Chapter Fourteen #2
The worn wooden bench creaked beneath me as I shifted my weight.
Evening had settled over the compound, painting the sky in deepening shades of blue and purple.
I’d escaped the tension of the clubhouse, needing air that didn’t smell of leather and whiskey, needing space to think without feeling as if I were under surveillance.
In the distance, motorcycle engines rumbled as Prospects patrolled the perimeter, the sound oddly comforting after everything we’d been through.
I belonged nowhere and everywhere at once -- too deep in this world to return to my old life, too much an outsider to truly claim this one.
The sound of the clubhouse door opening pulled me from my thoughts. I didn’t need to look up to know it was Doc -- I’d learned to recognize his footsteps, the rhythm of his movement.
“Thought I might find you out here,” Doc said, his voice warm in the cooling evening air.
I glanced up then, unable to resist the pull of his presence. “Needed some air.”
Doc settled beside me on the bench, his larger frame dwarfing mine, the warmth of him immediately noticeable in the evening chill. For a moment, we sat in companionable silence, watching as security lights blinked on around the compound perimeter.
“I still feel like I don’t belong here,” I finally admitted, the words barely loud enough to reach him despite our proximity. “I’ve caused them nothing but trouble.”
I felt his gaze on me but couldn’t bring myself to look up. Instead, I stared out at the compound -- this strange, insular world with its own rules and codes that I was still learning to navigate.
“After what you did, you’ve earned your place.” His shoulder pressed against mine, solid and reassuring. “You stood your ground when most people would’ve run, faced down Wallace, and helped save those girls.”
I shook my head, unconvinced. “That doesn’t make me one of them. One night of shared danger doesn’t erase the fact that I’m still an outsider. Still just the niece of a man I seldom met.”
Doc’s hand covered mine, his palm warm and calloused. “The club has accepted outsiders before. People who proved their worth, who showed they understood what matters most -- loyalty, sacrifice, family.”
“Is that what you see me as? Family?” The question came out more vulnerable than I’d intended, revealing the deeper uncertainty I hadn’t even fully acknowledged to myself.
His fingers tightened around mine. “I see you as more than that, Nova.”
There was something in his voice that made me finally look up, meeting his gaze. The intensity I found there stole my breath -- not just warmth or affection, but something deeper, something that made my heart stutter in my chest.
Doc’s free hand came up to gently turn my face more fully toward his, his thumb brushing across my cheekbone with a tenderness that belied the strength I knew his hands possessed. “I want you to stay. Not just for the club. For me.”
My breath caught, the simple declaration hitting harder than any elaborate speech could have.
For weeks we’d danced around this -- the connection that had grown between us through danger and desperation, through quiet moments in safe houses and the silent understanding that had formed somewhere between his first defiance of the club for me and the bullet he’d taken to protect me.
“Doc…” I whispered, not sure what else to say, how to respond to the naked honesty in his eyes.
“Winston,” he corrected softly. “When it’s just us, I want to hear my name from you.”
The intimacy of that simple request made my chest tighten.
In this world of road names and personas, he was offering me something private, something real.
I’d called him by his name several times already, until I’d learned more about road names and how they were earned.
His thumb traced the edge of my jaw, and I found myself leaning into his touch, seeking the connection like a flower turning toward the sun.
“Winston, I’m scared. Of staying. Of going. Of wanting things I’m not sure I can have.”
He leaned closer, his forehead touching mine in that now-familiar gesture that somehow felt more intimate than a kiss. “What do you want, Nova?”
“You,” I answered before I could second-guess myself, the truth spilling out in that single syllable. “But I don’t know how to be part of… this.” I gestured vaguely toward the clubhouse. “Your world. The club. I don’t know the rules, the expectations.”
His gaze never left mine, our foreheads still touching, breath mingling in the small space between us. “We figure it out together. Day by day. You learn what you need to know, and I learn how to help you find your place.”
The certainty in his voice, the unwavering belief that we could navigate this together, loosened something tight in my chest. I allowed myself to imagine a future beyond justice, beyond vengeance -- a future with someone who saw me clearly and wanted me anyway.
“I don’t want to change you. I don’t want to be the outsider who pulls you away from your brothers, your loyalty.”
Doc shook his head slightly, still maintaining our connection. “That’s not how this works. The club is part of me, yes. But so are you now. And they see it. They understand what we’ve become to each other.”
My eyes burned with unexpected tears. This man had defied his club for me, had taken a bullet for me, had stood beside me through the darkest moments of my life. And now he was offering me a future, a place, a belonging I hadn’t dared hope for.
I closed my eyes, letting myself lean more fully into him, drawing strength from his unwavering presence. “I want to stay. With you. If there’s a place for me here.”
I felt rather than saw his smile, the subtle shift in his face where it touched mine. His thumb traced small circles at the base of my skull, soothing and possessive all at once.
“There is. There always will be.”
The moment hung suspended between us, fragile and precious in the gathering darkness. Then the clubhouse door opened again, the sound of it breaking our bubble of intimacy. I started to pull back, but Doc’s hand held me steady for one moment longer, reluctant to break the connection.
“Doc? Nova?” Savior’s voice carried across the yard. “Time for Church. We’re voting.”
Doc sighed, his forehead finally lifting from mine. “Guess it’s time. You ready for this?”
I nodded, sudden nerves fluttering in my stomach.
The official vote -- the formal decision on whether I would be accepted into the club’s extended family, whether I would be acknowledged as Doc’s…
what? Girlfriend seemed too trivial, partner too clinical.
The club had their own terminology for these relationships, their own rituals I was only beginning to understand.
Doc stood first, then reached down to help me up. I leaned into his solid strength.
Doors loomed before me, heavy wood carved with the club’s reaper insignia.
Unlike the common areas of the clubhouse I’d grown accustomed to, this room remained sacred and separate -- a place where club business happened behind closed doors, where decisions were made that shaped the fate of every member.
Women weren’t allowed in Church unless specifically invited, another rule in the complex code that governed this world. Doc’s hand rested at the small of my back, a steady presence as Savior pushed open the door and motioned us inside.
The scent hit me first -- leather and tobacco, whiskey and something older, something that spoke of decades of men gathering in this space.
The walls were lined with photographs, patches from fallen members, mementos of club history that created a tapestry of belonging I could feel even as an outsider.
Doc’s hand was a gentle, reassuring presence against my back as he guided me to stand at the threshold.
He wouldn’t be seated at the table for this -- his vote would count, but this judgment was primarily about me, my worthiness to be officially recognized by the club.
I swallowed hard against the sudden dryness in my throat.
Savior moved to the head of the table, his face solemn in the amber lighting. A wooden gavel rested before him, its handle worn smooth by years of use. With deliberate ceremony, he picked it up and struck the table once, the sharp crack silencing any remaining murmurs.
“We’re here to vote on Nova Treemont. Bats’ niece. Blood of our brother.”
They all focused on me, and it took everything I had not to shrink back.
I forced myself to stand straight, channeling what I imagined would be my uncle’s strength.
What would Bats think of this moment? Would he approve of his niece standing before his brothers, asking for a place in their world?
He’d wanted to keep me from the danger of the Dixie Reapers, but my mother had been the one to bring trouble to my door, and the Dixie Reapers had helped keep me safe.
The silence stretched, heavy with unasked questions and the weight of tradition. Then Venom rose from his seat, his fingers brushing the patches on his cut in what seemed like an unconscious gesture of respect for the colors he wore.
“I’ve watched this girl since she first walked into our clubhouse.
Carrying her mama’s notebook, looking for justice when no one else would help her.
” His eyes, sharp despite his age, found mine across the room.
“She’s got Bats’ fire in her. Same determination, same loyalty.
She didn’t run when things got dangerous.
Didn’t break when Wallace had us in his crosshairs. ”
He paused, looking around the table at his brothers. “She risked everything to help us take down those traffickers. Stood her ground when most would have folded.” Another pause, heavy with significance. “That’s the kind of loyalty we honor. The kind of courage we respect.”