Chapter 8
The first sign of trouble came just after dawn. Cutter’s sharp knock at my door dragged me out of a restless sleep. Bella stirred beside me, her head resting on my chest, her warmth grounding me in ways I hadn’t expected. For a moment, I debated ignoring the knock, letting the world wait. But Cutter didn’t knock twice unless it was urgent.
“Wolf,” he calls through the door, his tone tight. “We’ve got a problem.”
I carefully slide out from under Bella, tucking the blanket around her before grabbing my jeans and tugging them on. Her eyelids flutter open, her voice soft and drowsy.
“What is it?”
“Stay here,” I order, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll handle it.”
Her brows knitted, worry creeping into her expression, but she nods, trusting me. That trust feels like a weight and a privilege all at once, and I’m not about to let anything jeopardize it.
In the main room, Cutter is pacing, his leather kutt flaring behind him like a shadow. Ironhead and a couple of the prospects are standing by the bar, their faces grim. Cutter doesn’t waste time.
“It’s Dylan,” he said, his voice clipped. “He’s not playing games anymore. Sent two of his goons to your girl’s gran’s place. They smashed up the porch, left her a message.”
My chest tightens, fury flaring hot and fast. Dylan had gone too far before, but this? Threatening Bella’s gran—her family? That was the line. My wolf stirs beneath the surface, claws scratching at my control.
“What message?” I growl.
Jerome hands me a crumpled piece of paper, the edges torn as if it had been ripped from a notebook. The scrawl was jagged, messy, but the meaning was clear:
“She’s mine. Bring her to me, or she won’t be the only one who pays.”
The paper crumples in my fist, my jaw tightening until I think my teeth might crack. I look at Jerome, my voice low and deadly. “Is she okay?”
“Shaken, but not hurt, I didn’t let them touch her.” Jerome relates.
“Finn’s there now, keeping an eye on her. But we’ve got to deal with this, Wolf. Dylan’s not going to stop until you put him down,” Cutter says.
I nod, my mind already racing. This wasn’t just about me and Bella anymore. Dylan had made it club business the moment he dragged innocent people into it. The pack wouldn’t stand for that.
I make my way back to the room to check on Bella, my steps heavier than before. When I open the door, she is sitting up, her eyes wide with worry. She’d thrown on one of my shirts, the fabric hanging loose on her small frame. The sight of her like that—in my space, wearing my clothes—lights something protective and primal inside me.
“What happened?” she asks.
I sit on the edge of the bed, taking her hands in mine. “It’s Dylan. He sent a couple of his guys to your gran’s place. She’s fine,” I add quickly when her face pales. “But he’s pushing for a fight, and he’s not going to stop until I deal with him.”
Her hands tighten around mine. “I need to see her. She’ll be scared.”
“I’ll take you there,” I assure, brushing a thumb over her knuckles. “But first, I need you to understand something. This isn’t just about us anymore. Dylan’s crossed a line, and when someone crosses the pack, we deal with it. He’s not going to get another chance to hurt you or anyone you care about.”
She nods, her eyes fierce despite the fear I know she feels. “Okay.”
“Get ready, we leave in twenty.” I order as I stand and lean down to kiss her forehead before leaving to gather the men.
By the time we pulled up to Bella’s gran’s house, Finn is already waiting on the porch, his hand resting on the butt of his gun. The old wooden steps are splintered, the railing hanging loose where Dylan’s men had smashed it. Bella jumps off the bike before I even cut the engine, rushing up to her gran, who is sitting in a rocking chair by the front door.
“Gran!” Bella calls, dropping to her knees beside her. “Are you okay?”
Gran smiles weakly, patting Bella’s cheek. “I’m fine, dear. Just a little shaken. That boy…he’s got a mean streak, doesn’t he?”
I step up onto the porch, towering over them both. “He won’t bother you again,” I say, my voice steady. “That’s a promise.”
Gran looks up at me, her sharp eyes narrowing. “You’re the one Bella told me about,” she says. “Wolf.”
I tense, unsure how much Bella has shared. But Gran just nods, her expression softening. “Good. She needs someone strong.”
"Which is why we need to talk about your safety," I say, my voice firm but gentle. "Dylan's not going to stop. He's already shown he's willing to target you to get to Bella."
Gran's eyes narrow, her weathered hands gripping the arms of her rocking chair. "I've lived in this house for forty years. I'm not about to let some thug chase me out."
Bella kneels beside her grandmother's chair, taking one of those weathered hands in hers. "Gran, please. They destroyed the porch just to send a message. Next time..." Her voice cracks, and I step closer, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder.
"We have rooms at the clubhouse," I explain. "Security. Brothers on watch twenty four seven. It would only be until we deal with Dylan."
"The clubhouse?" Gran's eyebrow arches sceptically. "With all those rough bikers?"
Finn, still standing guard by the door, lets out a quiet chuckle. "Ma'am, I guarantee you'll be the toughest one there."
A ghost of a smile crosses Gran's face, but she looks at Bella, really looks at her. "You trust these men? This club?"
"Yes Gran, I do." Bella answers without hesitation.
Gran is quiet for a long moment, her sharp eyes studying each of us in turn. Finally, she sighs. "Well, I suppose I could use a change of scenery. But I'm bringing my own tea. That stuff you young people drink these days tastes like dishwater."
Relief floods Bella's face as she hugs her grandmother. I motion to Finn to help gather some essentials while I make a call to Cutter about preparing a room.
"And young man," Gran calls as I pull out my phone. I turn to find her fixing me with a stern look. "I expect you to make good on that promise about dealing with this Dylan character. Nobody threatens my granddaughter and gets away with it."
"Yes, ma'am," I say, meaning it with every fibre of my being. "That's a promise."
As we help Gran pack a small bag and escort her to the waiting vehicle, I can't help but admire her spirit. She's worried, I can tell, but she's handling it with a grace and strength that makes it clear where Bella gets her resilience from.
The ride back to the clubhouse is quiet, with Bella and her grandmother in the SUV ahead of us, Finn driving, and two more brothers flanking them on bikes. I follow close behind, watching for any sign of trouble, but my mind is already racing ahead to what comes next.
Back at the clubhouse, the pack was already assembling. Razor stood at the head of the table, his presence commanding as always. The brothers were keyed up, their energy electric with the promise of retaliation. This wasn’t just about me or Bella anymore. Dylan had made it personal for all of us.
“We’ve got eyes on him,” Rocco says, his voice grim. “He’s holed up in a warehouse on the east side. Looks like he’s got a dozen guys with him, maybe more. They’re armed, but they don’t know we’re coming.”
Razor nods, his gaze shifting to me. “This is your fight, Wolf. You lead the charge.”
I meet his eyes, my wolf stirring with approval. “We hit them fast and hard,” I state. “No mercy. Dylan doesn’t walk out of there.”
The pack growls their agreement, the sound low and feral. This wasn’t just a fight. It was a hunt.
Before we leave, I find Bella waiting for me by the bar. Her arms are crossed, her face pale but determined. “You’re going after him, aren’t you?”
“I have to,” I say, stepping closer. “He won’t stop, Bella. Not until I make him.”
She nods, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Just…be safe, okay?”
I cup her face in my hands, my thumbs brushing over her cheeks. “Always.”
And with that, I turn and walk out into the night, my pack at my back and vengeance in my veins.
Riding into the night with the pack at my back, my mind drifts to the road that had brought me here. To Bella, to the club, to the man I’d become—hard, dangerous, unrelenting. It hadn’t always been this way. But life had a way of carving a man down to his core, stripping away anything that couldn’t survive the fire.
I wasn’t born into the club. I found it the way a stray finds shelter: broken and looking for purpose. Before I earned my place with the Road Killers, I was just a kid from nowhere, bouncing between foster homes and trouble. My fists did most of my talking back then, and the world taught me that if you weren’t strong, you were prey.
By the time I was eighteen, I had a rap sheet longer than most men twice my age. Petty theft, brawling, worse. I didn’t have anything to lose, so I fought like it. That was what caught Cutter’s attention. He saw me fight in a bar one night, fists flying, blood on my knuckles.
Cutter came up to me after, calm as you please, slapped a hand on my shoulder and grinned. “You’ve got some fight in you, kid,” he said. “Ever thought about putting that to good use, you hit like a wolf. You ever think about running with a pack?”
At first, I thought he was just another guy looking to use me, but Cutter wasn’t like that. He didn’t make promises he couldn’t keep, and he didn’t offer charity. What he did offer was a chance—a way out of the spiral I was stuck in. All I had to do was prove I had what it took.
The first year was hell. Being a prospect meant doing everything the brothers didn’t want to: cleaning up, running errands, taking punches when things went south. But I learned fast. Learned how the club worked, how loyalty wasn’t just a word—it was a bond. Razor taught me the rules, Cutter showed me the ropes, and Ironhead made sure I understood what happened to anyone who broke trust.
The brothers didn’t make it easy, and they shouldn’t have. I earned every scar, every stripe, every ounce of respect. And when they finally handed me my kutt, I knew I’d found something I never had before: a family.
I’d met plenty of women over the years. Some of them were sweet, others wild. They came and went, never staying long enough to matter. I didn’t let them. Relationships weren’t part of the deal; they were distractions, weaknesses. And in our world, weaknesses got people killed.
Bella was different from the start. She didn’t try to impress me or play games. She didn’t throw herself at me like so many others had. She just…was. Fierce and fragile, defiant and vulnerable. When I saw her, something in me shifted. The walls I’d built so carefully over the years cracked, and for the first time, I wondered if there was room in my life for something more.
She wasn’t like the others. She didn’t just see the tattoos and the leather and the violence. She saw me—the man behind the wolf. And that scared me as much as it thrilled me. Because she made me want to be better, to be more.
I’d learned my lessons the hard way. Trust no one unless they’ve earned it. Never show weakness. Always strike first. Those rules had kept me alive, but they’d also turned me into someone I didn’t recognize sometimes. The club had given me purpose, but it had also hardened me in ways I hadn’t expected.
Pain was the best teacher. Losing people, seeing betrayal up close, knowing that loyalty could be a knife if given to the wrong hands—those were the lessons that shaped me. They turned me into the enforcer, the man who did what others couldn’t or wouldn’t. And I was good at it. Too good. Violence came easy to me, and I didn’t apologize for it.
But Bella? She made me want to be more than just the club’s enforcer. She saw the man I could be, not just the one I’d become. And for her, I’d try. Because she wasn’t just anyone. She was mine.
The roar of the bikes around me pulled me back to the present. The pack rode as one, a force of nature tearing through the dark. Dylan had made his move, and now it was our turn. He’d crossed the line, not just with me but with the entire club. And the pack…we didn’t let things slide.
As we approached the warehouse where Dylan was holed up, my focus sharpened. The memories of how I got here, the lessons I’d learned, all of it led to this moment. I wasn’t just fighting for the pack tonight. I was fighting for her. For us.
Dylan thought he could take what was mine. He thought he could scare her, control her. He had no idea who he was dealing with.
Because I wasn’t just any man. I was a wolf. And when you came for my pack, you learned the hard way what it meant to face a predator. When you came for my mate, you guaranteed your death.
Tonight, Dylan would learn. And he wouldn’t survive the lesson.