Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Kelsey
I wipe down the counter one last time, the mixed smell of coffee and disinfectant filling my nostrils.
My hands ache from a long shift, but the physical fatigue is almost welcoming—it keeps my mind from wandering to darker places, and I’m grateful for the distraction.
The café is quiet now, empty of customers, with only the occasional soft meow breaking the silence.
After we close up, it becomes peaceful—just me and Astra and a dozen rescue cats who don't care about my past or the people hunting me.
"You can head out if you want," Astra says, emptying the last of the coffee grounds into the compost bin. "I've got the rest covered."
"You sure?" I ask, though I'm already untying my apron, eager to get home and collapse into bed.
She nods, giving me a tired smile. "Get some rest. You look exhausted."
I don't tell her I haven't been sleeping well, that every noise outside my window jerks me awake, heart racing, my body ready to run.
Instead, I thank her and grab my bag from the back room.
"See you tomorrow," I call as I head for the door.
"Text me when you get home safe."
The evening air hits my face as I step outside, cooler than it's been all day.
I pull my jacket tighter around myself, scanning the street out of habit—checking for unfamiliar cars, suspicious figures, the black truck that's been haunting my nightmares.
That's when I see him .
Boulder is leaning against his motorcycle, arms crossed over his chest, his face a mask I can't read.
My heart does a strange little stutter—partially relieved at seeing him, partly worried from his unusual stillness.
I approach him cautiously. "What are you doing here?"
He doesn't smile, doesn't move toward me like he usually would. "Need to talk to you. Not here."
His voice is flat, controlled in a way that sends a chill down my spine.
In my gut, I know something's wrong… really wrong.
"My place?" I suggest, trying to sound casual while my mind tries to figure out what could have happened.
He nods once, handing me a helmet. "Let's go."
I strap it on and move to sit behind him, wrapping my arms around his toned body.
The second I touch him, he almost recoils.
The ride to my apartment is tense, his body rigid against mine, and I don’t know what’s happened.
It’s like there's suddenly a wall between us, even as I’m physically up against his back.
I try to focus on the wind rushing past, the vibration of the motorcycle beneath me.
But my thoughts keep circling back to Boulder's strange mood, the coldness in his eyes.
By the time we reach my building, my nerves are stretched thin.
We get off the bike and head up to my apartment. I unlock my door with shaking hands, Boulder quiet as a mouse beside me.
Inside, he doesn't sit, doesn't make himself comfortable like he has before.
He stands in the middle of my living room, watching me with a look in his eyes that makes me want to run.
The moment it becomes too unbearable, I blurt out my question. "What the hell is going on?"
Boulder pulls out his phone, taps the screen a few times, then holds it out to me. "Got an interesting message earlier."
I take the phone, and for a moment, I think my heart stops completely.
Ask your new girl about Cady Warlow.
The room tilts violently, all the blood rushes from my body, and my knees threaten to buckle.
I stumble backward until my legs hit the couch, collapsing onto it as the phone slips from my suddenly numb fingers.
Cady.
A name I haven't heard spoken aloud in years.
A person I killed and buried the day I turned my father in.
"Who is Cady Warlow?" Boulder asks, his voice deceptively gentle as he picks up his phone. "And why is someone sending me cryptic messages about her?"
I can't breathe.
I can't think.
Panic claws up my throat, threatening to choke me.
This can't be happening.
Not now. Not when I'd almost started to feel safe.
"Kelsey." Boulder's voice cuts through the fog of terror. "I already looked up the name."
Of course he fucking did.
I close my eyes, knowing what he found—headlines, articles, my name, and likely my face plastered across Montana news outlets when the story broke.
"I need you to talk to me," he says, sitting across from me, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "No more half-truths, no more bullshit. Who are you running from? What the fuck is going on?"
I open my eyes to find him watching me, his green gaze piercing right through the walls I've built around myself.
"My family," I say, my voice barely audible. "I told you that much already."
"Yeah, but you left out some pretty fuckin’ important details," he counters, anger edging into his tone. "Like the fact your father's in prison for running a child pornography ring. Like the fact your real name isn't Kelsey."
The bluntness of his words is like he physically hit me.
I flinch, wrapping my arms around myself as if I can somehow hold the broken pieces together.
"Is that what this is about?" he presses. "Are your brothers hunting you down because you testified against daddy dearest?"
Bile rises in my throat at the mention of my father. "You don't understand, Barron."
I hope using his real name will help him be patient with me.
"Then make me understand," he demands, frustration clear in every line of his body. "Half-truths put both of us at risk. I need to know exactly what I'm dealing with."
For a moment, I consider lying—creating some version of the truth that might satisfy him without revealing too much.
But I'm so tired of running, of hiding, of carrying this burden alone.
"My name was Cady Warlow," I begin, the words feeling strange in my mouth, like speaking a language I've forgotten. "I was born in a small town outside of Bozeman, Montana. My father was... respected in the community. A businessman of sorts."
I laugh, the sound bitter and hollow. "That's what everyone called him. A businessman. No one questioned where the money came from. Not even me, not for a long time."
Boulder doesn't interrupt, just watches me with those intense eyes as I force myself to continue.
"My mom died when I was eighteen. Cancer." The memory of her wasting away still aches. "After the funeral, I was going through her things, and I found a box of DVDs hidden in the back of their closet. I… I was helping box some of her things up so it wouldn’t be so hard on him."
My hands start to shake as the memories flood back—memories I've tried so hard to bury.
"I thought they might be home movies or something. Something to remember her by." My voice catches. "They weren't."
Boulder's expression darkens as he begins to understand what I'm saying.
"What I saw..." I close my eyes, unable to look at him as I force out the words. "Children. So many children. Some of them I recognized from around town. All of them terrified. And my father was there, directing everything. Sometimes participating."
The silence that follows is heavy with horror.
When I open my eyes, Boulder's face is filled with disgust—not at me, but at what I've described.
"I threw up," I continue, remembering that awful moment when my entire world collapsed. "Cried for hours. Then I gathered every DVD I could find, drove to the police station in the next town over, and turned them in."
Boulder nods slowly. "You did the right thing."
Those simple words, spoken with such certainty, hit me like a tidal wave.
No one except Sam has ever said that to me.
The police said I did a ‘good’ thing, and I know I did, but I also know I turned in the case of their careers.
They weren’t just happy they were putting someone away, they were happy for the publicity from it.
"My brothers didn't think so," I say, bitterness seeping into my voice. "Benji—he's the oldest—he was already working with my father. Learning the family business. Craig followed whatever Benji said. Only Sam, my youngest brother, supported what I did."
"Your father got arrested," Boulder says.
"Multiple life sentences from all of the children he had videos of," I confirm. "The evidence was overwhelming once they started investigating. But before the trial, Benji found the apartment that witness protection set me up in. Told me I was dead to the family. That I'd betrayed my blood."
I push myself up from the couch, needing to move, to breathe. "After I testified, the threats started coming. Phone calls. Letters. Someone broke into my apartment and left a dead cat on my bed. It wasn’t just a random one, either. It was a stray I was feeding."
Boulder's jaw tightens, his hands curling into fists.
"The police helped me change my identity. Became Kelsey. Moved to Billings. Thought I was safe for a while. But Benji found me." My hand drifts unconsciously to my eye, remembering the bruise he'd left. "That's when I saw you again, actually. The day after Benji found me at Tart."
It’s like I can visibly see the memories coming back to him. "Ah, the black eye. Your sleazebag brother did that shit to you."
I nod, continuing my restless pacing. "Sam called, warned me Benji and Craig were planning something worse. That's when Tara helped me get out of Montana. She has connections to your club through her father and her ol’ man. She arranged this job with Astra, told me to stay close to the club for protection."
I finally stop moving, turning to face him fully. "That's everything. That's who I am. That's what I'm running from."
Boulder sits quietly for a moment, processing everything I've told him.
Then he stands, something firm in his eyes. "Pack your things," he says. "You're coming with me to the clubhouse."
The abruptness of the command catches me off guard. "What? No, I can't?—"
"This isn't a request, Kelsey." His use of my new name feels deliberate. "I'm not leaving you alone when there's a clear threat. Someone knows who you are, and they're trying to expose you to me."
Fear grips me so tightly I can barely breathe. "But why now? Why would someone tell you?"
"I don't know yet, but I intend to find out." His voice softens slightly. "The clubhouse is secure. You'll be safe there until we figure this out."
I want to argue, to insist I can handle this on my own, like I've been handling everything since I turned my father in.
But the truth is, I'm tired.
Tired of running, tired of looking over my shoulder, tired of facing this alone.
"Let me grab some things," I say finally, moving toward the bedroom.
Boulder follows, his presence feeling more protective than anything. "Just essentials to get you through the night. We can come back for more things tomorrow."
I nod, grabbing a backpack from the closet.
As I stuff clothes into it, my mind is going a mile a minute.
Who sent that message? Was it one of my brothers?
If it wasn’t… how did they know about Boulder?
The text message to him wasn't random—someone wanted him to know who I really was. But, it also wasn’t signed like Benji has been doing.
As I reach under the mattress for my emergency cash, my fingers brush against the small metal case hidden there.
I hesitate, then pull it out, slipping it into an inside pocket of the backpack.
Proof of my brothers’ involvement in the family business, in case I needed it.
Things have slowed down a lot for them since our father was put in prison, and if I have to turn this in, I will.
Sam has asked I give him time to try to get Benji and Craig to stop… so I’ll give him a little longer, but if they come for me I will end it all.
"Kelsey." The urgency in Boulder’s voice pulls me back to the present. "We need to go. Now."
I follow his gaze to the window, where he's pulled back the curtain just enough to peer outside.
My blood freezes when I see what he's looking at.
A black Ford F-150 is parked across the street—the same truck I thought I saw following me days ago. Craig's truck.
"Is that?—"
"Yeah," I whisper, zipping up the backpack with shaking hands. "That's Craig's truck. Same dent in the passenger door."
Boulder's expression hardens. "Back door. Stay behind me. Move fast, stay quiet."
I nod, slinging the backpack over my shoulder. This isn't my first escape in the dead of night, but it's the first time I haven't been alone.
Boulder leads me through the dark apartment, gun now visible in his hand.
The sight of it should terrify me, but instead, I’m calm.
This man—this dangerous, complicated man—is standing between me and the monsters of my past.
We slip out the back entrance of the building, Boulder constantly scanning our surroundings, body tense and ready.
His bike is parked in the shadows, away from the main street.
"Get on," he murmurs, handing me the helmet. "And for the love of God, you’d better hold on tight."
I don't need to be told twice.
I wrap my arms around his waist as he starts the engine, keeping it as quiet as possible until we're far enough away to open up the throttle.
The night air whips past us as we speed through the streets of Chihuahua, taking a winding route that I realize is designed to throw off any potential tail.
Boulder knows what he's doing—of course, he does. This is what he lives and breathes every day.
When we finally arrive at the clubhouse, the club is bustling with activity even though it’s pretty late.
He parks the bike, keeping me close as we approach the main building.
I feel eyes on us from every direction—curious, assessing, some even look hostile.
I've been to the clubhouse before, but always as Boulder's hookup, and I stayed pretty incognito if I do say so myself.
This feels different.
Inside, several members are gathered around a table, deep in a conversation that stops abruptly when we enter.
Amara is there, her sharp eyes taking in the backpack on my shoulder, the tension in Boulder's stance.
Her voice is neutral, but she doesn’t look happy. "What's this?"
"We have a situation," Boulder says, keeping his hand on the small of my back. "Kelsey is being hunted by her brothers."
The room erupts in questions and curses.
I shrink back against Boulder, overwhelmed by the sudden focus on me.
"Everyone shut the fuck up," Amara commands, and the noise dies instantly.
She turns her attention to me. "Start talking."
So I do.
I give them the condensed version—who I am, what my father did, why my brothers want me dead.
I leave out the most graphic details, but make sure they understand the severity of the situation.
When I finish, the room is silent.
I can feel their judgment, their assessment of whether I'm worth the trouble.
Whether I've brought danger to their door.
"Did Tara know all this when she sent you here?" Amara asks.
I nod. "She said the club protects its own. That you'd understand."
"She's right," a voice says from the doorway. I turn to see Astra stepping into the room. "We protect our own, and nothing is going to happen to you."
I didn’t expect to see her here—though I should have known she'd be called when Boulder brought me in.
Python stands behind her, his expression unreadable.
"This complicates things," Razor says, scratching his beard thoughtfully. "We already have the situation with Andrés, and one with Sally to deal with."
"These are all separate issues," I interrupt, certain of this. "My brothers have nothing to do with your club problems. They’re just after me."
Amara nods slowly, accepting this assessment. "So the question comes up, what do we do with you?"
Before anyone can speak, Boulder steps forward. "She stays with me. In my room."
I look at him in surprise, caught off guard by the declaration.
Amara cocks a brow, frustration evident in her voice. "And what is she to you, prospect?"
Boulder doesn't hesitate. "She's mine."
The possessive claim sends a jolt through my entire body.
I stare at him, not sure I've heard correctly.
Python speaks up next, his tone serious. "You claiming her?"
"If that's what it takes to keep her safe, yes," Boulder says firmly. "No one touches her without going through me first."
The room falls silent again, everyone looking between Boulder and me.
I can feel the weight of what he's just done, even if I don't fully understand what it means.
Amara studies us both for a long moment, then nods once. "Your call, your responsibility. But if this brings heat down on the club?—"
"It won't," Boulder interrupts. "I'll handle it."
"You better," she warns, then gestures to the others. "Everyone out. We'll continue this discussion in the morning."
As the room empties, Boulder guides me toward a hallway, his hand still on my back like he's afraid I'll disappear if he lets go.
"What just happened?" I ask once we're alone in his room—a space I've been in before, but never like this.
"I claimed you," he says simply, dropping my backpack onto a chair. "Under club rules, that means you're under my protection. No one touches what's mine."
"And that's what I am now? Yours?" The question comes out sharper than I thought it would.
Boulder runs a hand through his hair, obviously frustrated. "It's just for show. Club politics. Temporary protection until we deal with your brothers, and whoever’s texting me."
I study his face, not sure I believe him.
Hell, I’m not sure I believe myself when I say, "So nothing changes between us?"
He steps closer, his green eyes intense. "Everything's changed, Montana. The moment you told me who you really are, everything changed."
"I didn't ask for this," I say, hating the tremor in my voice. "I didn't want to drag you into my mess."
"You think I don't know that?" He reaches out, his fingers grazing my cheek gently. "You've been carrying this alone for too long."
His words strike something deep inside me, touching a loneliness I've tried to ignore.
Since Sam helped me escape Bozeman, I've had no one—just myself and my fear and the constant terror that keeps me alive.
"Why are you doing this?" I ask, needing to understand.
Boulder seems to struggle with the question, or maybe with the answer. "Because you did the right thing," he says finally. "You saw evil and you stood against it, even knowing what it would cost you. Even when it was your own blood."
It’s so unexpected, the way he means every word. It hits me deep.
And just like that, I feel tears creeping up—something I haven’t felt in a long, long time.
"The club has a code," he continues. "We don't always walk the right side of the law, but there are lines we don't cross. What your father did—" His jaw tightens. "Men like that don't deserve to breathe the same air as the rest of us."
I search his face, looking for any sign that he's lying, that this is some elaborate game to use me for club politics.
But all I see is how much he cares.
"So what happens now?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Now you stay here, where it's safe," he says, the decision already made. "You keep working at the café with protection. And we deal with your brothers."
I shake my head. "My brothers are dangerous, Boulder. You don't know what they're capable of."
"So am I," he responds, a cold edge to his voice that reminds me he's not just the man who's held me through the night—he's a member of an outlaw motorcycle club, a man who lives by a different code than the rest of society. "And they've fucked with what's mine. That doesn't end well for them."
The possessiveness in his words should frighten me.
Instead, it sends a strange warmth spreading through my chest.
For so long, I've belonged to no one, counted on no one.
The idea of being claimed—being protected—is both terrifying and tempting.
I sink onto the edge of the bed, the weight of everything that's happened tonight finally hitting me.
My secret is out.
Boulder knows who I really am.
And now I'm sitting in a biker clubhouse while my brothers are starting to get closer to me.
I don’t know what I would have done if Boulder wasn’t around.
"You should get some sleep," Boulder says, his voice softening. "Take the bed. I'll crash on the couch."
I look up at him, surprised by the offer.
Every other time we've shared a space, we've also shared a bed—usually after tearing each other's clothes off.
"Don't," I say before I can think better of it. "I don't want to be alone tonight."
Boulder studies me for a moment, then nods, understanding what I'm asking for.
Not sex, not tonight.
Just the comfort of another human being.
I know having his giant, muscular body beside me will make me feel safer than anything else tonight.
As I get ready for bed, using Boulder's bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth, I catch my reflection in the mirror.
I barely recognize the woman staring back at me—eyes wide with fear, face pale with stress.
Who am I now?
Not fully Cady anymore, but not completely Kelsey either.
A woman in between identities, in between worlds.
When I return to the bedroom, Boulder is already under the covers, shirtless but still wearing sweatpants.
I slip in beside him, keeping a careful distance, not sure what the boundaries are anymore.
Boulder reaches out, gently pulling me against his chest.
"Just sleep," he murmurs against my hair. "I've got you."
I should resist.
Should keep the walls up that have protected me for so long.
But I'm so tired of being strong, of being alone.
So I let myself melt against him, his heartbeat steady under my ear.
As I drift toward sleep, I think about the cage I've been living in since I turned my father in—a cage of fear, of isolation, of constant vigilance.
I've exchanged that cage for another now, the protection of a motorcycle club with its own rules and dangers.
The difference is, for the first time, the bars feel like they might be protecting me instead of trapping me.
And unlike my father, Boulder gave me a choice.