Page 16 of Canvas’ Muse

"Protection." The word comes out fierce despite his exhaustion. "The strong protect the weak. The capable protect the vulnerable. That's what Phoenix believes. That's what the Iron Phoenix stands for."

I think about Davis throwing himself over me, taking a bullet without hesitation. *The strong protect the weak.*

"He invited me to join," Davis continues, his words getting slower as the medication pulls at him. "Said I could bring my studio and be part of something bigger. A brotherhood that actually meant something." His eyes close briefly. "I'd been alone my whole life, Eden. Since my mom died, since my dad started drinking, I'd been alone. And Phoenix offered me family."

My throat is tight. "So, you said yes."

"Packed up in two weeks. Never looked back." He opens his eyes to look at me, and there's something genuine in his expression. "Best decision I ever made. The MC gave me brothers, gave me purpose. Taught me how to channel all that rage and violence into something good. Something that protects instead of destroys."

"That's beautiful, Davis."

"It's true." His hand finally closes over mine, his thumb stroking my knuckles. "The MC made me better. Made me someone worth being. Someone who uses his body as a shield instead of a weapon."

As he utters the last word, I can’t help but realize I’m falling for him. Fast and hard and completely out of control. For a man I met three hours ago who talks about protection like it's a sacred duty and took a bullet for me without thinking twice.

I follow Ranger through the gates, actual gates that swing open automatically as we approach, and into the parking area. Up close, the building is even more imposing. Two stories, reinforced doors, windows with bars that manage to look decorative rather than prison-like.

"Pull up close to the door," Davis instructs. "Makes it easier to get inside."

I do as he says, parking right next to the entrance. Ranger and Saint have already killed their engines and are heading toward us. Other bikers are emerging from the building. Big men in leather cuts, all of them moving towards us.

This is real. This is actually happening.

A man who can only be Phoenix steps forward first. He's tall, with short dark hair, sharp dark eyes, and a scar across his jaw. He's wearing jeans and a black t-shirt with his cut over it.

"Canvas." Phoenix opens the passenger door before I can, taking in Davis's condition with a single glance. "How bad?"

"Through and through, shoulder." Davis tries to get out on his own and nearly falls. Phoenix catches him, supporting his weight easily. "Eden kept me alive until Saint got there."

Phoenix's eyes shift to me, assessing. I force myself to meet his gaze steadily. This is a test. I know it's a test. If I show weakness now, if I flinch or look away, I'll never earn their respect.

"You're the tattoo client," Phoenix says. It's not a question.

"Eden Cross. Nurse at Millhaven General." I get out of the car, rounding it to stand beside them. "And yes, I was getting tattooed when they shot up the studio."

"Did you see them?"

"No. I was in the back room when it started. Davis covered me before I could see anything." I glance at Davis, who's leaning heavily on Phoenix despite trying to look steady. "He took the bullet for me."

"I see. Get him inside. Saint, medical room. Eden—" He pauses, clearly trying to figure out what to do with me.

"I'm coming with him." My voice is firm. Non-negotiable. "I'm the nurse who kept him alive. I need to make sure he stays that way."

Phoenix stares at me for a brief moment, then nods. "Fine. But after Saint finishes with him, you and I need to talk."

"Looking forward to it."

Saint appears at Phoenix's other side, and together they help Davis toward the entrance. I follow closely, feeling all the other bikers watching us. There are four of them visible. All big, all tattooed, all radiating the kind of danger that comes from men who know how to hurt people.

And I'm walking right into their territory wearing jeans with blood stains and a fresh dragon tattoo on my thigh.

The inside of the clubhouse is surprisingly nice. Clean hardwood floors, decent furniture, a long bar against one wall. It smells like leather and motor oil. There's a large common room with couches and a TV, a hallway leading deeper into the building, stairs going up to what I assume are bedrooms.

Two women sit on one of the couches, both looking up as we enter. One has short auburn hair and is curvy like me, her green eyes going wide as she takes in Davis's condition. The other has long dark hair and is holding a little girl who looks about five.

"Canvas!" The auburn-haired woman jumps up. "Oh my god, what happened?"

"Vipers shot up the studio." Saint is already guiding Davis down the hallway. "He'll be fine. Just needs rest and antibiotics."