Chapter 4
She is a skittish little thing, like a deer caught in headlights. I’d seen it before—the look people got when they find themselves in a world that doesn’t make sense to them. But there is a fire in her too, buried somewhere under all that fear. I can see it in her eyes, the way they sparkle when she thinks I’m not looking. She is trouble, sure, but maybe not the kind she thinks she is.
As Bella follows me down the narrow hallway to one of the spare rooms, I can feel her unease radiating off her in waves. “You’ll be alright here,” I tell her, opening the door to a small room with a single bed and a dresser. It isn’t much, but it is clean, and it has a lock on the door. “No one will bother you.”
She steps inside, glancing around as if expecting the walls to close in on her. “Thanks,” she murmurs, her voice hesitant. “I…I don’t know why you’re doing this, but…thanks.”
I lean against the doorframe, crossing my arms. “Like I said, don’t worry about it. Just get some rest.” I hesitate, then add, “And lock the door. Just in case.”
She nods, and as I turn to leave, I catch the faintest hint of a smile on her lips. It isn’t much, but it is a start.
After leaving Bella in the room, I head back down the hallway, my boots thudding against the old wooden floor. I can feel the tension in the air—bringing an outsider into the clubhouse isn’t standard practice, and the other brothers will have questions. Hell, I have questions. But the moment I saw that bastard Dylan’s hand on Bella, the decision was made. No way was I going to let him get another chance.
I push open the door to the main room, where Razor, our president, and Cutter, the VP, are waiting. Razor is nursing a drink, his sharp eyes following me as I approach. He has the kind of face that looks like it has been carved from stone—rough, weathered, and unyielding. Cutter is leaning back in a chair, his usual smirk replaced with a look of curiosity as he watches me.
"Got yourself a guest, Wolf?" Razor asks, his voice as steady as ever. "We don’t usually bring outsiders in unless there’s a good reason. What’s the story?"
I grab a chair, flipping it around to straddle it backward as I sit down. “Ran into some trouble while I was out,” I explain, keeping my tone even. “Girl’s name is Bella. Her ex-boyfriend, Dylan, was hassling her pretty hard. I stepped in, made it clear he needed to back off. He didn’t take the hint, and I figured he might come looking for her again. Didn’t want to leave her out there alone.”
Cutter raises an eyebrow, his expression shifting to one of mild amusement. “So, you’re playing knight in shining armour now?” He chuckles, shaking his head. “You softening up on us, Wolf?”
I shoot him a glare that could’ve cut glass. “Not likely. This prick’s got a temper, and I’ve got a hunch he’s not going to let it go. I’m just making sure she’s not in his line of fire.”
Razor nods, his gaze steady on mine. “And you think he’s enough of a problem that we need to get involved?”
“I don’t know yet,” I admit. “But I want to find out. I need more information on him—where he’s from, who he runs with, and if he’s ever been tied to any real trouble.” I pause, considering my next words carefully. “And I want one of the prospects to keep an eye on her gran’s place. I don’t trust that Dylan bastard not to go after her family just to make a point.”
Razor exchanges a look with Cutter, then nods. “Alright. We can spare one of the prospects. Have Jerome head over there and watch the place for a while. If anything looks off, he’ll let you know.” He takes a sip of his drink, his eyes narrowing slightly. “But if this situation starts to blow back on the club, it’s on you to clean it up.”
“That’s the plan,” I reply, pushing back the chair and standing up. “I’ll take care of it.”
As I turn to leave, Cutter’s voice follows me. “You sure about this, Wolf? Bringing a girl into the fold like this isn’t your style. Don’t let it become a distraction.”
I pause, glancing over my shoulder. “I’m not distracted,” I respond, my voice cold. “I’m making sure a problem gets dealt with before it becomes a threat. And if Dylan wants to make this club business, he’ll find out really quickly what that means.”
Cutter’s smirk returns, but there is a glint of approval in his eyes. “Just remember, if you’re going to play the hero, you better be ready for the fallout.”
I leave the main room and find one of the prospects, a young kid named Jerome, wiping down bikes in the garage. He is eager to prove himself, always looking for ways to show he is more than just a prospect. I figure watching over Bella’s gran will be a good test for him—simple enough, but still important.
“Jerome,” I call out, he looks up, wiping his hands on a rag. “I’ve got a job for you. There’s a house on Elm Street, old place with blue shutters. The girl’s grandma lives there, and I want you to keep an eye on it. There’s a guy—name’s Dylan. He’s trouble. If you see him anywhere near that house, you call me, and you keep her safe until I get there. Got it?”
Jerome nods, a determined look in his eyes. “Got it, Wolf. I’ll head over now.”
“Good.” I clap him on the shoulder. “And keep your head on a swivel. If this guy shows up, he’s not going to be friendly.”
As Jerome takes off, I head back into the clubhouse. The brothers are milling around, some casting curious glances my way. I ignore them, making my way to the bar and grabbing another beer. I am already putting together a mental list of people I can call to get the scoop on Dylan. If there is dirt on this guy, I’ll find it.
I don’t know why I am going to these lengths for a girl I’d just met. But something about the way she looks at me, with that mix of fear and defiance, sticks with me. She isn’t like the other girls who hang around the club—she isn’t here looking for a thrill or trying to get in with the brothers. She is just a girl in trouble, and for some reason, I feel like I owe it to her to make sure she stays safe.
I take a swig of beer and set the bottle down on the bar with a heavy thud. One way or another, I’ll find out everything there is to know about Dylan. And if he is stupid enough to come after Bella again, he’ll learn fast why they call me Wolf.
The Road Killers clubhouse wasn’t just a place where we hung our kutts at the end of the day. It was a sanctuary for the brothers—a fortress where the outside world didn’t dictate our rules. Out there, society wanted us to conform, play by their rules. In here, we made our own. The club wasn’t just a motorcycle club; it was a brotherhood, forged in loyalty and blood.
And that loyalty ran deep. I’d seen it in action too many times to count. When one of us was in trouble, we closed ranks, circled the wagons, and took care of business. But loyalty wasn’t given freely; it was earned. And every man here had proven himself, including me.
When I walked back into the main room, a few of the brothers were gathered around the bar. There was Ironhead, built like a brick wall and just as stubborn, and Rocco, the club's treasurer, always crunching numbers and making sure our side business stayed off the radar. They stopped their conversation when I entered, their attention turning toward me.
“What’s going on, Wolf?” Ironhead rumbled, his deep voice carrying across the room. “Razor said you brought a girl here. That true?”
I nod, grabbing a chair and taking a seat. “It’s true,” I reply, keeping my tone even. “Had a run-in with some prick who wouldn’t take no for an answer. Girl’s name is Bella—ex-boyfriend, Dylan, was giving her trouble. Figured it was better to bring her here than leave her out there alone.”
Rocco leans against the bar, his arms crossed over his chest. “You sure you’re not getting us mixed up in some personal shit?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “You know how it goes when we start taking in outsiders. First, it’s a girl who needs help, then it’s her whole goddamn family, and before you know it, we’re knee-deep in drama that has nothing to do with us.”
I shoot him a look, my jaw tightening. “It’s not like that,” I say, my voice steady. “This guy’s trouble, and if he starts coming around, it could be our problem whether we like it or not. Better to be prepared than caught off guard.”
Ironhead grunted, his gaze shifting to Rocco before landing back on me. “Well, if you say so, Wolf. But don’t expect the brothers to babysit. We’ve got enough shit going on with the Steel Vipers sniffing around our turf. Last thing we need is distractions.”
I clenched my fist, feeling irritation flicker under my skin. “I’m not asking anyone to babysit,” I growl, my voice low and steady. “But if Dylan makes a move against one of ours—whether she’s patched or not—I’m going to deal with him. I just want to make sure we know what we’re up against. That’s why I’ve got Jerome keeping an eye on her gran’s place.”
Rocco sighs, dragging a hand through his dark hair. “Fine,” he said, his tone softening. “Just be careful with this, alright? We all know what can happen when emotions start getting in the way.”
Emotions. The word almost made me laugh. Like I was some green kid, too wrapped up in a girl to think straight. No, this wasn’t about emotions. This was about handling a problem before it got bigger than it needed to be. I was the club’s enforcer—the guy who made sure fires didn’t spread and that no one fucked with us. If keeping Bella safe meant putting Dylan six feet under, then so be it.
“Don’t worry about me,” I state, my gaze sweeping across the room. “You know I don’t lose focus.”
Ironhead nodded, his approval clear. “Good. Because if this guy does turn out to be more than just some jealous ex, we’ll need to deal with him fast. And if he’s got ties to the Vipers or any other rival crew, we’re going to need to know about it sooner rather than later.”
I gave him a sharp nod. He was right. The Steel Vipers had been sniffing around our turf for months, looking for weaknesses to exploit. If Dylan had any connection to them, we’d have to act quickly. The last thing I wanted was for this to turn into another full-blown war.
“Alright,” I reply, pushing myself to my feet. “I’ll get the guys to start digging into Dylan’s background. If there’s anything we can use to keep him in check, we’ll find it.”
As I left the room, a heavy weight settled in my chest. The brothers weren’t wrong to be cautious. Bringing Bella into the clubhouse wasn’t a move I’d made lightly, and I knew the risks. If Dylan turned out to be more trouble than I’d anticipated, it wouldn’t just be my problem anymore—it would be the club’s.
But that didn’t mean I was going to turn my back. I’d seen the way Bella looked when Dylan cornered her, the fear she tried to mask with defiance. I couldn’t ignore it, couldn’t walk away and pretend it wasn’t my concern. Not now.
The Road Killers weren’t just some ragtag group of bikers who decided to slap patches on their backs and call it a brotherhood. This was a family—a chain of command that ran deep and demanded loyalty from the moment you stepped through the door. Razor, our president, was the glue that held it all together. He didn’t just make the calls; he commanded respect. When Razor spoke, you listened. Cutter, our VP, was the balance to Razor’s authority—the guy who could mediate a fight or throw a punch, depending on what the situation called for.
I’m the enforcer’s enforcer. If someone stepped out of line, I’m the one who handles it, and I do so with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. Then there is Rocco, the treasurer. His job is to keep the club’s finances clean—or as clean as they could be for a one-percenter club—and make sure we aren’t drawing too much heat from the law.
The patched members made up the backbone of the club, each one of them having earned their place over years of loyalty and sacrifice. Beneath them were the prospects—guys like Jerome and Finn, still proving they had what it took to patch in. Being a prospect wasn’t glamorous. It meant taking orders, doing grunt work, and showing you could keep your head when shit hit the fan. It was a rite of passage, and no one made it through without earning every inch of their place.
The rules were simple. The club came first. Always. No exceptions. If a brother’s personal life started to bleed into club business, it was handled quickly and decisively. That’s why Rocco and Ironhead’s hesitation about Bella made sense—they weren’t wrong to be cautious. But I also knew that if Dylan pushed, it wouldn’t be just my problem for long.
I head down the hallway toward the office, where we keep files and records on anyone who’d ever crossed us. It was time to start digging. If there was dirt on Dylan, I was going to find it. And if that prick thought he could mess with a woman under the Road Killers’ protection—whether Bella realized it or not—he was about to learn why people didn’t fuck with us.