Chapter 4
FOUR
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I hear the rumble of voices before I step fully into the living room, and the sound wraps around me the way it always does in Switch and Bella’s house.
Comfort and chaos in equal measure. My heart speeds up when I spot Blade across the room, leaning back in the armchair with a beer in hand, talking quietly with Switch and Rev.
The three of them look serious, which is never a good sign, but Blade glances up the exact moment I look his way.
Our eyes catch like magnets, and I lift my hand in a quick wave, trying to play it cool even though I instantly regret it because I feel like a teenager again.
He tips his chin in that quiet way he does, barely a nod, but it sends a spark through me all the same.
There’s a ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, subtle and dangerous, and it flips my stomach in the most annoying way.
It’s ridiculous how one tiny shift in his expression can make my insides twist.
I force myself to turn away before I combust or do something embarrassing like walk over and kiss him in front of the entire Iron Reapers inner circle.
The kitchen is safer territory, so I move toward it like a woman on a mission.
Brooke’s by the window with baby Jax bouncing on her hip, looking flawless in a cream sweater and perfect jeans, her hair loose around her shoulders and her delicate jewelry catching the light.
As the oldest, she stepped up and held our world together after our parents died.
Sometimes I think being thrown into that role so young made her determined to look polished and in control at all times.
“There she is,” Brooke says, spotting me. “Took you long enough.”
“I had to secure the cupcakes,” I say, kissing Jax’s squishy cheek. “Most important job of the night.”
“Absolutely,” Bella agrees, grinning as she pulls a pan of something cheesy and golden from the oven.
Her curls are piled on her head, and she’s still got that soft new mom glow, tired at the edges but somehow even more beautiful for it.
The kitchen smells incredible, and the warmth from the oven blends with the laughter drifting in from the living room.
I set the bakery box on the counter and let myself pretend, if only for a moment, that everything’s normal. Like my pulse didn’t skip when Blade looked at me. Like I don’t feel his eyes on my back. Like the tension between us isn’t electric enough to burn if either of us ever dared to touch it.
I hug Bella, letting the warmth of her happiness settle under my ribs.
She and Switch fought hard for this peace, and seeing her here, safe and loved and glowing, makes it feel worth it.
We’ve all been through our own hell, but hers was loud and public and messy.
Watching her stand here with a baby on her hip and dinner in the oven feels like winning a battle none of us knew how to fight.
“He’s getting so big,” I murmur, brushing a hand over Jax’s downy hair. “Practically grown.”
“Don’t say that,” Bella laughs. “He’s still my tiny baby boy. Until he starts throwing punches. Then he’s Switch’s problem.”
“Stubborn hits at month two,” Brooke says knowingly, tossing her hair like she’s reciting gospel.
“How would you even know?” I tease, laughing at my dramatic and very childless older sister.
She narrows her eyes. “You forget, young one, I remember when you were born and how much of a crybaby you were.”
“I feel so loved right now,” I grumble, setting the Sugar Rush box down. The logo is a little smudged from my grip, but the cupcakes are safe, thank God, because the men out there turn feral when sugar’s involved.
Bella bumps my shoulder. “We love you. Even if you were dramatic.”
Brooke snorts. “Were?”
I roll my eyes and grab plates from the cupboard, giving myself something to do so I don’t glance back into the living room like a love-struck idiot. I can still feel Blade’s attention, even though I’m not looking. It sits on my skin like a physical touch. Maybe I’m imagining it. Maybe I’m not.
Either way, it’s frustrating and addictive.
“So,” Brooke asks casually, which means it’s definitely not casual, “are you staying for the whole evening or do you have hot plans later?”
I lift a brow. “Yes. My wild Saturday night includes lasagna and trying to keep Switch from showing me baby photos I already saw on Facebook.”
“Switch shows everyone baby photos,” Bella says proudly, sliding the pan onto a trivet. “Usually against their will. It’s tradition.”
“And we love him for it,” I add, grabbing a knife. “Mostly. Sometimes.”
“You love him,” Brooke corrects. “I tolerate him.”
We all laugh, and for a moment, the warmth eases the edge of everything else. The club drama. Blade. The gnawing awareness that something in town is shifting. The overdoses Rev mentioned. I don’t know the details, and I’m not sure I want to.
The men carry the weight of that world, and the heaviness of it tries to seep into this kitchen. Bella notices and bumps my hip again.
“Enjoy tonight,” she murmurs. “Let stress stay outside.”
I nod, even though my version of stress looks a lot like a six-foot-four biker with haunted eyes and a body that should be illegal.
The oven timer dings, breaking the moment, and Bella switches into host mode. Brooke grabs the salad. I set out plates. The house smells like garlic bread and safety. It settles over me like a blanket I didn’t realize I needed.
“Speaking of stress,” Brooke says under her breath, cutting a glance toward the living room, “is this one of those nights where Switch is in Reaper mode, or do we get family-man version?”
I sigh. “Feels like both.”
“He usually only gets that look when someone’s stepped somewhere they shouldn’t,” Bella adds quietly, worry flicking over her face before she schools it away. “He’s trying not to bring it home.”
“He never does,” I say, meaning it.
“He tries,” she corrects softly. “That’s different.”
And of course, that’s when my gaze betrays me. Blade’s leaning forward, elbows on his knees, jaw tight, brows drawn together as he talks to Switch. Rev nods along. Whatever they’re discussing isn’t light.
He must feel me staring because his head turns slightly and our eyes meet.
The world keeps moving, but my heart stutters. I look away first, like I always do, but my gaze keeps wanting to drift back. Wanting him is a problem. Ignoring him might be worse.
“Alright, everyone. Food’s ready,” Bella announces, her voice carrying through the house and instantly shifting the energy. The voices quiet, chairs scrape, and conversation gives way to movement.
Switch walks in first with his usual swagger, piling lasagna like it’s his right as head of the household. Rev snags garlic bread and earns a smack from Bella. Blade comes in last, slow and steady, his gaze sweeping the room as if cataloging exits and people. Soldier instincts. It shows.
We all gather around the big wooden table that’s clearly seen a thousand meals and maybe a brawl or two. I sit across from Blade, which is terrible for my sanity but perfect for my curiosity.
Blade’s knee brushes the table leg and the silverware rattles. He doesn’t react, but I feel it anyway. The closeness. The awareness. The line we don’t cross, even though we both stand right against it.
Rev clears his throat and leans forward, instantly signaling he’s about to stir the pot. “Alright, before dinner, I gotta tell y’all about the shitshow at Perdition lately.”
What follows is a shift in tone. College kids. Dealers. Pushing boundaries. Testing. And suddenly dinner doesn’t feel quite as light anymore.
I picture Perdition on a busy night and I can practically smell spilled beer and cheap perfume. I’ve worked enough shifts behind that bar to know when something’s off. Drunks wander. Idiots start fights. But groups with structure? With confidence? That’s different.
I know I should keep my mouth shut. It’s not my world. But curiosity pushes its way forward.
When I ask what happens if they don’t take the hint, Blade looks at me, intensity sharp in his eyes. “Then they learn the hard way.”
The reaction that earns from the table is enough to make my pulse skip. I should probably let it go. I don’t.
“I know what I’m doing this weekend,” I say.
Groans ripple down the table.
And Blade’s voice drops. “You’re gonna stay far away from all that.”
His stare locks with mine, and the air gets hotter.
“And what if I don’t?” I ask, because self-preservation clearly isn’t my strong suit.
“You just go looking for trouble, don’t you?”
“Maybe I like trouble.”
His jaw ticks. My stomach flutters. And everyone else pretends not to watch.
Rev hides a smirk behind his beer. Switch mutters something about needing antacids. Bella and Brooke share a look that’s half amusement, half please don’t burn the house down with your unresolved tension.
I take a slow bite of cupcake, like I didn’t just set him on fire with five words.
Because he’s right. I do look for trouble. And sometimes trouble looks back.
Blade doesn’t answer. He just watches me for a long moment, eyes unreadable, before turning back to his plate. He doesn’t touch the food. Not for a few seconds. Like I knocked something loose. I should feel smug. I don’t. I feel seen. And I’m not sure which of us hates that more.
Switch finally clears his throat and decides to redirect. “Rev, you said something happened last night too?”
“Yeah,” Rev says. “Got word from Tank. Overdose at the motel on Ninth. The kid barely made it.”
Silence drops like a brick. Bella’s hand goes straight to her chest. Brooke pales and I swallow hard. This is where the lines between club and family blur. Where the danger gets close enough to smell.
I glance across the table, meeting Blade’s eyes again.
This time, the spark is gone. Replaced with steel.
And I realize there’s a whole world beneath the surface of this dinner.
One I don’t fully understand. One I’m dancing dangerously close to.
And maybe, deep down… that’s exactly why I can’t look away.