAN “BLADE” JAMESON
Ten years ago
My gut twiststhe moment I see her storming across the parking lot toward the clubhouse, headlights slicing through the night behind her. Tessa’s got that determined look on her face, the one she gets when she's ready for a fight, and the second she spots me leaning against the brick wall, her eyes narrow into dangerous slits.
“Ah shit,” I mutter under my breath, flicking the toothpick I've chewed down to splinters onto the cracked pavement. Rev chuckles from beside me, raising an eyebrow as he watches Tessa close in. “Trouble in paradise, brother?”
“Shut the fuck up,” I grumble, pushing off the wall. He laughs harder, slapping my shoulder as he heads back inside, leaving me to deal with the storm coming straight at me.
She stops inches from my chest, lifting her chin to glare at me, hair wild from the wind and jaw set tight.
“You’ve been ignoring my calls,” she accuses, her voice sharp enough to slice right through me.
“Been busy,” I answer, keeping my voice cool, distant. It’s easier that way. I know what she wants, what she's been asking for, more than just late nights, tangled sheets, and casual words. But I don’t have it in me to offer her anything real. Real gets messy. Real gets dangerous.
Her hands clench into fists by her sides. “You’re always busy. You always have time for the club, but never me.”
“Tessa, ”
“Don’t.” She holds up a hand, stopping me cold. Her voice wavers just enough to make something inside my chest tighten. “I don’t even know what I’m doing here. I told myself I wouldn’t chase you, but goddammit, Blade, you make it impossible.”
I scrub a hand over my jaw, frustration burning hot in my veins. “Look, now’s not the time for this shit.”
“When is the time?” she challenges. “When it’s convenient for you?”
Before I can respond, the clubhouse door swings open. Mason steps out, urgency etched into every line of his face.
“Blade,” he calls sharply. “Let’s roll.”
“Give me a sec,” I tell him, but Mason shakes his head, eyes cold as steel.
“Not a request, brother. We need you now.”
Tessa glares at him, clearly not giving a damn about protocol or the patch on Mason’s chest. “We’re talking.”
Mason levels her with a stern look, then flicks his eyes back to me. “Now, Blade. This can't wait.”
Tension crawls up my spine. I know that look from Mason, and it never means good news. I reach out, grabbing Tessa’s elbow gently, pulling her closer so only she hears me.
“You need to go home.”
She jerks her arm away, defiant. “Don’t brush me off.”
I grind my teeth, irritation and worry clawing at my chest. “I’m serious, Tess. Go home, lock your doors, and stay the hell inside.”
“Blade, ”
“Dammit, Tessa, for once can you just listen?” My voice snaps louder than I intend, rough around the edges, desperate. I take a breath, forcing myself to soften my tone. “Shit’s going down. Go home. Now.”
She searches my eyes, something flickering behind hers, hurt, anger, maybe even fear, but she just shakes her head, stepping back.
“Fine,” she whispers. “Whatever.”
She turns sharply, walking back toward her car, heels crunching against gravel. A heavy feeling sinks into my gut. I want to follow her, grab her, tell her I’m sorry for being such a stubborn bastard, but Mason’s stare drills into my back, reminding me where my loyalties lie. The club first, always.
Mason grips my shoulder tightly as Tessa slams her car door, the engine roaring to life. “She’ll get over it,” he murmurs, watching her pull away.
