Chapter Fifteen
Riley
The night’s muggy, with a light drizzle, the kind that makes Ironwood Falls smell like pine and asphalt. Molly’s in full force — red curls bouncing, sunglasses crooked, moving from shop window to shop window like she’s running a mission.
Claire meets us outside the home-goods store downtown. She's tall, perfectly put together, with the kind of calm authority that makes men twice her size listen when she talks. The rest of the world might see Rabid's ol’ lady, but what I see is command in heels.
“Nice to finally meet you, Riley,” she says, shaking my hand firmly. “Molly’s told me you work hard even when life’s hard. We respect that around here.”
I smile, a little shy, a little proud. “I’m just trying my best.”
“Good. Try, then try harder, and you’ll fit right in.
” It sounds stern, but there’s warmth underneath.
Then she smiles. “None of us are quitters here, and if we see you’re trying, we’ll be behind you all the damn way.
But let’s focus on getting you some things to make the clubhouse your home for the time being, first.”
She joins in as we wander through aisles of throw blankets and cheap picture frames. Claire picks out a candle that smells like cedar and rain. Molly finds a rug that’s too bright and insists it’s happy energy. It all goes into my quickly filling cart. They won’t let me pay for any of it.
“Consider it a starter kit,” Molly says. “Every girl deserves a space that feels like hers.”
Something inside me unclenches. Maybe it’s the laughter, maybe the easy way these women move through the world, sure of their place in it, and do so without looking over their shoulders for whatever’s lurking in the shadows.
They’re calm, collected, confident… and they think of me as one of them.
That thought zips through my head in such a foreign way that I have to hold on to it and turn it over in my mind again and again. I’m not used to being included.
By the time we load the bags into Claire’s Jeep, I actually feel lighter.
We stop for drinks before heading back at a little hole-in-the-wall place whose only marker is a small, neon martini glass sign above an elegant wooden door.
The bar is small and quiet, with string lights and the smell of lemon, champagne, and something brightly herbal.
Claire orders whiskey neat, Molly a Manhattan, and I order a French 75.
Halfway through, Claire sets her glass down and fixes me with that cool, level gaze.
“I know the name you gave Molly isn’t the one on your birth certificate,” she says.
My stomach drops. “I can explain…”
She holds up a hand. “Don’t panic. I run checks on everyone who works for the club. You’re not the first person who’s needed to disappear for a while.”
I stare into my drink. “You’re not going to fire me?”
Molly snorts. “Girl, please. You think we'd go through all this just to fire you?”
“Fire you? Riley, if you’re running, you’re smart enough to stay alive. That’s a skill we value around here.” She leans forward, voice softer. “If you ever need help — real help — or a more solid fake identity, you come to me. No questions asked. Understood?”
Emotion catches in my throat. I manage a nod. “Thank you.”
She smiles. “Good. Now finish that drink. We’ve got a family to get you back to.”
The clubhouse is loud when we return. Music, laughter, the smell of grilled meat. Home, in its own chaotic way.
Then I see him.
Even before I see him, I know where he'll be. I'm drawn to him like gravity. Breaker sits at the bar, bruised eye, cut lip, sour look on his face. He looks like trouble incarnate, and like he’s proud of it. There’s grease on his knuckles and a light in his eyes I haven’t seen before. Something victorious. Something alive.
Without thinking, I walk straight to him.
He turns as I approach. “Hey, Spa —”
I don't let him finish. I kiss him.
The whole place goes wild — hooting, whistling, clapping on the bar. Breaker stiffens for half a second, then melts into it, hands finding my waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
He holds me, and I melt into him. Sensations that I’ve fought off for so long surge inside me — heat, safety, acceptance; This place is my home. These people are my family. And this man wants me as much as I want him.
When I pull back, he’s grinning.
“What was that for?” He says.
“A preview.”
His brow arches, amused and wicked. “A preview of what?”
I raise an eyebrow at him. Can he be serious? Can he really not know how I feel? That I finally have a place that has taken me in, made me feel like I’m a person, and the one responsible for so much of it is this ruggedly handsome man in front of me.
No, he can’t be that dumb.
Still, I’m not taking the chance.
I grab his hand, heart pounding, a grin tugging at my lips. “Shut up and follow me.”
His grin turns wolfish. He stands without a word, fingers lacing through mine.
And lets me lead him away.