I look away first. I have to.
Dinner unfolds the way it always does—too much food, too much noise, brothers arguing about bike modifications and football scores, kids whining about vegetables. The controlled chaos of family that took two decades to build.
Sarah sits between Lisa and Maria, Rex's 'current' girlfriend, and she eats, she talks, she helps pass dishes and refill glasses without being asked. She belongs here. The realization punches through me—she fills a space I didn't know existed.
Fuck.
I push back from the table. Need air. Need to clear my head before I do something stupid.
I make it to the back door before trouble finds me.
Vince Carlisle. Human. VP of the Iron Hammers from up the coast—an allied club, purely human, old-school MC. They rode down for business earlier, stayed for dinner. Vince doesn't know our rules. Or he doesn't care.
I see him approach Sarah before my brain catches up to my legs. He leans against the wall beside her, one arm braced above her head, too close. His hand drops to her waist. She tenses—I see it—and her scent sours, discomfort cutting through the warmth.
"—just saying, gorgeous. A woman like you doesn't belong in a place like this. Why don't you let me show you how a real club treats their ladies?"
The room narrows to a single point—This man's hand on her. Something tears loose inside me.
I cross the room before I process moving, bodies parting around me, conversations dying mid-sentence. Someone curses under their breath.
"Hands off."
My voice doesn't sound like mine. Something old and dangerous. The orc my father tried to make me.
Vince turns, smirk fading when he sees my face. "Oh, hey, man, I—"
"She's under Feral Sons protection." The words come out as a growl. "Touch her again and I'll break every bone in that arm. Starting with your fingers."
The room goes silent, every brother on their feet, Garrett's shadow looming at my back. Vince's face pales and he steps back with his hands raised.
"Didn't know, Knox. No disrespect meant."
"Get out."
He doesn't argue. The Iron Hammers file out fast, muttering apologies, and the door slams behind them.
The silence stretches. I'm breathing too hard, my pulse still hammering, my hands still wanting to break something. My beast wants blood. Wants to hunt. Wants to claim.
I force myself to look at Sarah.
She stares up at me, lips parted, and her scent floods my lungs. Not fear. Not the sharp tang of terror I expected after watching a seven-foot orc lose control.
Her pupils have blown wide. Her chest rises and falls too fast. The air around her thickens into something I have no business recognizing on a woman I barely know.
Arousal.
She's aroused by my protectiveness. By watching me threaten another man for touching her.
Our eyes lock and the room disappears.
Fuck. Fuck.Fuck.
"I need air." I turn before I break. "Don't follow me." I tell her.
The dock behind the clubhouse stretches out over black water, stars burning overhead, bright enough to see by. The October chill bites at my skin and I welcome it—anything to cool the fire still raging through my blood.
Footsteps on the weathered boards. Light ones.
