Chapter 8
Big Papa
The Iron Valor clubhouse felt different at night, especially after a day where nothing went sideways.
The lot was packed; every Harley in the club just about lined up in military precision, reflecting the moonlight like wolf eyes in a brush fire.
Inside, the men had gathered in their off-duty gear, leathers open and sleeves rolled up, the air thick with cigarette smoke and the better kind of laughter—the kind that said no one was dead or in the hospital and the world could, for once, be easy.
I had a cold Lone Star in hand and my feet up on the battered coffee table, half-listening to Wrecker and Gunner debate the merits of fried okra versus hushpuppies as a side to chicken-fried steak.
It wasn’t a night for deep thoughts, but I found myself stuck in my own head anyway, thinking about Aspen and the way she’d smiled at me through the bakery window that morning.
It had haunted me all day, the way she’d seen my scars, but looked past them.
Arsenal sat beside me, cleaning a pistol that didn’t need cleaning, and Bronc had disappeared to the front porch to make a call to Juliet. I envied him sometimes. Not the power, not the bullshit politics, but the simplicity of loving someone and being loved back, consequences be damned.
That’s when my phone vibrated. Not a text, not a call, but a FaceTime request—Maddie’s name in all-caps, with a string of little wolf emojis behind it. Wrecker saw the screen and let out a cackle. “Uh oh, Papa’s about to get a show.”
I rolled my eyes and accepted, holding the phone at arm’s length, but the moment it connected, the screen filled with chaos. Music blared, the bar’s neon signs flashing behind a blur of faces and drinks. Maddie was there, front and center, holding up her own phone with an unsteady hand.
“Say all that again!” she hollered, and the camera swung wildly until it landed on Aspen.
She looked radiant and completely toasted, cheeks flushed pink, hair wild and falling over her face in dark, glossy waves.
Her eyes glittered, not with magic, but with a kind of joy I hadn’t seen on her before.
For a second, she looked straight at me through the screen, and my heart did a double-clutch.
“I wish JT were here!” Aspen said, her accent deepening until it was syrupy enough to pour on pancakes. “He’s so big and beautiful. He makes me feel safe, and small.”
Maddie grinned, all teeth and trouble. “She’s been talking about you all night, Papa. But she keeps chickening out. But it’s right there from the source!”
Wrecker and Gunner crowded in behind me, peering over my shoulders. Even Arsenal stopped his compulsive pistol cleaning to watch.
“Yeah, Aspen,” Wrecker called out, voice booming through the speakers, “tell Papa what you really think.”
Aspen couldn’t hear the guys. She didn’t know Maddie was sharing this.
“Come on, sweet pea, just say it. The man’s right here!”
Maddie egged her on. “You have it so bad, girl.”
Aspen looked off in the distance all dreamy. “You don’t even know. I love his face. I love his hands. I love his hair, even the way it goes messy when he’s being all grumpy.” Her giggle was precious. “He has a good beard. Like, a really good beard.”
Gunner made a strangled sound and ducked his head, fighting laughter, but I couldn’t look away from the screen. Aspen’s words hit me straight in the gut. The real kind, not the pretty kind. The kind that said she meant every syllable. It was like poetry to my ears, anyway.
Maddie whooped. “She’s got it bad, Big Papa! You’d better show up and sweep her off her feet before someone else does.”
Aspen just realized what Maddie was doing. “Wait, you have Papa on the phone?”
Maddie’s laughter carried over the music. “I do, girl. Actually, I’m FaceTiming him. You wanna see?”
Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the years of being ignored and unappreciated, but she found her courage and leaned in closer.
“I do,” she said, almost in a whisper. “I wish you could have seen me like this tonight. To see I can be more than the bakery girl. And I do think you’re beautiful. The most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”
A chorus of howls erupted around the clubhouse. Even Arsenal cracked a smile.
I could have died happy in that moment, except everything changed in the next heartbeat.
The camera caught a flash of movement behind Aspen.
A big man in a brown leather jacket stepped up behind her, his hands landing on her hips like he’d done it a hundred times before.
He was tall, with a face like old granite and eyes the color of black coffee, and the way he touched her made every muscle in my body snap tight.
On screen, Aspen froze. The light in her eyes guttered out, replaced by something small and wary. She tried to wriggle free, but the man leaned down, his mouth too close to her ear, and whatever he said made her whole body tense.
Maddie saw it, too. She twisted around and shoved the man’s arm. “Back off, asshole. She’s with us tonight.”
The man just smiled, but it was the smile of a wolf who already knows the lamb’s got nowhere left to run. He gave Aspen a squeeze, then let go, but he didn’t leave. He stood there, looming, watching the screen with dead-eyed amusement.
Wrecker’s mood evaporated. Gunner stiffened, and Arsenal looked at me with a warning in his gaze.
But I was already on my feet, the phone clattering to the table as my hands balled into fists.
“County Line, NOW,” I barked, voice low and lethal.
Bronc reappeared, reading the room in a split second. “What’s going on?”
Gunner told him, quick and clipped: “Aspen’s at the County Line. Someone’s messing with her. Papa’s about to lose his shit.”
Bronc’s eyes narrowed, but his voice stayed steady. “JT, sit the fuck down. We’ll handle it. You go in there, you’ll start a war.”
But the beast in my chest had already shredded the leash. “If another man had his hands on your MATE, how calm would you be, Bronc?”
The silence that followed was total. Even the men in the hall stopped moving.
Bronc’s jaw flexed. He saw the truth of it—saw that it wasn’t about pride or territory, but the bare fact that Aspen was mine, and she was in danger. His voice, when it came, was soft but absolute.
“Wrecker, Arsenal, Gunner, you’re with me. Let’s go.”
I didn’t wait for the others. I was out the door and in my truck before anyone could try to stop me. The cold air slapped me awake, but nothing could dull the red haze at the edge of my vision, or the way my heart howled for blood.
They could say what they wanted about wolves being monsters. But this—this was love. And there wasn’t a force on earth strong enough to keep me from her.
The bikes thundered to life behind me, a wall of noise that promised violence and retribution. I stomped on the gas pedal and aimed myself at the County Line Bar, praying I wasn’t already too late.
The County Line Bar looked like every roadhouse in Texas, but tonight it felt like the only thing on earth that mattered.
The parking lot was already full—Fords, Chevys, the odd Ram, and a neat row of bikes I didn’t recognize—but our arrival, a snarl of six Harleys rolling in together, sucked the sound out of the place.
People at the picnic tables on the porch straightened, drinks paused mid-drink.
They all recognized our cuts and decided they needed a smoke break instead.
I barely noticed. My world had narrowed to a tunnel: get inside, find Aspen, break anyone who hurt her.
Wrecker and Arsenal flanked me, Gunner a step behind.
Bronc led, his presence enough to part the line at the door like the Red Sea.
The bouncer, a kid I didn’t know, tried to step up, but Bronc looked at him once and the poor bastard all but curtsied.
We entered as a unit, the noise of the bar folding down to a single note.
A pack member owned this bar, so we owned this bar.
First thing I did was scan the room: dance floor to the left, pool tables to the right, a long wooden bar running the length of the back wall. I didn’t see her at first, but I caught her scent—rosemary and vanilla, sweet and sharp—cutting through the sweat and cigarette haze.
But before I could move, Gator appeared from behind the bar, arms crossed, tattoos rippling with each step. He raised his chin at me, then Bronc.
“Thought you boys might show,” he said, voice steady but wary. “It’s handled.”
I stopped, my whole body humming with the need to do something, anything. “Handled how?”
He thumbed over his shoulder. “Asshole from Morgantown pack got grabby with your girl. I tossed him, no blood, no drama. Maddie decked him pretty good too. He left with his tail between his legs.”
The name clicked—Morgantown was fifty miles south. Small pack, all assholes. Known for thinking anything unattached was fair game.
I let out a slow breath, my heart still galloping. “He gone?”
Gator nodded, eyes sympathetic. “Gone. He won’t be back tonight.”
I nodded my thanks, but I still had to see her with my own eyes.
The pack broke rank; the other guys fanned out, casing the room with practiced ease.
I followed my nose and found Aspen and Maddie at a high-top in the far corner, half hidden by the edge of the dance floor.
Aspen sat hunched over a mostly empty Cosmo, cheeks wet, hair a little wild.
Maddie had her arm around her, giving comfort but also keeping her upright.
When Maddie saw me, she flagged me over with a look that said help, then slid out of the chair and gave me the space. Aspen looked up, blinking slow. Her green eyes were glassy and rimmed with red, the eyeliner smeared to raccoon levels.
“Oh, hey,” she slurred, trying to muster a smile. “It’s Big Papa. What chu doin’ here?”
I put a hand on the table to keep from shaking. “I might ask you the same thing, Sunshine. What are you doing here?”
She laughed, weak but real. “I was…having fun. I wanted to try being normal.”