Rush (Fury Vipers MC: Dublin Chapter #6)

Chapter 1

RUSH

She walks into the clubhouse like she owns it.

Dark hair pulled back, jeans that look as though they were molded to her body, boots with a heel. Confident stride, eyes that take in everything without looking like they’re scanning the room.

I clock her in three seconds flat; my threat assessment is automatic now. She's not a threat, a danger of a different kind. She doesn’t look at me as she walks past where I’m perched at the bar, just heads straight to Chloe and the other women. Gráinne stands and hugs her, Caoimhe does the same.

My hand tightens on my beer.

I make myself look away and scan the rest of the room. Bozo's playing pool with Wrath, Tank's talking to Raptor near the chapel door, Cowboy's got Saoirse on his shoulders, making her squeal.

A normal Friday night; except it's not. Because she's here, and every instinct I've got is telling me to position myself between her and the door. I don't move. I just drink my beer, and I wait.

Pyro finds me twenty minutes later. "You see her?" he asks.

"Yeah."

"Diesel's daughter, Everly. She's doing a postgrad at Trinity, immunology or some shit."

I nod but don't say anything.

"Diesel wants eyes on her while she's in Dublin. Nothing heavy, just make sure she's safe."

"Okay."

"You good with that?"

"Yeah."

Pyro studies me for a second. He's President and he notices everything. "She's off limits."

"I know."

"I mean it, Rush. Diesel will gut anyone who touches her."

"I said I know."

He walks away. I finish my beer, then order another.

I don't look at her, but I know exactly where she is, who she's talking to, how she's standing.

Feet shoulder width apart, weight balanced, hands moving when she talks. She laughs at something Ailbhe said and the sound carries across the room.

She's got a scar on her left hand, a small white line across her knuckles.

I shouldn't have noticed that, I shouldn't be paying this much attention to her, but the moment I saw her, I took her in, I absorbed every detail about her..

At around ten, she gets up and says goodbye to the old ladies, then walks toward the door.

I'm off my stool before I think about it, positioning myself near the exit. Not blocking, just there.

She sees me and stops, her eyes roaming over my body. "You're Rush," she says.

"Yeah."

"Everly." She doesn't offer her hand, just nods.

"I know."

Her mouth curves but it's not quite a smile—something sharper. "Let me guess, my dad asked someone to babysit me."

"Just making sure you get to your car safely."

"I've been getting to my car safely for months without help."

"Now you've got help."

She tilts her head and studies me. Her eyes are dark brown and they miss nothing. "Are you always this chatty?"

"Pretty much."

"Good to know." She pushes past me toward the door, and I catch her scent—vanilla and coconut. My jaw tightens.

I follow her outside into the cold Dublin night.

The parking lot's half full as she walks to a small blue Honda near the back. I track every shadow, every movement, every sound.

Two guys are smoking near a bike on the far side—harmless. A car pulls out onto the street, taillights disappearing into the darkness. It’s perfectly normal and safe.

She stops at her car and turns to face me. "Are you going to follow me home too?"

"No."

"Good, because that would be creepy."

"Just doing my job."

"Your job is to walk me to my car?"

"My job is to make sure you're safe."

She unlocks her door but doesn't get in, just leans against it and crosses her arms. "And what happens if I'm not safe? What exactly are you going to do about it?"

The question's a challenge and I know it. She's testing me.

"Whatever I need to."

"That's vague."

"It's accurate."

She laughs, and the sound does something to my chest I don't like. "You're interesting, Rush."

"I'm not trying to be."

"I know—that's what makes you interesting." She gets in her car and starts the engine, then she rolls down the window. "See you around."

"Yeah."

I watch her drive away and I don't move until her taillights disappear completely.

Then I get on my bike and I ride home, my hands tight on the grips.

I should not be thinking about her—should not be replaying the way she said my name or the way she looked at me like she could see right through my bullshit.

But I am.

I get to my flat and strip off my clothes, then I stand in the shower until the water runs cold.

It doesn't help.

I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling, my mind running through every detail: the scar on her hand, the way she moved, the challenge in her eyes.

Off limits, Pyro said.

I know that. I've always known that.

Doesn't stop me from wanting.

Didn’t stop the territorial instinct that kicked in the second she walked through that door.

I close my eyes and force myself to think about something else—anything else.

It doesn't work.

Monday morning, I'm outside Trinity at seven-thirty. I'm on my bike across the street, where I can see the main entrance to the science building.

I don't need to be here. Pyro said to keep an eye on her; he didn't say I had to follow her to campus.

But here I am anyway.

She shows up at eight, walking from the bus stop with a bag over her shoulder and a coffee in her hand. She's wearing jeans and a sweater. Her hair's down today, falling to just past her shoulders.

I watch her go inside and then I wait.

I tell myself I'm just making sure she got here safely—that's all this is.

I'm lying.

At noon, she comes out with another girl—blonde, shorter, laughing at something Everly said—and they walk to a café down the street. I follow at a distance, staying on my bike, where I can see them through the window.

They order food and sit at a table near the back, Everly facing the door.

Smart.

I should leave, should get back to the clubhouse. There's work to do.

But I don't move.

Twenty minutes later, a guy approaches their table—tall, early twenties, confident. He says something to Everly, and she looks up at him.

My hands tighten on the handlebars.

She shakes her head and the guy laughs, then he touches her shoulder.

I'm off my bike before I think about it, my vision narrowing down to that hand on her shoulder, to the way she's leaning back slightly.

I'm halfway across the street when she stands and says something sharp. The guy backs off with his hands up, and Everly sits back down.

I stop on the sidewalk.

She handled it. She didn't need me.

But my heart's still pounding and my hands are still clenched into fists.

I force myself to breathe and then I get back on my bike.

This is bad. This is exactly what I can't let happen.

I ride back to the clubhouse and when Bozo asks where I've been, I tell him I had errands to run.

It's a lie.

Wednesday night, there's another gathering at the clubhouse. Everly shows up around eight.

I'm in the garage working on my bike when I hear her voice in the main room. I wipe my hands on a rag and walk inside.

She's with the old ladies again, Gráinne's showing her something on her phone and they're both laughing.

I go to the bar and order water, then I position myself where I can see the whole room.

Tank walks over. "You're hovering."

"I'm doing my job."

"Your job is to make sure she's safe, not stare at her all night."

"I'm not staring."

"Bullshit." He takes a drink of his beer. "You need to be careful, brother."

"I know what I'm doing."

"Do you? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're one step away from doing something stupid."

I don't answer because he's right.

An hour later, Everly heads to the bathroom. I track her movement across the room.

She's gone for maybe three minutes. When she comes out, some drunk asshole stumbles into her. He's new—some friend of a prospect—and he puts his hands on her to steady himself.

I'm across the room in seconds.

I grab him by the back of his collar and pull him off her. My other hand is already cocked back, ready to break his jaw.

"Rush." Everly's voice cuts through the red haze. "I'm fine."

I look at her. Her eyes are wide but not scared, just surprised.

The guy I'm holding tries to pull away. "What the fuck, man?"

I let him go but I don't step back. I just stare at him until he gets the message and walks away fast.

My heart's pounding and my hands are shaking—not from adrenaline, from something else.

For a second, I wasn't in the clubhouse. I was back in juvie, watching someone get jumped in the showers; hearing the wet sound of fists on flesh; feeling the concrete wall against my back while I decided if I was going to step in or let it happen.

I locked that shit down years ago but it's still there, just under the surface, waiting.

"Hey." Everly's standing closer now. "You okay?"

"Yeah."

"You sure? Because you look like you're about to murder someone."

"I'm fine."

"Right." She doesn't believe me. I can see it in her eyes. "Thanks for the save but I had it handled."

"I know."

"Do you? Because that was a bit much for a drunk guy stumbling."

She's right and I know it. My reaction was disproportionate.

But the thought of him touching her made something snap.

"Won't happen again," I say.

"Which part? The overreaction or the saving?"

"The overreaction."

"Good, because I don't need saving." She walks past me, back toward the old ladies, and I watch her go.

My hands are still shaking so I shove them in my pockets.

Tank appears beside me. "You good?"

"Yeah."

"That was intense."

"He touched her."

"He was drunk and he stumbled. He wasn't attacking her."

"I know."

"Then why'd you react like he was?"

I don't answer because I don't have one, not one that makes sense anyway.

Tank sighs. "You need to get your head straight, brother. This job is going to eat you alive if you don't."

He's right.

I know he's right.

But knowing that doesn't change the fact I wanted to break that guy's face for touching her. It doesn't change the territorial instinct that kicked in the second his hands made contact.

I stay at the clubhouse until Everly leaves at around eleven, then I walk her to her car again.

She doesn't say much, just unlocks her door and looks at me. "You don't have to do this every time, you know."

"I know."

"But you're going to anyway."

"Yeah."

She shakes her head but she's almost smiling. "You're something else, Rush."

"So I've been told."

She gets in her car and I watch her drive away, my chest tight and my mind already planning when I'll see her next.

This is bad.

This is exactly what Pyro warned me about.

But I can't seem to stop.

Friday, I'm outside Trinity again. I tell myself it's just a routine check, nothing more.

Everly comes out at three with the same blonde friend from before. They're talking and laughing as they walk toward the bus stop.

I'm about to leave, when a guy runs up behind them. He's not threatening, just some classmate, but he grabs Everly's arm to get her attention.

I'm off my bike before I think about it.

I cross the street in long strides, and the guy sees me coming. His hand drops from her arm and his eyes go wide.

"Everything okay?" I ask. My voice is calm, my body language isn't.

Everly turns, and when she sees me her expression shifts from surprised to annoyed. "What are you doing here?"

"Making sure you're safe."

"I'm on campus in broad daylight. I'm pretty safe."

The guy who grabbed her arm looks between us. "Uh, I was just asking about the assignment."

"It's fine, Aaron," Everly says without looking at him. "I'll text you later."

Aaron takes the hint and leaves fast.

Everly crosses her arms and stares at me. "Are you following me?"

"No."

"Really? Because this is the second time I've seen you near campus this week."

"Coincidence."

"Bullshit." She steps closer and lowers her voice. "What's going on, Rush?"

"Nothing. I'm just doing my job."

"Your job is to follow me around Dublin?"

"My job is to keep you safe."

"From what? Classmates asking about assignments?"

She's got a point, but I don't back down. "Just being cautious."

"No, you're being weird." She turns to walk away, then she stops and looks back. "If my dad put you up to this, tell him I'm fine."

"He didn't."

"Then why are you here?"

I don't have an answer, not one I can give her anyway.

She waits for a few seconds, and when I don't respond she shakes her head. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

She walks away, and this time I don't follow.

I get on my bike and ride back to the clubhouse, my jaw tight and my mind racing.

She's right, I'm being weird. I'm crossing lines I shouldn't cross.

But I can't seem to help it.

Every instinct I've got is screaming at me to keep her close, to position myself between her and anything that might hurt her.

It's the same instinct that got me into trouble years ago; the same need to control, to protect, to contain.

I locked that down in juvie. I learned how to keep it buried.

But Everly makes me want to let it loose.

And that terrifies me more than anything else.

That night, I dream about juvie.

Concrete walls, metal bars, the smell of sweat and fear. Watching my back every second, learning who to avoid and who to align with.

The kid who tried to take my commissary the first week; the way his nose broke under my fist and how I didn't stop until someone pulled me off.

The promise I made to myself after that—never again, never lose control like that again.

I wake up sweating, my heart pounding.

I need to get my shit together. I can't let Everly get under my skin like this, can't allow myself to feel things I've spent years burying.

I get up and go for a run. Dublin’s streets are empty at five in the morning, and the cold air burns my lungs.

I run until I can't think anymore, until my body is too tired to feel anything.

Then I go back to my flat, and I make a decision.

I'm going to do my job. I'm going to keep Everly safe.

But I'm not going to touch her, I'm not going to follow her when I don't need to, and I'm not going to let this thing between us go any further.

I can control this.

I have to.

Because the alternative is unthinkable.