Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Kelsey
"The café isn't safe anymore," Amara says, her voice firm as she leans against the heavy wooden table in her office. "Not until we deal with both Andrés and your brothers."
I sit quietly, trying not to fidget from my nervousness.
Boulder stands behind me, his presence solid, and him being here for me is reassuring.
After hearing about Craig's visit, Amara called this emergency meeting, and to my surprise, asked me to join.
"I get what you're saying," I say carefully, "but my brothers and Andrés are separate issues. Benji is only after me. He doesn't give a shit about your club."
Zorro, the Sergeant at Arms with eyes that miss nothing, shakes his head. "Maybe not originally. But Boulder's intel says he's been asking questions about our territory, our operations."
"That's just Benji being Benji," I explain. "He analyzes everything—identifies strengths, weaknesses, pressure points. It's how our father trained him."
The word 'father' tastes bitter on my tongue.
Knowing he's dying should bring relief, but instead, it's stirred up all the shit I've tried to bury.
"Tell us more about Benji," Amara prompts. "What exactly are we dealing with?"
I take a deep breath, feeling Boulder's hand come to rest on my shoulder.
It might sound silly, but it’s like his touch gives me strength.
"Benji was my father's favorite. His protégé." My voice stays steady even as memories flood back. "While most kids were learning to ride bikes, Benji was learning to spot police surveillance, to create alibis, to find weaknesses in people." I pause. "He doesn't act from anger or impulse. Everything's calculated. He's patient, methodical."
"And Craig?" Python asks. "Boulder says he came to warn you."
"Craig follows Benji's lead, always has. He's the muscle—stronger physically, but he lacks Benji's... creativity ." I choose the word carefully, unwilling to detail the twisted "creativity" my oldest brother inherited from our father. "If he's breaking ranks to warn me, it means something. It means he doesn’t want to keep doing what he has been for years, he’s grown a heart or something.."
"Could be a trap," Zorro suggests. "Lure us into complacency."
"Potentially," I admit. "But unlikely. Craig's never been good at lying. He's direct, blunt. What you see is what you get with him."
Amara studies me with sharp eyes. "And what would you suggest we do, given what you know about them?"
The question catches me off guard.
I've spent so long running from my brothers, I've never considered facing them.
"I..." I hesitate, then square my shoulders. "We need to separate them. Together, they're dangerous. Divided, they're vulnerable. And if Craig is already wavering, we can use that to our advantage."
Boulder's grip on my shoulder tightens slightly, a silent gesture of support.
"How would you suggest we do that?" Amara asks, genuinely interested in my answer.
"Use me," I say simply. "I'm what Benji wants. Let him think he can get to me, but on our terms, in a location we control."
"Absolutely fuckin’ not," Boulder interjects, his voice hard. "We're not using her as bait."
I twist in my chair to look up at him. "It makes the most sense. I know Benji better than anyone. I know how to play this."
His green eyes flash with fury."It's too fuckin; dangerous, Montana. It’s not happening."
"I'm not suggesting we do it tomorrow," I explain, fighting to keep my frustration from my voice. "But eventually, that's what it will take to end this. Otherwise, I'll be looking over my shoulder forever."
Amara watches our exchange closely. "We'll table that idea for now. First, we gather more intel, strengthen our defenses." She turns to the others. "Zorro reach out to my uncle and see if he’s heard any chatter about either Andrés or the Warlows. Razor, I want surveillance on both threats. Python, can you contact the policia who work for my uncle, see what they know?"
The meeting continues as they discuss how they’re going to get all the information, but I zone out for a while.
I still can’t believe any of this is happening.
When the meeting finally ends, Boulder guides me out with a hand at the small of my back.
The touch is possessive in a way that once would have made me jump. Now, it grounds me.
We walk toward the main room. "You good?"
"Fine. Just processing." I glance up at him. "Thanks for not shutting me out of that meeting."
He looks surprised. "Why would I? You know your brothers better than anyone. Your insight is valuable."
"Most men would try to 'protect' me by keeping me in the dark," I point out.
A wry smile crosses his face. "In case you haven't noticed, sweetheart, I'm not most men."
"No," I agree softly. "You're definitely not."
The main room is busier than usual, but I have a feeling that has something to do with the craziness that’s going on because of me.
Oakleigh catches my eye from where she's sitting with Astra, gesturing for me to join them.
"Go ahead," Boulder says, noticing the exchange. "I need to check in with Brick about our shift rotation."
I make my way over to the women.
Even with everything going on, there's something comforting about being welcomed into their circle.
For someone who's spent years avoiding personal connections, it's strange how quickly I've begun to crave them as dear friends.
Oakleigh slides a beer toward me. "So, how was your first official club meeting?"
"Intense," I admit, taking a grateful sip. "But they actually listened to me."
Astra snorts. "Of course they did. You've got the intel they need. Plus, Boulder's got them all convinced you're the second coming or some shit."
"What do you mean?" I ask, confused.
"Haven't you noticed?" Oakleigh says, exchanging a look with Astra. "Since you showed up, he's more focused, more driven. The guys are starting to see him differently."
"And you're not just a prospect's piece of ass," Astra adds bluntly. "You've got your own value to the club. That shit matters."
I feel heat creep up my neck at their frank assessment. "I'm not trying to?—"
"No one's saying you are," Oakleigh interrupts. "Just stating facts. The club respects useful people. You're proving to be useful."
"Plus," Astra adds with a smirk, "you've got Boulder wrapped around your finger, whether you realize it or not."
I shake my head. "It's not like that. This is just temporary protection, not?—"
Both women burst out laughing, the sound drawing glances from nearby members.
"Oh, honey," Oakleigh says, wiping an imaginary tear from her eye. "You really believe that shit?"
"It's true," I insist, though my voice cracks. "Boulder was clear from the beginning. He's not the settling down type."
Astra leans forward, her expression suddenly serious. "Let me tell you something about these club men. They all say that. 'Not the settling down type.' 'Never want an ol’ lady.' It's like their fucking mantra. Until they meet the woman who changes everything."
I take another sip of beer, uncomfortable with where the conversation is going. "You're reading too much into it."
"Am I?" Astra challenges. "Then why does he look at you like you hung the fucking moon? Why does he touch you every chance he gets? Why does he get that murderous look whenever your brothers are mentioned?"
"That's just... possession," I argue weakly. "Territorial instinct."
Oakleigh rolls her eyes. "Call it whatever you want. But don't lie to yourself about what's happening between you two."
Before I can respond, Boulder appears beside our table. "Sorry to interrupt, ladies, but I need to borrow Kelsey for a minute."
Something in his expression sends a shiver down my spine—not fear, but excitement.
I rise from my seat, ignoring the knowing looks Astra and Oakleigh are giving me.
Boulder leads me upstairs, down the hallway toward our room, his hand once again at the small of my back.
The silence between us is charged yet again, and who am I kidding? There is something intense between us.
Once inside, he closes the door and turns to face me.
For a moment, he just looks at me, and I mean looks at me.
"What?" I finally ask.
"Did you mean what you said in there? About being used as bait?"
I lift my chin defiantly. "Yeah. Eventually, that's what it will take to end this."
His jaw tightens. "Do you have any idea what Benji would do if he got his hands on you?"
"Better than anyone," I say quietly. "I'm not suggesting we be reckless, Boulder. Just realistic."
He steps closer, crowding my space in a way that doesn't feel threatening, just overwhelming. "You trust us—the club—that much? To keep you safe in that kind of situation?"
The question catches me off guard.
Do I trust them?
A couple of weeks ago, the answer would have been a resounding no.
But now...
"I trust you ," I admit, the words feeling significant as they leave my lips. "And by extension, the club."
Something shifts in his expression, a softening around the eyes, a slight parting of his lips.
Without warning, he cups my face in his hands and kisses me.
Unlike our previous kisses—desperate, frantic things born of fear or lust—this is different.
Slower, deeper, with an intentionality that makes my knees weak.
His thumbs stroke my cheekbones as his lips move against mine, not demanding but asking something I'm not sure I understand.
When he finally pulls back, we're both breathing harder.
He rests his forehead against mine, eyes closed.
"What was that for?" I whisper.
"Because I fuckin’ wanted to," he says simply. "Because you're the most infuriating, brave, stubborn woman I've ever met."
I laugh softly. "That doesn't sound like a compliment."
"It is." His eyes open, meeting mine. "You drive me crazy, you know that?"
"The feeling's mutual," I assure him.
His hands slide from my face, down my arms, to grip my waist. "We're not using you as bait. Not now, not ever. We'll find another way."
I want to argue, to remind him that it's not his decision to make, that it's my life, my brothers, my risk to take.
But the intensity in his eyes stops me.
This isn't just about protection or possession.
It's something more, something I'm not ready to name.
"Okay," I say instead, a temporary agreement. "For now."
He studies me, clearly not fooled by my easy agreement, but lets it slide. "I need to go over a few things with some of the other prospects. We're doubling patrols around the compound with all the shit that’s been going on."
I nod, stepping back to create some space between us. "Go. Do what you need to do."
He hesitates, then kisses my forehead—a gesture so tender it makes my chest ache—before moving toward the door. "Stay inside the compound today. Please."
It's the 'please' that gets me. Not an order, but a request. "I will."
Once he's gone, I sink onto the edge of the bed, my fingers touching my lips where I can still feel the pressure of his kiss.
What is happening between us?
It was supposed to be simple—temporary protection, a charade for both our benefits.
When did it start feeling so real?
I shake off the confusing thoughts and decide to find something productive to do.
Not doing anything only gives my fears room to grow.
In the main area, I notice Brick sitting alone at a table, cleaning a gun.
I hesitate, then approach him.
Though we've never spoken much, he's been assigned as my secondary protection detail when Boulder can't be with me.
"Mind if I join you?" I ask.
He looks up, surprise flickering in his eyes before he nods. "Free country, I guess."
I sit across from him, watching as he disassembles, cleans, and reassembles the weapon.
There's something hypnotic about the routine.
"Boulder says you're good," Brick comments after a minute of silence. "That you know your shit when it comes to security and evasion."
I'm surprised by the compliment. "I've had practice."
"Running from your brothers," he states rather than asks.
"Yeah."
Brick nods, focusing on what he’s doing. "Family's complicated."
"That's putting it mildly," I say with a humorless laugh. "What about yours?"
He shrugs, a gesture that seems designed to appear casual but doesn't quite succeed. "Don't have much. Mom died when I was young. Dad's in prison."
I look at him with new interest. "Mine too. Well, until he dies, apparently."
Brick's eyes meet mine, a flash of understanding passing between us. "Shitty dad club, then."
"Founding members," I agree, and we share a small smile at the dark joke.
"Boulder's a good man," Brick says suddenly, his attention returning to his gun. "It’s been an honor to be a prospect by his side."
I'm not sure how to respond to what he’s saying.
Is he kissing ass, or being genuine? Who knows. "Yeah, he is a good man."
"He's different since you showed up," Brick continues, his voice casual but his words deliberate. "More focused. Less reckless."
"So I've heard," I murmur, remembering Oakleigh and Astra's said something similar.
"It's a good thing," Brick says, snapping the final piece of his gun back into place. "Makes him better at his job. Makes him better, period."
I study Brick curiously. "Why are you telling me this?"
He meets my gaze directly. "Because you should know the effect you have on him. And because if you're playing some game with him, you should stop. Now."
My back stiffens at what he’s implying. "I'm not playing games."
"Good," Brick says simply. "Because that man, he’d burn down the world for you. I've seen how he looks at you, Kelsey. And that kind of loyalty deserves the same in return."
Before I can respond, Boulder appears across the room.
His eyes narrow slightly when he spots me with Brick, but he makes his way over quickly.
"Everything okay here?" he asks, his tone casual but his eyes watchful.
"Just getting to know your ol’ lady," Brick says, standing and holstering his cleaned weapon. "She's got good instincts."
Boulder looks between us, clearly trying to figure out what he's missed. "Yeah, she does."
"I'll take first patrol," Brick offers, clapping Boulder on the shoulder as he passes. "You brief her on the changes going on around here."
As Brick walks away, Boulder takes his empty seat. "What was that about?"
I shrug, not ready to share what Brick said. "Just talking. He mentioned his dad's in prison too."
Boulder's expression darkens slightly. "Yeah, armed robbery. Fifteen years."
"It sucks, being the children of men who could care less, who choose to make horrible choices," I say automatically.
"They make their choices. And we shouldn’t be focusing on them," Boulder changes the subject. "Amara's putting together a strategy for dealing with both threats. She wants us both in church tomorrow morning."
The fact that she wants me there again surprises me. "Both of us?"
"Your insight on Benji is valuable," he explains. "And I think she recognizes that keeping you in the loop is better than us not knowing shit."
I can't help but smile at that. "Smart woman."
"She is," Boulder agrees. "That's why she's the Prez."
We sit in silence for a moment, the bustling activity of the clubhouse flowing around us.
It's strange how quickly this chaos has become normal to me.
How quickly these people, this place, has started to feel like?—
No.
I stop the thought before it can fully form.
This isn't home.
It can't be.
Homes are permanent, and nothing in my life has ever been permanent.
"What's going on in that head of yours?" Boulder asks, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.
"Just thinking about how quickly things change," I admit. "A couple of weeks ago, I was alone in my apartment, jumping at shadows. Now I'm sitting in a clubhouse full of bikers, planning with you all against my psychotic brother."
"Any regrets?" he asks, watching me carefully.
I consider the question, searching for the honest answer. "No. Not about being here." I hesitate, then add, "But I do worry about dragging all of you into my mess."
"You didn't drag us anywhere," Boulder says firmly. "I made a choice when I claimed you. The club made a choice when they backed me up. That's on us, not you."
His words ease something tight in my chest, a knot of guilt I've been carrying since the night he brought me to the clubhouse.
"Besides," he adds with a smirk, "you're hardly the messiest thing the club's dealt with."
"Is that supposed to be reassuring?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.
"Just keepin’ it real," he says, his choice of words make me laugh.
Boulder watches me laugh with an expression I can't quite figure out.
His eyes linger on my face like he's memorizing it, or maybe seeing something I'm not aware of.
"What?" I ask self-consciously.
"Nothing," he says, then reconsiders. "Just thinking, I like the sound of your laugh. Don't hear it often enough."
His words catch me off guard, warming something within me. "Not much to laugh about lately."
"We'll have to change that," he says, and there's a promise in his voice that makes me believe him.