Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Boulder
Sunlight streams through curtains I know aren't my own, painting the room in soft morning light.
I blink awake, momentarily disoriented by the strange surroundings until the memories of last night flood back—I’m at Kelsey's apartment.
Her body pressed against mine. Her fear. My promise to protect her.
I'm still in her bed, and that's unusual for me.
I don't do overnights—never have.
Women are for pleasure, not for sleeping beside.
Yet here I am, my arm draped over Kelsey's waist, her back fitting perfectly against my chest like we've been sleeping this way for years instead of hours.
She's becoming more than just a casual fling, and realizing it sends a jolt of panic through me.
I force the thought away, not ready to examine what it means that I'm breaking all my own rules for this woman.
I carefully extract my arm from around her, propping myself up to look at her sleeping face. She seems peaceful now, the fear and tension from last night erased by sleep.
Her light brown hair spills across the pillow, and I resist the urge to run my fingers through it.
What the fuck are you doing, Boulder?
Getting attached is dangerous—not just in a physical sense, but it's true.
Even more dangerous to a woman with secrets big enough to have her jumping at shadows and checking over her shoulder.
My phone vibrates on the bedside table, and I grab it quickly to avoid waking Kelsey. The screen shows multiple missed calls from club members.
Shit.
Four from Amara, three from Python, two from Axel.
Something's gone down.
I slip out of bed, pulling on my jeans as I step into the living room to call back.
Amara answers on the first ring. "Where the fuck have you been?" she demands, her voice tight with fury.
"I had a situation," I say, keeping my voice low. "What's going on?"
"Andrés's men hit Emilio's garage last night. Beat him half to death, trashed the place. We've been trying to reach you for hours."
My blood runs cold. "Fuck. Is Emilio okay?"
"He's alive. Broken ribs, concussion, missing a few teeth. Python and Razor are at the hospital with him now." Amara's voice hardens. "Get your ass to the clubhouse. Now."
"I'll be there in twenty," I promise, already mentally planning the fastest route.
I hang up and stare at my phone for a moment, torn between my duty to the club and the woman sleeping in the other room.
If Andrés's men are escalating to violence, he might target the café next… which means Kelsey could be in danger.
"Boulder?" Her voice catches me off guard. I turn to find her standing in the bedroom doorway, wrapped in a sheet, her eyes still heavy with sleep. "Everything okay?"
"No," I say honestly, running a hand through my hair. "Club emergency. I need to go."
She nods, tightening the sheet around herself. "I understand."
I step closer to her, my eyes searching her face. "Kelsey, about last night... who do you think was following you? That truck you saw—who would it belong to?"
Her eyes immediately shutter, that familiar guardedness returning. "I told you, it was probably nothing. Just me being paranoid."
My frustration begins boiling over. "I can't help if I don't know what the fuck I'm protecting you from."
She looks away, chewing her lower lip.
The silence stretches between us, and I'm about to give up when she finally speaks.
"It's family issues," she says quietly. "My father... he's controlling. Dangerous. I left to get away from them and they don't like that I'm gone."
It's not much, but it's more than she's shared with me before.
I study her face, knowing there's more to the story, but decide not to push.
Not now, when the club needs me.
"Okay," I say, reaching for my cut. "I have to go, but I'll be back later. Lock the door behind me, and call Astra if anything feels off before I get back."
She nods, not meeting my eyes. "Be safe."
I hesitate, then cross the space between us and capture her lips in an intense kiss. "Always am."
Twenty minutes later, I roll into the clubhouse parking lot to find it buzzing with activity.
Members are loading gear into trucks, checking weapons, speaking in low, angry voices.
I park my bike and stride inside, bracing for Amara's wrath.
She's standing at the bar, deep in conversation with Axel.
When she spots me, her eyes narrow dangerously. "Nice of you to join us, prospect," she says, emphasizing my status in a way that makes it clear how thin the ice beneath me has become.
"I'm sorry about the delay," I say, keeping my tone respectful but not submissive. "What's the plan?"
"The plan was for you to be here when I fucking called you," she snaps. "Not to have Lashes cover your shit and then not answer your damn phone."
I hold my ground. "There was an issue. Someone needed me."
"I don't want to hear that shit," Amara cuts me off. "Club comes first. Always. Or have you forgotten that part of being a prospect?"
"No, ma'am," I say, swallowing my pride. "It won't happen again. Just tell me what you need me to do now."
Amara studies me for a long moment, then sighs. "We're hitting back. Andrés has a warehouse on the outskirts of town where he stores his merchandise. We're going to pay it a visit. You in?"
"Absolutely," I say without hesitation. "Put me on the front line."
She nods, some of the anger fading from her eyes. "Gear up. We leave in ten."
I join the others preparing to leave, checking the Glock that Python hands me and slipping extra magazines into my pockets.
It helps focus my mind, pushing thoughts of Kelsey to the background.
Axel sidles up beside me, his eyes knowing. "That new girl at the café, huh? Seems like she's distracting you."
I tense, my hands stilling on the weapon. "Don't know what you're talking about."
He laughs, the sound low. "Come on, brother. Your face gives it away. She must be something special to have you missing club calls."
"She's just easy pussy," I say, but the defensiveness in my tone reveals everything.
Axel raises an eyebrow but says nothing more, moving away to join Razor near the door.
I finish my preparations, annoyed at how easily he can read me.
I need to get my head straight before this mission.
The club has to come first, always.
We roll out in formation, three trucks and four bikes, heading toward the industrial zone where Andrés's warehouse is located.
The plan is simple: show we have strength in numbers, destroy his merchandise, leave a message that the club is not to be fucked with.
As we approach, adrenaline begins to surge through my veins, the familiar pre-action rush that clears my mind of everything except the mission.
This is what I'm good at.
This is why I joined the club.
The warehouse comes into view, a plain concrete building with a loading dock and minimal security.
Apparently, Andrés doesn't expect retaliation so soon.
What a fucking idiot.
We hit hard and fast. Python and two other members take out the guards while Axel and I breach the side entrance.
Inside, we find stacks of counterfeit merchandise—designer clothes, watches, handbags—Andrés's legitimate cover business.
"Find anything that burns," Axel orders, already pulling out his lighter. "Let's send a message."
I grab a can of paint thinner from a supply shelf and begin dousing the merchandise.
As I work, three men burst through a door at the back—Andrés's crew, late to the party.
They freeze when they see us, clearly not expecting to find anyone in their warehouse.
Axel looks at them and speaks with a cold smile. "Reapers Rejects send their regards."
Then, all hell breaks loose.
The next few minutes are a blur of violence.
I take down one guy with a tackle that sends us both crashing into a stack of boxes.
My fists connect with his face repeatedly, each impact more satisfying than the last.
I'm channeling all my frustration—about Kelsey, about Amara's disappointment, about my own conflicted feelings—into each blow.
"Boulder! That's enough!" Axel's voice cuts through the red haze of my rage. "He's down. Let's finish this and go."
I look down at the man beneath me, his face a bloody mess, and realize I've gone too far.
I stand, shaking out my bruised knuckles, and rejoin the others as they finish setting fire to the warehouse.
We leave as quickly as we came, the sound of sirens in the distance pressuring us to get the fuck out of here as fast as possible.
The ride back to the clubhouse is silent, each of us processing what happened on the run in our own way.
Victory tastes sweet, but I know it won’t last long.
Back at the clubhouse, everything seems ten times lighter.
I’d say we’re almost celebrating in a way.
We've struck a blow against Andrés, shown that we won't tolerate attacks on our people. But while the others break out beers and whiskey, Amara gestures for me to follow her to the chapel.
"Sit," she says, closing the door behind us. Her expression is serious, not angry but concerned. "We need to talk."
I sink into a chair, already knowing what's coming.
"You've got potential, Boulder," she begins, leaning against the table. "I wouldn't have you as a prospect here if I didn't think so. But your focus has been shit lately."
"I know," I admit. "I'm sorry about this morning."
"It's not just this morning," Amara says. "It's the distraction I see in your eyes, the hesitation when the club needs to come first." She pauses, her gaze intent. "This girl at the café—Kelsey—she's becoming a liability."
I start to argue with her, but she holds up a hand to stop me before I can even start.
"I'm not saying end it. I'm saying get your priorities straight. Your prospect status isn't guaranteed. You understand me?"
The warning is clear. Fuck up again, and I could lose everything I've worked for.
"Yes, ma'am," I say, meeting her eyes. "I can handle both. The club comes first, always."
She studies me for a long moment, then nods. "Make sure it does. Now get cleaned up. You look like shit."
I head to the bathroom to wash the blood from my knuckles, my reflection in the mirror making me pause.
There's something wild in my eyes, something dangerous that wasn't there before.
The club life is changing me, hardening me.
Is that who I want to be?
After showering and changing into clean clothes, I decide to check on Kelsey.
Even with Amara's warning, I can't stop thinking about her, about the fear in her eyes last night.
I need to make sure she's safe, the same way I need air to breathe.
The ride to her apartment is quick, the late afternoon sun warm on my back.
When I reach her building, I take the stairs two at a time, knocking on her door with more force than necessary.
There’s no answer.
I knock again, a sense of unease growing in my gut. "Kelsey? It's Boulder."
Still nothing.
I try the handle, surprised to find it unlocked.
Drawing my gun, I push the door open slowly, scanning for any sign of danger.
The apartment is empty, no signs of struggle, but no Kelsey either.
Panic surges through me before I spot a note on the kitchen counter.
Emergency shift at the café. Astra called. Back by 8. - K
Relief floods through my entire body, followed immediately by annoyance at my own reaction.
When did I become the type to panic over a woman not being where I expected her to be?
This shit is getting out of hand.
I decide to head to the café, just to make sure everything is really okay.
The need to see her, to confirm with my own eyes that she's safe, is stronger than my desire to keep her away from me.
CatsAndJava is busy when I arrive, customers filling most of the tables, cats weaving between legs and lounging on window sills.
I don't go inside, choosing instead to watch from across the street.
Through the large front windows, I can see Kelsey moving behind the counter, a small smile on her face as she hands a customer their order.
She looks different here—more relaxed, more at ease than I've ever seen her.
As I watch, Python enters the café, greeting Astra with a kiss before nodding to Kelsey.
They exchange words, and Kelsey laughs at something he says.
The sight stirs something uncomfortable in my chest.
Jealousy?
No, that's ridiculous.
Just surprise at seeing her so comfortable with club members who aren't me.
I decide to wait for her shift to end rather than go in.
My presence would only complicate things, especially with Python there.
Better to catch her after work, when we can talk privately.
As I settle in to wait, my phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number:
Ask your new girl about Cady Warlow.
I stare at the message, not sure what the fuck it even means.
Who the fuck is Cady Warlow?
And who's sending me cryptic texts?
I open my browser and search the name, expecting nothing.
Instead, I'm met with dozens of news articles from a few years back—headlines that make my blood run cold.
"Warlow Family Crimes Shock Montana Community"
"Daughter's Testimony Sends Father to Prison for Child Pornography Ring"
"Cady Warlow in Protective Custody After Death Threats from Family"
I click on the first article, skimming through the horrific details.
Arthur Warlow, a prominent ‘businessman’ in a small Montana town, was arrested for producing and distributing child pornography.
His daughter, Cady, found evidence and turned him in, testifying against him, which landed his trip to prison.
The memory hits me suddenly—hearing the prospects in Montana discussing the case a few years back.
It was big news, the kind of thing that even we take a hard stance against.
Children are off-limits. You don’t fuck with women, and you don’t fuck with kids.
I look back at the café, at Kelsey serving customers with a forced smile, and wonder if I'm looking at Cady Warlow.
The timing fits. The location fits. The fear in her eyes whenever she mentions family fits.
Could this be what she's running from?
Not just a controlling father, but a monster?
Brothers who want her dead for exposing family secrets?
As her shift ends and she steps out of the café, I remain hidden, watching her pull her jacket tighter around herself and start down the street toward her apartment.
The weight of what I've learned settles heavily on my shoulders.
Everyone's got secrets.
The question is, are hers the kind that put the club at risk?
Or is she running from something my own father would've protected her from?
Either way, I need answers. And this time, I'm not letting her evade telling me the truth.