Chapter Five
CHAPTER FIVE
WHY DID IT seem like the music was too fucking loud tonight? Its steady pulse vibrated through the floor, the walls, hell, even my bones. The party was in full swing, booze flowing, bodies pressed together on the makeshift dance floor, laughter and loud voices mixing with the beat. It was the usual scene.
Except I couldn’t focus on any of it.
Jenny was on my lap, her arm draped around my neck, whispering something in my ear that I didn’t catch. I nodded anyway, taking a long pull from the beer in my hand and trying to pretend I was in the mood for this— for her .
But my head wasn’t in it.
Not since Fiona walked into the room.
She looked out of place, like a delicate flower dropped into a pile of rubble. Her thick brown hair was pulled back into a simple braid, and even from here, I could see the bruises marring her pale skin. She wore a loose-fitting sweater that swallowed her petite frame, her hands wrapped around a mug of something steaming as she listened to the conversation around her with cautious eyes.
I couldn’t stop watching her.
There was something about her that made it impossible for me to tear my eyes away.
I tried to focus on Jenny. On the party. On literally anything else. But my gaze kept drifting back to Fiona, no matter how hard I tried to resist.
Jenny shifted on my lap, running her manicured nails down my chest in a way that was supposed to get my cock going. Normally, I’d be all in, enjoying the feel of her pressing against me, her warm breath tickling my ear as she whispered promises she had every intention of keeping.
“You seem distracted, Bolt. Everything alright?” Her tone was playful, her hand trailing down my chest like she was trying to pull me back into the moment.
“Just fine,” I muttered, though it was a lie. I wasn’t fine, not fine at all.
Jenny pouted, sensing that I wasn’t all there, and pulled back just enough to look me in the eye. “Not feelin’ the party tonight?”
I shrugged, not wanting to get into it. “Just got a lot on my mind.”
“Hmm.” She smiled that sultry smile she always wore when she was about to suggest something incredibly dirty, before dragging me to the back room. But before she could say anything else, my eyes drifted back to Fiona.
And I caught her looking at me .
It was quick—just a glance before she dropped her gaze back to the table—but for a few seconds, our eyes locked, and it was like the whole damn room disappeared. I felt that punch to the gut again, the one I’d been feeling ever since I’d gone to her house with Horse. Ever since I saw the bruises on her face, the fear in her eyes, the way she looked like she’d been holding herself together by a thread.
I couldn’t stop thinking about her.
Couldn’t stop wondering how the hell someone like Fiona ended up in such a mess, how she could’ve stayed with that asshole for so long. And I couldn’t stop feeling that mix of frustration and fascination that was driving me out of my goddamned mind.
Jenny shifted again, sighing with impatience when she realized she didn’t have my full attention. “Bolt, what’s with you tonight?” she asked, her tone sharp now.
“Nothin’,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. I forced my gaze away from Fiona, looking down at the bottle in my hand like it held all the answers. “Whatever is ‘ with me’ isn’t your problem or business. There’s plenty of men around here you can entertain besides me. There ain’t no glue on my lap.”
Jenny didn’t like that, but she didn’t push, sensing my mood. Instead, she stood, smoothing down her tight skirt and flashing me a disappointed look. “Well, when you feel like actually joining the party, you know where to find me.” She sauntered off, leaving me alone at the table with nothing but my thoughts and the noise of the party swirling around me.
My eyes found Fiona again.
She was smiling at something Horse said, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She looked tired. Worn down. Like she was still carrying the weight of everything that had happened. And why wouldn’t she be? It had only been a few days since she’d left her husband, since we’d pulled her out of that house. She was sitting here, surrounded by a club family, most she didn’t know, in a world that probably made no damn sense to her. And yet, she was trying. She was doing her best to keep it together.
I respected that.
Even if I didn’t fully understand her and the weakness that kept her with James. She might’ve been small, quiet, the type of woman who would’ve been easy to overlook in a crowd, but there was something about her. Something that made me want to know more about the woman inside and had me wanting to figure her out.
And that scared the hell out of me.
The one thing I swore to myself when I left home at seventeen was that I would never be with a woman as weak as my mother. A woman who would let a man beat her down day after day when there was a fucking door she could have walked out of.
A son who would protect her.
Plus, I wasn’t the type to get wrapped up in other people’s problems. Especially not a woman who had complications like Fiona. I’d spent my whole life avoiding attachments, keeping things simple. That’s what women like Jenny were for.
No commitment.
No strings.
No emotional baggage.
Just a release for my cock when I needed it.
Fiona... she was getting under my skin, and I didn’t know how to stop it. How to stop seeing the haunted big blue eyes even in my sleep.
I took another swig of beer, trying to push my thoughts away, but it didn’t help. All I could think about was her sitting there, looking so damn fragile, broken, and the way it made me feel—angry, protective, attracted, and confused as hell.
“What’s going on with you?” I muttered to myself, setting the bottle down a little harder than I intended. I’d never let myself get caught up in something like this before. It wasn’t who I was.
But Fiona...
I leaned back in my chair, forcing myself to look anywhere but at her. I needed to get a grip. I needed to get my head back in the game and stop letting this thing with Fiona mess with me. She wasn’t my responsibility.
She wasn’t my problem.
And yet, as much as I tried to tell myself that, I knew it wasn’t true. Because every time I looked at her, I felt that pull again. That need to protect her. To make sure no one ever laid a hand on her again.
I was in trouble.
I knew it .
The question was, how would I stop it?
THE COMMON ROOM was the heart of the clubhouse. Its walls lined with club memorabilia—old photographs of the founding members, framed patches from runs across the country, and road maps pinned up with routes marked in red ink.
Every inch of the room told a story, from the old leather vests hanging on hooks to the tarnished helmets and rusted road signs that had been collected over the years.
At the center of it all stood the pool table, its felt surface worn from countless games, the edges chipped from years of hard use. Music filled the air, either from the old stereo in the corner or from a playlist that someone always had going. The sound of classic rock and country music blended with the hum of conversation and bursts of laughter.
Against one wall was the bar, made of heavy, dark wood, polished smooth from years of elbows leaning against it. Behind the bar, shelves were stocked with bottles of whiskey, bourbon, and beer—everything a club could need to fuel a long night. A neon sign with the club’s logo above flickered faintly, casting a soft, red glow over the room. Scattered around the room were tables, most of them mismatched, with chairs that creaked when you sat down.
Tonight, the rock music was too loud, the laughter too boisterous, the whole atmosphere too overwhelming after being isolated for so long it was overdrive for my senses, draining me. I sat there, wrapped up in my own thoughts, trying to make sense of this new world I’d been thrust into. Dad rarely brought me around the clubhouse, and usually only for club picnics and special family events.
Never the club parties.
I was only pretending to be here, or that’s what it felt like. The crowd, the walls hanging with club memorabilia; the bikes hanging from the ceiling. It was familiar but it wasn’t, having only been here during the day for family gatherings, but at night with the lights dimmed, and this much wilder party going on, it didn’t look the same.
Dad was sitting beside me, his presence both comforting and suffocating. I knew he was trying to protect me, to make sure I felt safe, but all it did was remind me of how out of place I was.
I should’ve been grateful. I should’ve felt relieved to be out of that house, away from James.
And I was .
But the fear was still there, lurking beneath the surface, making it hard to breathe, to start living again. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for something to go wrong, for him to show up and drag me back into that nightmare. Just like before.
“Are you okay, honey?” Dad’s voice broke through my thoughts, pulling me back to the present. His eyes were full of concern, lines of worry etched deep into his face.
“I’m fine,” I lied, forcing a small smile. I didn’t want him to worry any more than he already was. “Just... adjusting.”
He nodded, but I could tell he didn’t believe me. “If you need anything, you tell me, alright? I’ll take care of it.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to say anything more. The truth was, I didn’t know what I needed. Everything felt so uncertain, so fragile, like one wrong move could shatter whatever thin layer of safety I was clinging to.
I glanced around the room, taking in the scene. The surrounding party—club members and their women drinking, laughing, completely at ease in a way I couldn’t even imagine being. The smell of old wood, beer, and smoke filled the air, mixing with the pounding music that seemed to shake the very walls.
And then, almost against my will, my eyes found him.
Bolt.
The man who had come with my dad that night, the man who had seemed to be judging me.
He was sitting across the room, a blonde woman on his lap, her arms draped around his neck like she owned him. Her fingers running through his auburn hair, to his beard and down his chest. She was beautiful, confident, everything I wasn’t and could never be. And yet, for some reason, I couldn’t stop looking at him.
He wasn’t like the other men here, or at least I didn’t think so. There was something different about him, something that made me notice him even when I didn’t want to. He was rough around the edges, covered in tattoos that looked more like paintings, and his expressive amber eyes reflected something I couldn’t quite put my finger on, like life had tricked him somehow in the past and he wasn’t about to forget it. But there was something else there, something that made me feel... connected to this brooding biker.
I quickly looked away, my cheeks heating up in embarrassment. What was I doing, staring at him like that? He was with someone else, someone who fit into this world in a way I never would. I had no business thinking about him, no business wondering what he was like or what he was thinking.
But even as I tried to focus on the conversation happening around me, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was watching me, too. I dared another quick glance in his direction and caught him looking right at me.
My breath caught in my throat, and for a moment, it was like the rest of the room faded away. It was just the two of us, locked in some strange, unspoken connection that I didn’t understand and his eyes reflecting the same thought.
He, too, didn’t understand whatever this was.
Then, just as quickly, I looked away, my heart pounding in my chest. What was wrong with me? I was supposed to be focusing on getting my life back together, not getting distracted by a man I barely knew. Especially not a man like Bolt. For heaven’s sake, the man had a woman draped all over him.
But I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t help the way my thoughts kept drifting back to him, the way his presence seemed to pull me in even from across the room. There was something about him that made me feel seen in a way I hadn’t felt in years.
What was he seeing?
“Fiona?” Dad’s voice snapped me back to reality, and I turned to look at him, trying to hide the turmoil churning inside me.
“Yeah, Dad?”
“You want to head to bed? You don’t have to stay down here if it’s too much.”
“Yeah, don’t wear yourself out,” Boots agreed. He had been my dad’s friend for as long as I could remember. Big, kind, and solid, just like my dad.
I hesitated, glancing around the room again. Part of me wanted to retreat to the small bedroom Dad and Brenda had set up for me, to hide away from everything and everyone. But another part of me—the part that was tired of being afraid—wanted to stay. Wanted to prove to myself that I could handle this, that I could be a part of this world, even if it was just for a little while.
“I’m okay,” I said, surprising myself with how steady my voice sounded. “I’ll stay a little longer.”
Dad looked like he wanted to argue, but then he nodded. “Alright. But don’t overdo it.”
“I won’t,” I promised, giving him a weak smile.
As Dad turned back to his conversation, I found myself sneaking another glance at Bolt. He wasn’t looking at me anymore—his attention back on the woman on his lap—but I could still feel that strange pull, that connection that made my heart race and my stomach flutter.
I needed to get a grip. I needed to focus on what really mattered—getting through this, getting away from James for good, and figuring out how to put my life back together. But no matter how hard I tried; I couldn’t shake the feeling that Bolt was going to be a part of that somehow. The feeling was just there, sitting in my stomach, heavy like a bowling ball.
Which seemed so implausible since my trust in men was a big fat zero.
So, I forced myself to look away, to focus on the people around me, on the conversation that I wasn’t really a part of. And I tried, with everything I had, to ignore the way my eyes kept tugging me back to him.