Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Eazy
As I lay in the quiet darkness of the clubhouse, I can’t help but think about Noelle, the woman who has effortlessly captured my attention. Why has she taken up residence in my thoughts so quickly? I couldn’t keep my eyes off her as she moved around the bar room. And the fact that I wanted to rearrange the face of every man who took notice of her has me all fucked in the head. Why do I feel this damn possessive over a woman I have just met? It’s been weeks since I’ve been laid. Maybe I just need some pussy. Preferably Noelle’s. “Fuck.” I scrub my hand down my face. I need to get this chic out of my head.
My eyes wander toward a picture of my old man and me on the wall, captured by my mom as we rode our Harleys side by side during my first official ride as a club member. A pang of grief, mixed with anger, floods my core, and I let myself stay with the emotions, mostly to drown out my persistent thoughts of Noelle.
I never imagined I would be the one to carry forward my father’s legacy as the president of our motorcycle club—at least, not for many more years. Growing up within the club, I witnessed everything—the unbreakable brotherhood, unwavering loyalty, and the exhilarating freedom of the open road.
I also witnessed the dark side of the MC life—the looming danger, violence, and the heart-wrenching sorrow when lives were lost.
I allow my memories to consume me. The day we lost my dad is etched in my memory like it happened yesterday. We were returning from a biker rally in Polson, the wind whipping against our faces and the thunderous roar of our engines reverberating beneath us. True to his nature, my father led the pack, a fearless leader devoted to the club. As we approached a sharp turn, an arm extended out the driver’s window of a truck heading in the opposite direction, and in their hand was a gun.
A single gunshot.
My father swerved.
I watched in horror as he was flung through the air, landing harshly on the unforgiving pavement.
Half the men took off after the shooter. The rest of us raced to my father’s side.
He struggled for breath while a pool of blood spread beneath him. I grappled with a strong feeling of helplessness, and a rage I’d never experienced before filled my insides because there was nothing more I could do for him, nothing any of us could do as we waited for first responders. There, on the side of the road, I watched his life slipping away. His parting words still echo in my mind, “This is my last ride.”
It wasn’t the crash that killed him, but the bullet that went in through his back, tearing through his heart. Before we laid my old man to rest, before we took time to mourn the loss of our president, we went hunting. Catching and killing the motherfucker ordered to take out my dad wasn’t enough. I needed every member of Death Reapers dead first. The club thirsted for blood and vengeance, which is precisely what we accomplished.
My dad’s death left a gaping void in our lives, but I live each day trying my damndest to honor his memory and safeguard the club that was his lifeblood. There are moments when the weight of my responsibilities and the lingering guilt of not being able to save him become almost suffocating.
While my mother is still with us, she’s never been the same since losing him. It feels as though a part of her soul was laid to rest alongside the love of her life when we lowered his casket into the cold, unforgiving ground.
Before I can dwell on the past any longer, a sharp knock on my door pulls me from my thoughts. I groan as I roll over and glance at the clock. It’s early morning, hours before sunrise, and I had hoped to catch a few hours of much-needed sleep, but it doesn’t look like that will happen.
“What?” I call out, my voice rough with annoyance.
“We have a situation,” Wire, our enforcer’s voice comes from the other side of the door. “We got an alert from the security system at the bar. There is a vehicle parked behind the building near the storage unit.”
A rush of adrenaline shoots through me as I sit up, suddenly wide awake. I quickly throw on a couple of layers of clothing, slip on thick socks, and step into my boots before strapping my gun to my hip, followed by my leather cut As I make my way to the door, I hear the muffled sounds of the other club members roused and ready to ride as well. I fling open the door, and Wire is standing there waiting. “Camera catch anyone lingerin’ about?”
“Negative.” He falls in behind me as I head down the stairs. “Whoever is in the vehicle is still in there.”
With my keys in hand, I open the front door. Outside, the cold night air hits me like a slap in the face, causing me to shiver despite the layers of clothing I’m wearing. My other brothers are already mounting their motorcycles, engines rumbling to life as I make my way to my ride.
I swing a leg over my bike and instantly regret not driving the truck from my house to the clubhouse today.
I rev my engine, the sound cutting through the cold, crisp air, and take the lead as we pull away from the clubhouse and onto the road. We fall into formation, our faces obscured by protective clothing and our bodies bundled up against the biting wind, trying to prevent winter from seeping into our bones.
The night air fills with the roar of our engines and the howling of the wind as we ride through the deserted streets of our small sleeping town.
The ride to the bar is quick. As we approach the building, our senses are on high alert.
We cut our engines, dismount our bikes, and cautiously approach the back of the building, our footsteps muffled by the crunching of gravel beneath our boots as we round the corner.
There, parked beside the storage building, is a beat-up car. Its windows are fogged up from the inside, obscuring our view of the trespasser inside as the engine continues idling.
We draw our weapons and surround the car.
As I reach the car, I rub my hand against the driver-side windshield, wiping away fog and condensation. When I peer inside through an unfogged section of the glass, my anger quickly turns to confusion. There, in the driver’s seat, wrapped up in only that thin piece of shit coat she had on earlier, is Noelle, the woman who walked into my life just hours earlier.
“The fuck?” I hiss, and a surge of protectiveness washes over me as I stare at Noelle.
She looks up, and her eyes widen, startled to see me staring back at her. Her gaze shifts to the gun in my hand, and I instantly put it away. I tap the frosty glass and wait for Noelle to roll it down. Her eyes stay fixed on me as she hesitates.
“Open the fuckin’ window,” I bark, causing Noelle to jerk. She narrows her eyes and then complies.
“Um, listen, I can explain.” She’s putting on a brave front, but the look in her eyes tells me she’s scared shitless. She’s wary and has every right to be.
Movement in the backseat catches everyone’s attention, and Wire shines a light into the car.
“Noelle.” A young man’s head pops out beneath a blanket, and I count the bruises on his face. Anger boils in my gut. His battered face doesn’t go unnoticed by the other men. Instantly my temper amplifies tenfold, and it takes all I have to keep my shit under wraps.
“It’s okay, buddy,” Noelle says, her eyes never leaving mine.
The boy shuffles forward and places a protective hand on Noelle’s shoulder. “I won’t let you hurt my sister.”
Sister?
The kid can’t be more than eight years old, but by his demeanor and protectiveness over his sister, he’s had to grow up quicker than any young man should.
My men and I share a look, and we all think the same thing—Noelle and her brother are in trouble. And I intend to find out what that is. I look between him and Noelle. She has a whole-ass kid brother she neglected to mention. I shift my focus from Noelle to the young man. He needs to understand that I am no threat. “What’s your name, kid?”
He squares his shoulders. “Zack.”
“How old are you, Zack?”
“Eight.”
“You’re a good man for protecting your sister.”
Zack immediately responds to my praise. “That’s what brothers and sisters are supposed to do. Take care of each other,” he says with pride, and I respect his answer.
I look back at Noelle. “Mind telling me why you neglected to mention you have a kid brother and why the hell the two of you are sleeping in your car behind my bar?”
She gulps, not willing to answer.
I turn to Tech, the club’s treasurer, as a sense of protectiveness washes over me. “I’m takin’ them to the clubhouse. Grab the keys from inside and pull the truck around.”
The wind whips through the cold winter air as I look back at Noelle and her brother. They are clearly in survival mode and have been for some time. I don’t like it, and I need to know why. “You and your brother are coming with me,” I demand, and I see Noelle wants to flee. “Just for the night.” I soften my tone and then lean in, getting closer to her. “Please,” I add, trying to override her instinct to run. “It’s not safe for you two to be sleepin’ out here in the fuckin’ cold.”
“I’ve got everything under control.” Noelle stubbornly refuses my help. I growl in frustration, but Noelle meets my heated gaze and displeasure head-on. “We are not your concern.”
“You became my concern when you walked into my bar,” I declare. “You and your brother are not sleeping in this piece of shit tin can. It’s colder than a grave digger’s shovel out here, and you two could use a warm place to rest. Now get your sweet ass out of the damn car, babe, before I haul you out myself,” I order, leaving no room for argument.
Through mine and Noelle’s heated exchange, Zack watches on, his gaze bouncing back and forth. He’s inquisitive, and I can tell by the way his body language changes that he no longer sees me as a threat.
Tech pulls up in the truck, gets out, and leaves the engine running. I stride over and swing open the passenger side door. “Get in.”
“But we can’t just leave our things. What’s in my car is all we have,” Noelle protests.
“Grab what you need for tonight. One of my men will handle the rest of your shit.” After a moment of hesitation, Noelle grabs her handbag, and her brother snatches a backpack from the floorboard. Before her brother jumps into the truck cab, he pauses and looks up at me. Unlike his sister, the boy doesn’t appear to be scared of me at all. “I think she likes you,” he says, his tone laced with sarcasm.
“Zack,” Noelle hisses, poking at her brother to keep moving.
I’m curious, so I bite. “What makes you think that, kid?”
“Because Nelly never listens to anyone.” He hops onto the seat and fastens his seatbelt.
Noelle tosses her bag onto the floorboard, then looks back over her shoulder at me. She opens her mouth as if to say something but doesn’t. Instead, she slides in beside her brother, buckles in, and I close the door.
“What do you want us to do about the car?” Wire asks.
“Get it over to the shop. Rooster can take a look at it later.”
Poet shakes his head as he lights a cigarette. “What the hell was she thinking, sleeping in this piece of shit car with a kid in the middle of winter?”
I’m wondering that myself.
“Did you see the kid’s face?” Brewer’s voice is tinged with anger.
“I noticed.”
“Do you think they’re runnin’ from something or someone?” Wire asks.
My attention never wavers from the truck’s cab, feeling the intensity of Noelle’s gaze locking onto me through the window. “I don’t know, but I intend to find out.”