“Don’t gotta thank me,” I mutter. “Am I free to go, Chief? I need to get to our patch maker in Knoxville.”
He clears his throat and takes a step back. “Yeah. Yeah, sure, Jenson. Ride safe.”
“You ever gonna call me Havoc?” I ask as I kick my Harley back to life.
“Probably not,” the old man replies, this time with an honest smile on his face.
“Fair,” I mumble, pulling back onto the road with one last nod.
The rest of the ride to Knoxville goes without incident. My thoughts keep drifting back to Sasha and the impact her presence’s had on my life. The way she looked at me before I left. Soft. Worried.
Been a long time since anyone’s looked at me like that. Like I was something worth worrying about. Worth belonging to. And not just because of my position as president of the MC running our little town. Instead, Sasha sees me as her man.
I don’t know what to do with it. Don’t know if I deserve it. But that doesn’t stop me from wanting more.
I roll past a stretch of open land, fields glowing gold in the sun. A farmhouse sits in the distance, quiet, untouched. Normal life.
Never wanted it before. Still don’t.
But with her? Fuck. Can a man like me have anything close to normal?
Knoxville starts rising up ahead, traffic picking up as I get closer. Soon, I’m surrounded by strip malls, gas stations, and people living their normal lives.
I ease off the throttle, but heads still turn like they always do. Black bike. Blacked-out leather. Ink crawling up my arms. I don’t exactly scream law-abiding citizen.
I take a turn down a quieter street, pulling up in front of the leather shop the club’s been using for years. No flashy signs. No bullshit. That’s where I’ll find George and Martha.
The bell tinkles above me when I open the door, and George looks up from the counter, greeting me with a smile.
“Havoc,” he rumbles as I slap my hand against his in a handshake. “You know we have a phone, right?”
I shake my head. “We’ve always come in person, and we always will.”
“Fair enough,” he says breezily, but I see the respect in his eyes. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
“Need a cut. For a woman. Medium tall, willowy,” I rattle off.
George nods, not needing a notepad or anything to write it down—he’ll get on it first thing.
“Martha!” he yells over his shoulder. “Got a Sinners job.”
“Alright, alright,” Martha grumbles, shuffling in from the back. “No need to yell, I’m not deaf yet.” Her eyes go to me, softening marginally. “Hi, handsome. What do you need from me?”
I take a deep breath. “A property patch.”
“That’s easy,” she says with a smile. “Who for?”
“Me,” I reply, the word seeming to echo around us. “It’s for my old lady. Property of Havoc.”
15
SASHA
Ismooth my hands over the black dress, examining myself in the mirror. It’s simple but fits perfectly, hugging my curves in ways I’m getting used to. The clubhouse is buzzing with activity as everyone prepares for the party.
“Something special,”Havoc had said this morning before leaving, his voice low and intimate.“Got something planned for you tonight.”
My stomach flutters with nerves. What could it be? For all the intensity between us, I still feel like I’m learning who Havoc is—who I am with him.
