Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Kelsey
I've been living in the clubhouse for one week, and already my life before feels like a distant memory.
I run my fingers over the worn leather of the couch in the main area, watching the morning sunlight filter through the windows.
The clubhouse is never really quiet—even at this early hour, there's the distant rumble of motorcycles in the garage, the clatter of someone in the kitchen, music playing softly from one of the back rooms.
It's so different from my apartment, where silence was my constant companion, broken only by the sounds of my own movements.
Here, life pulses through every room.
In a way, it’s nice that I’m not alone anymore.
For someone who's spent years looking over her shoulder, the adjustment should be jarring, but somehow, I'm adapting faster than I expected.
"Morning, sunshine."
I turn to see Astra walking in, two coffee mugs in hand.
She passes one to me before dropping onto the couch.
Her vibrant red hair is pulled into a messy bun, her face free of makeup.
It's still strange seeing her outside the café setting, but there's something comforting about her presence here.
"Thanks," I murmur, taking a grateful sip. "You're here early."
She shrugs. "Python had business at five, and I couldn't get back to sleep. Figured I'd see what kind of trouble I could get into at the clubhouse."
I smirk at her words.
Astra has a way of making everything sound like an adventure rather than a burden.
"So," she says, studying me over the rim of her mug, "how are you settling in? Being an ol’ lady suits you."
"I'm not his ol’ lady," I correct her automatically, keeping my voice low. "It's just temporary. For protection."
Astra's smile turns knowing. "Honey, I said the same thing to myself for the first three months with Python. Then I woke up one day and realized I'd forgotten what my own apartment looked like."
"This is different," I insist, though the heat creeping up my neck betrays me. "Boulder's not the settling down type. And neither am I, not with everything..."
"None of us are the settling down type," she says with a wink. "That's what makes it interesting when we do."
Before I can respond, the door opens again, and a woman I've seen around but haven't formally met enters.
She's tall and slender, with dark hair streaked with purple, an intricate sleeve of tattoos running down one arm.
Her eyes lock onto me. "You must be Kelsey," she says, flopping down in an armchair across from us. "I'm Oakleigh. Razor's better half."
"Hi," I say, suddenly feeling self-conscious under her direct gaze.
"Oakleigh's our resident artist," Astra explains. "She did most of the artwork for the club—logo redesign, custom paint jobs, the mural in the bar."
Oakleigh waves this off. "I doodle. It's nothing fancy." Her eyes narrow as she studies me. "Razor says Boulder's been watching you like a hawk. Poor guy looks torn between wanting to lock you in his room for safety and letting you breathe."
I feel my cheeks flush. "He's... protective."
"That's putting it mildly." She grins. "Never thought I'd see Boulder the commitment-phobe playing house. You must have some kind of magic."
"It's not like that," I say, the words sounding weak even to my own ears. "It's a practical arrangement. Temporary."
Oakleigh exchanges a glance with Astra that speaks volumes. "Sure it is, honey."
The sound of approaching footsteps saves me from saying anything else as Boulder appears in the doorway.
His hair is still damp from a shower, and he's dressed in worn jeans and a black t-shirt, his cut slung over his shoulder.
My heart does an embarrassing little flip at the sight of him.
"Morning, ladies," he says, eyes settling on me with an intensity that makes my skin warm. "Kelsey, you need to get ready. We're heading to the café in thirty."
I'm surprised. "I'm going back to work? Already?"
He nods. "Amara thinks it's best to maintain normal routines. Especially after I let your brothers know you have the club's protection."
I freeze, coffee mug halfway to my lips. "You did what ?"
"I was going to tell you. Brick and I paid them a visit the other day. Made it clear you're under club protection now."
"You went to see Benji?" Panic rises in my throat. "Are you insane? He's dangerous, Boulder. He's not going to back down just because you tell him to."
"That's why we're increasing security at the café," he says calmly. "Brick will shadow your shift today."
I set down my coffee, hands trembling slightly.
The thought of Benji's face when Boulder confronted him sends ice through my veins. "What did he say?"
Boulder hesitates, and I know he's editing his response. "Nothing that matters. Just trying to claim family business."
"You shouldn't have gone," I say, standing up. "This isn't just about me anymore. You've made yourself a target now."
Boulder steps closer, his voice dropping. "I can handle myself, Montana. And your brothers. Now go get ready. We leave in thirty."
I want to argue more, but I know it’s pointless.
With a frustrated sigh, I brush past him and head toward his—our—room to change.
***
The café feels different with Brick lurking near the door, his presence both reassuring and unsettling.
Customers give him some space, some eyeing his cut nervously as they order their coffee.
Astra acts like nothing has changed, chatting with regulars and ordering me around the café as usual.
It's almost normal, except for the fact we’re being watched—by Brick, by Boulder who stops in twice during my shift, by Benji who could be anywhere.
I'm wiping down tables during a slow patch when I overhear a customer mention something that makes my blood freeze.
"Yeah, these two guys were showing her picture around at the bar last night. Asking if anyone had seen her."
I keep my head down, straining to hear more while pretending to be absorbed in what I’m doing.
"What kind of guys?" his companion asks.
The guy is obviously American, but it seems like he’s been around Chihuahua for a while by the way he’s speaking. "Business types, but shady, you know? The kind that make you want to walk on the other side of the street. That’s saying a lot being here."
My hands begin to shake, and I knock over a saltshaker, drawing their attention.
They immediately fall silent, and I mumble an apology before retreating to the back room.
Once alone, I press my back against the wall, trying to steady my breathing.
They're looking for me, showing my picture around town.
How did they get a photo of me as Kelsey?
The only explanation is that they've been watching me longer than I realized.
The room starts to spin as panic claws its way up my throat.
I slide down the wall until I'm sitting on the floor, knees pulled to my chest, struggling to draw air into my lungs.
I don't hear the back door open, don't realize I'm no longer alone until strong hands grip my shoulders.
"Kelsey." Boulder's voice cuts through the fog of panic. "Breathe. Look at me."
I force my eyes open to find him crouched in front of me, concern etched into his features.
His green eyes bore into mine. "In through your nose," he instructs, one hand moving to cup my cheek. "Out through your mouth. With me."
I follow his lead, matching my breathing to his pattern.
Gradually, the tightness in my chest eases, the room stops spinning, and awareness returns.
"How did you know?" I whisper once I can speak again.
He strokes his thumb across my cheekbone. "I just knew something was wrong. Call it instinct."
I become aware that we're not alone.
Astra stands in the doorway, and behind her, Oakleigh, who must have come in with Boulder.
Both women watch us with expressions I can't quite read.
"I'll handle the front," Astra says quietly. "Take your time."
She pulls Oakleigh away, closing the door to give us privacy.
Boulder doesn't move, his hand still cradling my face, his eyes searching mine.
"What happened?" he asks.
"They're looking for me," I whisper. "Showing my picture around town. They've been watching me, Boulder. Maybe for weeks. For longer than I realized."
His jaw tightens, but his touch remains gentle. "They won't get near you. I promise."
"You can't promise that," I say, shaking my head. "You don't know Benji like I do. He won't stop until he gets what he wants."
"And I won't stop protecting what's mine," Boulder counters, the intensity in his voice making my heart skip. "You're not alone anymore, Kelsey. I don’t know what I need to say to drill that into your stubborn head, but you’re not alone."
Something in the way he says it—like it's a fundamental truth rather than a temporary arrangement—makes my throat tighten.
"I don't want anyone else getting hurt because of me," I admit. "Especially not you."
Boulder's expression softens. "That's not your call to make, Montana."
Before I can respond, he leans forward and presses his lips to mine.
The kiss starts gentle, a comfort rather than a demand, but it quickly transforms into something else entirely.
My hands find their way into his hair, pulling him closer as his tongue traces the seam of my lips, seeking entrance.
I open to him willingly, a small moan escaping when his tongue slides against mine.
He tastes like coffee and mint, and something uniquely Boulder that I'm becoming dangerously addicted to.
His hands move to my waist, lifting me effortlessly and pressing me against the wall.
My legs wrap around him instinctively, and I feel his hardness press against my lower stomach, sending a jolt of electricity through my body.
"Boulder," I gasp as his lips trail down my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive spot below my ear. "God, yes."
His hands slide under my shirt, palms hot against my skin as they move upward to cup my breasts through my bra.
I arch into his touch, desperate for more contact, more friction, more everything.
I rock against him, seeking relief for the ache building between my thighs.
He groans against my neck, his hips pushing forward in response, and for a moment, I think we might actually have sex right here in the café storage room.
Then suddenly, Boulder stills, his breathing ragged against my skin.
"Wait," he murmurs, pulling back slightly. "We need to stop."
The abrupt halt leaves me disoriented, my body still humming with need. "What? Why?"
Boulder carefully disentangles himself, setting me back on my feet but keeping his hands on my waist to steady me.
His pupils are blown wide, his chest rising and falling rapidly, but there's conflict in his expression.
"Not here," he says, running a hand through his hair. "Not like this."
I try to ignore the sting of rejection, smoothing down my rumpled up clothes. "Is something wrong?"
He shakes his head, stepping back another pace. "My head's just... confused right now. This whole situation."
"What situation?" I ask carefully. "Us, my brothers, or the club?"
"All of it," he admits, not quite meeting my eyes. "I need to think clearly, and I can't do that when I'm touching you."
A cold weight settles in my stomach.
Is he regretting claiming me?
Finding the responsibility too much?
"I understand," I say, though I don't. Not really. "It's a lot. This wasn't what you signed up for."
Boulder looks like he wants to say more, but the door opens slightly, Astra's voice drifting in. "Everything okay in there?"
"Fine," I call back, trying to keep my voice steady. "I'll be right out."
When I look back at Boulder, his expression has shifted, closed off in a way I haven't seen since before he claimed me. "Brick will take you back to the clubhouse after your shift. I've got club business I need to focus on."
I nod, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my chest. "Be safe."
Boulder hesitates, then gives a curt nod before slipping out the back door.
I take a moment to compose myself, splashing water on my face and fixing my hair before returning to the front of the café.
Astra and Oakleigh exchange a glance when I emerge, clearly noting Boulder's absence.
"You okay?" Astra asks as I tie my apron back on.
"Fine," I lie, grabbing the coffee pot to refill customers' cups. "Just a little panic attack. I get them sometimes."
"And Boulder?" Oakleigh prompts.
"Had club business," I say, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.
Oakleigh studies me for a moment, then nods decisively. "You're coming to my studio after work. No arguments. I think you’re in dire need of some girl time."
I keep myself busy for the rest of the shift, forcing myself to stay distracted so I’m not focusing on everything else going on around me.
I’m glad I stay busy too, because it’s slowly eating me alive.
Brick takes me back to the clubhouse and Oakleigh's studio turns out to be upstairs.
It’s in another section of the upper level, at the end of the hallway I’ve never ventured down.
Boulder told me it was the VP’s quarters, but I never put two and two together.
Their place is spacious and flooded with natural light, the walls covered in canvases in various stages of completion. It looks more like a studio than a makeshift apartment.
The smell of paint and turpentine fills the air, strangely comforting.
"Make yourself at home," she says, gesturing to a worn couch in the corner. "Beer's in the mini-fridge if you want one."
I sink onto the couch, watching as she pulls a canvas onto an easel and selects a brush. "So what am I doing here, exactly?"
"Escaping," she says simply, mixing colors on her palette. "Figured you could use a break from all the testosterone and drama."
I laugh hard. "That obvious, huh?"
Oakleigh shrugs, beginning to work on the canvas with confident strokes. "I saw your face when Boulder left. And I know that look. Been there myself."
"With Razor?" I ask, genuinely curious.
"Oh yeah. That man drove me crazy when we first met. I was not looking to be anyone's old lady." She grins over her shoulder. "Life had other plans."
"Did he claim you? Like Boulder did with me?"
She nods, focused on her painting. "Yep. After the two of us went through literal hell. I was addicted to cocaine. Razor lost his mind trying to get me clean, claimed me and said he was gonna keep me safe, and he did. There were many times I didn’t think we were going to make it. Sometimes I even hated him."
My heart skips a beat at the similarities. "And now?"
"Now I can't imagine my life without him. Took us a while to figure it out, though. These club men aren't the easiest to deal with. But my father’s the regent at the Satan’s Raiders MC, in Los Angeles, so I guess you can say I knew what I was getting into."
"Regent?”
Oakleigh nods, "Yeah, kinda like some medieval sort of shit. Like when someone important from France would go to England to make sure their affairs and alliance was in order. The club does that, so my dad’s in Los Angeles."
I furrow my brows, "So, they sent one from the Satan’s Raiders, right?”
"Yep, that’s Inc, back in Montana."
Ah, I’m connecting the dots super fast now.
"So, I gotta know. What's the deal with you two?" she asks. "The real deal, not the 'it's just for protection' line I heard this morning."
I hesitate, unsure how much to reveal. But there's something about Oakleigh that tells me I can trust her.
"I don't know," I admit. "We had this casual thing before he found out who I really was. Then everything changed when he claimed me."
"Changed how?"
"He's more protective. Possessive, even. But then he pulls back, like he's remembering it's supposed to be temporary." I pick at a loose thread on my jeans. "Like today in the storage room."
Oakleigh turns, her eyebrow raised. "What happened in the storage room?"
My cheeks heat at the memory. "We were... you know. It was getting intense. Then he just stopped. Said his head was confused, that he needed to think."
She nods like she knows what I’m talking about. "Sounds like Boulder is realizing that what started as a convenient excuse to protect you has turned into something real. And for a guy who's never wanted to be tied down, that's terrifying."
"You think so?" I ask, hating the hopeful note in my voice.
"Trust me. I know these men. They'll face down rival clubs without blinking, but actual feelings? That's when they run like a scared chihuahua in a thunderstorm." She gestures to a sketchbook on the table beside me. "Grab that and a pencil. Drawing helps clear the mind."
I pick up the sketchbook hesitantly. "I haven't drawn in years."
"All the more reason to start again," she says. "Art is therapy. And honey, you look like you could use some."
To my surprise, I find myself opening the sketchbook, the pencil familiar in my hand.
I start with tentative lines, no real plan in mind, just letting my hand move across the paper.
"So how did you and Razor work it out?" I ask as shapes begin to form under my pencil.
Oakleigh laughs. "Time and patience. And a little manipulation." She winks. "Made him think a lot of things were his idea. By the time he realized what was happening, it was too late—he was already in love."
"Sounds hysterical, and complicated."
"Life with these men is never simple," she agrees. "But worth it, if you find the right one."
I look down at my sketch, surprised to find Boulder's face taking shape on the page—the strong line of his jaw, the intense eyes that see too much.
"I never planned on staying in one place this long," I admit quietly. "Not until my brothers were dealt with."
Oakleigh's brush pauses. "And now?"
"Now I'm not sure what I want," I confess. "Which is scary. Wanting things makes you vulnerable."
"It also makes you human," she counters. "There's more to life than running, Kelsey."
I continue sketching, adding details to Boulder's face—the slight scar above his eyebrow, the crease that forms between his brows when he's thinking, the full lips that so recently were pressed against mine.
"He went to see my brothers," I say after a while. "Confronted them directly."
Oakleigh whistles low. "Ballsy move, especially since Amara didn’t want him doing it in the first place. They were supposed to be running surveillance, not getting up in their faces."
"He was an idiot," I mutter. "I… I like Boulder, but he doesn't know what they're capable of."
"Or maybe he does, and he's showing them he's not afraid," she suggests. "Taking the fight to them instead of waiting."
I haven't thought of it that way.
In my experience, confronting Benji head-on never ends well.
But Boulder isn't me.
He has the club behind him, a strength I never had when facing my family alone.
"He stopped the club from associating me with the Andrés situation," I say, remembering Amara's careful wording yesterday. "Made it clear these are separate issues."
Oakleigh nods. "Smart. Keeps club business separate from personal." She studies me for a moment. "You know, you could be good for him."
"How do you figure that?"
"Boulder's always been the wild one. Talented, loyal to the club, but...unanchored. Since you showed up, he's more focused. More deliberate." She smiles. "Maybe you're his weight."
"His what?"
"His weight," she repeats. "The thing that grounds him. Keeps him from floating away or burning out."
I look down at my drawing, at the face that's become so important to me in such a short time.
Could she be right?
Could I be something meaningful to Boulder rather than just another complication in his life?
As I add the final touches to my sketch, I realize I've created something more than just a likeness.
I've captured something in his eyes—a vulnerability I've only glimpsed in unguarded moments, a depth that goes beyond the cocky prospect image he projects.
For the first time in years, I feel a spark of creativity. And something else, something more dangerous—hope.
"Thank you," I say to Oakleigh, closing the sketchbook. "For this. For the talk."
She smiles, wiping a smudge of paint from her cheek. "Anytime, sister. We ol’ ladies have to stick together."
I don't correct her this time, don't insist that I'm not really Boulder's old lady.
Maybe because I'm starting to wonder if that's what I want to be.
The fake claiming was supposed to be my shelter in the storm, an arrangement to keep me safe.
I never expected it to feel like something I might want to hold onto, even after the danger passes.
I never expected it to feel like I’m right where I’m supposed to be.