7
TEX
The clubhouse lights cut through the dark long before we reached the gate.
Rowan followed close behind my bike, her truck rumbling along the gravel drive like it was running on nerves instead of gasoline. I’d told her to stay right on my tail the whole way back, and to her credit she hadn’t argued much.
Didn’t mean she liked it.
Didn’t mean I liked bringing her here either.
The Kings of Anarchy clubhouse wasn’t exactly the kind of place you introduced a woman to on a calm Sunday afternoon, let alone in the middle of a mess like this, but she’d insisted on being there when I spoke to JD, and I figured we owed her that much at least.
I rolled through the open gate and cut the engine outside the long, low building. Music thumped faintly through the walls. A couple of bikes lined the front porch and smoke drifted out from the cracked door.
Home. Only tonight it didn’t feel that simple.
Rowan’s truck pulled in beside my bike and idled. I couldn’t make out her expression through the glass, but I could imagine it well enough.
She cut the engine and stepped out slowly, glancing around the yard.
Her eyes caught everything. The parked Harleys, the men on the porch smoking, the faded Kings of Anarchy skull patch painted across the building wall, and to her credit, she didn’t look scared.
But she looked like she understood something important: this wasn’t a place you wandered into by accident.
I pulled off my helmet. “Stay close,” I told her.
She held my gaze for a moment, before finally nodding.
We walked toward the door together, Moose, Ridge, and Confessor close by. Bear had gone back to the ranch to check on the prospects.
The music inside the club was loud enough to rattle the walls, with Lynyrd Skynyrd blasting from the jukebox. The room smelled like beer, motor oil, and smoke.
Half the club was inside, and conversations died the second we walked in as all eyes landed on Rowan.
Clubhouses go quiet in a very specific way when a stranger shows up. Not loud. Not hostile. Just watchful.
Swampy leaned against the pool table and gave me a slow grin. “Well damn,” he said. “You bringin’ guests over now?”
“Where’s Prez?” I asked, ignoring him.
Swampy nodded toward the chapel.
Rowan shifted beside me. “You’re just going to leave me out here?”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll take care of you.” Swampy winked at her.
“Fuck off, Swampy, now’s not the time.” I glanced at Rowan. “And no, you’re coming in with me. From now on, you don’t leave my side unless I say so.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but then took another look at Swampy before nodding. “Fine.”
“I’ll come too,” Confessor said, “civilians aren’t allowed in the chapel, but he might accept it with me there.”
I shook my head and patted him on the shoulder. “I’ve got it—he’ll understand once I talk.”
He twisted his mouth up like he wanted to argue but nodded his acceptance all the same.
I took Rowan's arm gently and guided her with me, and I felt something tighten in my chest when she didn’t pull away.
