The bikes turned and came back, pulling to a stop in front of me on the side of the road.
Multiple motorcycles.
Multiple riders.
Their headlights pointed straight at me, blinding me completely. I couldn’t see their faces, but they could absolutely see me—tears streaming down my cheeks, smeared mascara, clutching my arm.
Fear crept up my spine as I slowly started backing away—one step, then another. Gravel crunched beneath my feet.
A bike engine shut off, then another.
Boots hit the ground, and a deep voice cut through the darkness.
“Easy there.”
I froze, heart racing.
“We’re not gonna hurt you.”
I couldn’t see who spoke; the headlights were too bright. But the voice was calm, controlled.
I took another step backward anyway.
Another man stepped forward, his silhouette moving out of the harsh beams. Recognition hit instantly—it was the biker from earlier, the one who had walked into the bar and owned the room.
He slowly pulled off his helmet, dark hair falling messily across his forehead. Sharp eyes locked onto me instantly, then dropped to my arm.
His entire expression changed.
The easy confidence vanished, replaced by something darker.
“What thefuckhappened to you?”
Five
Hawk
The auction had wrapped up almost an hour ago, and since then, the bar had transformed into a full-blown party. Music blasted through the speakers, glasses clinked constantly, and drunken laughter rolled across the packed room in waves. The moment the last basket was auctioned off, the charity event had shifted into something wild and reckless, which was typically how these things went.
Tonight’s benefit was for one of our sister chapters. One of their brothers’ old ladies had been diagnosed with cancer a few months back, and the mounting medical bills were piling up faster than anyone could handle. Hospitals didn’t care about loyalty or family—they just wanted their money. So, we did what we always did: the club stepped in. Baskets donated from local businesses, raffles, auctions, cash donations. By the end of the night, we’d raised way more than anyone expected.
That was something people outside this life never understood. We might be outlaws, but when one of our own was hurting, every chapter showed up.
I leaned back in my chair, swirling the whiskey in my glass while the noise of the party roared around me. My table was filled with my officers. Riot sat across from me, his chair tipped back on two legs as he lazily spun a poker chip across the table with one finger. Diesel was halfway through a basket of bar food that looked like it had been sitting under a heat lamp since noon. Knox and Ranger were caught up in a pointless argument, while Ghost scrolled through something on his phone.
But I wasn’t focused on any of that. My attention kept drifting across the bar, back to the same booth. Emma.
She sat tucked into the corner of the booth beside her friend, small and quiet, almost like she was trying to fade into the background of the raucous room. Impossible, really, because I’d noticed her the second she walked in. And once I noticed something, I didn’t stop watching it.
Her friend, though? That girl was starting to get under my skin. Maya. I hadn’t caught her name until earlier when they signed in at the raffle table, but once I heard it, I didn’t forget it. The longer the night went on, the more irritated I became with her.
She kept snapping at Emma, rolling her eyes every time Emma spoke, cutting her off halfway through sentences like whatever Emma had to say didn’t matter. Each time Emma tried to join the conversation, Maya brushed her off or made some snide little comment that made Emma shrink even further into herself. And Emma just… took it. She didn’t argue or snap back. Instead, she nodded quietly, forcing a small laugh as if trying to smooth over the tension.
I felt my jaw tighten.
Across the table, Riot snorted under his breath. “Jesus Christ.”
“What?” I asked, barely glancing at them.
