Chapter 6 - Ruby
The kitchen is quiet except for the soft clink of our glasses and the distant hum of crickets through the open window. Joey's hand is warm around mine, his thumb occasionally brushing across my knuckles in a way that sends shivers down my spine.
I should be exhausted after the day's events, but instead, I feel hyper-aware of everything—the way his broad shoulders fill my small kitchen space, how the dim light catches the silver in his hair, the subtle scent of leather and a strong and distinctly masculine odor that surrounds him.
"What are you thinking?" he asks, his deep voice rumbling through the quiet.
I consider lying, but something about the sunset's golden rays and the lingering sweetness of cookies makes me brave.
"I'm thinking that you're nothing like what I expected a biker gang VP to be."
His mouth quirks up slightly.
"Motorcycle club," he corrects. "Not gang. And what did you expect?"
"I don't know. Someone... harder, maybe? Less likely to let a five-year-old teach him proper cookie decoration techniques?"
He chuckles, "Don't let my brothers hear about that. I have a reputation to maintain."
"Your secret's safe with me." I hesitate, then ask what I've been wondering since he first appeared in my doorway yesterday. "How did you end up here? In the club, I mean?"
Joey is quiet for a long moment, his thumb still tracing patterns on my hand. Just when I think he won't answer, he speaks.
"Got out of the military twelve years ago. Three tours in Afghanistan left me with more demons than I knew what to do with. Couldn't sleep, couldn't hold down a regular job, couldn't... adjust." He takes a sip of milk with his free hand. "Then I met Hellfire—our president. He was a vet too, understood what I was going through. The club gave me purpose, structure. A brotherhood."
"Like the military?"
"Similar, but different. No rules except our own. No government telling us what to do or who to be." His eyes meet mine. "Probably not what a nice girl like you wants to hear."
"I'm not that nice," I say softly. "And I'm not a girl."
Something darkens in his gaze. "No, you're definitely not. You’re a woman."
Heat blooms on my cheeks, and I look down at our joined hands. His are so much larger than mine, scarred and powerful, yet holding mine with such gentleness.
"What about you?" he asks. "How'd a woman like you end up with someone like Derek?"
I sigh. "Classic story. Met him at work in Oregon—he was a client at the design firm where I was working. He was charming, successful, seemed so different from Tommy's father, who ran the moment I told him I was pregnant." I shake my head. "By the time I saw Derek's true colors, I was already isolated from my friends, dependent on him financially. It's embarrassing how textbook it was."
"Nothing embarrassing about being deceived by someone you trusted." His hand tightens slightly around mine. "Though I'm still going to have the boys patrolling your house and making sure he really left."
"You don't have to—"
"I want to." His voice leaves no room for argument. "Let me do this, Ruby."
The way he says my name makes my heart race. "Why do you care so much?"
"Because..." He stops, seeming to wrestle with something. "Because you deserve better. You and Tommy both."
"Better than what? A violent biker who kills people?"
The words slip out before I can stop them, and his hand stiffens in mine. Slowly, he tries to pull away, but I hold on.
"No, wait. I'm sorry. That wasn't fair."
"But it was true." His voice is rough. "I am violent. I do kill people. That's not going to change."
"To protect what's yours," I say quietly. "Your club, your territory, your..." I trail off, not sure how to finish that sentence.
His eyes darken again. "Careful, Ruby. You don't want to be mine."
"Don't I?" The leftover adrenaline makes me bolder. "You don't know what I want."
"I know what I am." He leans forward, his presence suddenly overwhelming. "I'm not a good man. Not someone you should trust around your kid."
"Tommy adores you."
"He shouldn't."
"Well, I do, too."
The tension between us shifts at my confession, and Joey pulls back slightly, though his hand remains in mine. I can see him struggling with how to respond, so I'm almost relieved when he changes the subject.
"Your parents," he says, his voice carefully neutral. "They know where you are?"
I let out a bitter laugh.
"No. They made it clear they wanted nothing to do with me when I got pregnant at nineteen. Their perfect daughter, knocked up by a warehouse worker who didn't even stick around." I take a shaky breath. "They said I'd ruined their reputation in their precious country club circle. Gave me an ultimatum—either get rid of the baby or get out."
His jaw clenches. "And you chose Tommy."
"Every time. He's the best decision I ever made." I smile sadly. "But it wasn't easy. I worked three jobs throughout my pregnancy and took online classes whenever I could. I lived in a studio apartment so small I could touch both walls simultaneously. But we made it."
"Without any help from them?"
"They sent a check when Tommy was born. I tore it up and mailed it back." I lift my chin defiantly. "I didn't want their guilt money."
Joey's thumb traces my knuckles again. "Good for you. Can't stand parents like that—choosing their fucking reputation over their own kid."
Something in his tone makes me look at him more closely. "Speaking from experience?"
He's quiet for so long I think he won't answer. Then, "Never told anyone this. Not even my brothers in the club." He takes a deep breath. "My old man was a mean drunk. He used to beat my mom and me when I got old enough to get between them. Then, one day, he just left. Mom always said it was because he couldn't handle the responsibility, but..." He shrugs. "I don’t now. Pretty sure he's dead in a ditch somewhere. Can't say I'm sorry about it."
"Joey..." I squeeze his hand.
"Don't need pity," he says gruffly. "Mom and I did better without him. Made us stronger."
"It's not pity. It's understanding." I meet his eyes. "Sometimes the family you're born with isn't the family you need."
"Like your cookie-loving quality control manager?" His lips quirk up slightly.
"Like my son, yes." I hesitate, then add softly, "And maybe like a grumpy biker who keeps saving us."
"Ruby..." There's a warning in his voice.
"I know. You're dangerous. You're not a good man. You've told me." I lean forward slightly. "But you're here, eating cookies and sharing secrets you've never told anyone else. So maybe you're not as bad as you think you are."
He stares at me for a long moment, something intense and unreadable in his eyes. "Or maybe you're not as smart as you look."
"Maybe not," I agree. "But I'm old enough to make my own decisions about who I trust. And, right now, I trust a man that, for some reason, others call Butcher."
"Trust," he repeats like it's a foreign word. "That's a dangerous thing to give someone like me. And I’m sure you know why they call me Butcher. I’m good with knives, and that’s as far as I’m going to say."
"I figured... And I know trusting you is dangerous. But I’m willing to go that far."