Chapter Twenty-One
Breaker
I stay glued to Sparrow the entire ride back — her car in my mirror, my motorcycle in front, every sense sharp like one of Rabid knives.
She drives steady, but I can feel her fear even from here.
It hits the air like static, rings in my ears even above the roar of the bike between my legs and the wind of the road rushing against my ears.
I don’t let her out of my sight.
Not for a second.
When we pull into the clubhouse lot, the guys milling around outside straighten instantly, and a commotion goes up, drawing others out of The Noble Fir. They look at Sparrow, then at me, and they know. Something’s wrong. Something’s threatening her. And now it’s club business.
I get off my bike and immediately walk to her car. She opens the door slowly, eyes still wide, shoulders tight, fragile. Hell, she looks like she’s made of whisper-thin glass.
“Come here, Sparrow,” I murmur. “I’ve got you.”
She steps into my space, into my hands, and I guide her inside the clubhouse. One palm on her back, the other hovering near her side, ready to catch her if she falls.
Inside the clubhouse, everything gets quiet fast.
Molly’s the first to move.
“Honey, come and sit.” She slides an arm around Riley and leads her to a booth.
Claire follows, steady as steel. Her presence alone settles half the room. Bianca’s right behind her with a blanket already in her hands. I hover for a second, watching Sparrow sink onto the cushions. Her breathing’s slowing, but she still looks shaken to hell.
Molly presses a warm drink into her hands. I smell whiskey, lemon, cinnamon, and Riley takes a slow sip of the Hot Toddy.
Claire crouches in front of her. “You’re safe here, Riley. Nobody gets to you while you’re in this house.”
Bianca settles beside her, draping the blanket over her shoulders.
“We take care of our own,” she says softly. “And you’re ours now.”
Riley’s lower lip trembles just slightly. She whispers, “Thank you.”
My chest twists with protective need. I want to take all her fear and wring its fucking neck. I want to find Randall Pike and beat him until he repents for every crime he’s ever fucking thought about, and then, only then, put him in the ground.
But I need to take care of business first.
I catch Rabid's eye from across the room. He gives a sharp nod, and Goldie rises too, expression carved from stone. I follow them to Rabid's office. My pulse is still banging from the adrenaline, visions of blood, vengeance, and murder dancing through my head.
Rabid closes the door behind us. “Talk.”
“Someone’s hunting in our territory,” I say. My voice comes out low, lethal. “A man named Randall Pike. That’s the alias. Real name might be something else. But he’s dangerous. A predator. A killer with some sick proclivities. He’s after Riley.”
Goldie stiffens, his surfer-Zen features taking on a murderous vibe. Rabid's eyes darken.
“What kind of dangerous?” Rabid asks.
“The worst kind,” I answer. “Sick. A monster. He preys on women, mutilates and kills them.”
Silence hits the room like a weight. Goldie’s jaw works and his hair shifts as he shakes his head. “Not cool. We gotta clean this city of this monster. Simple as that.”
Rabid nods. “We’ll put eyes on the street. Get the word out. We’ll sweep this town. No fucking way will we allow this on our territory. I’ll have Chase dig into this Pike, see what else we can turn up.”
I nod once. “Good.”
I leave the office thinking only one thing: He’s not getting anywhere near Riley.
Not while I’m breathing. When I get into the bar again, Riley is wrapped in Bianca’s blanket, sipping something warm.
She looks overwhelmed, but calmer than before — thanks to the women around her.
She fits there, right in the middle of them, as if she’s been part of this family forever.
My eyes linger on her, warmth grows in my chest, and I can’t help but smile. It hits me deep, stirs my heart.
She belongs here. With us.
With me.
Sparrow looks up when she feels me near. Her shoulders relax the second our eyes meet. It does something to me — something dangerous, something I can’t ignore and something I can’t fight. I go to her, sit beside her, close but gentle, and brush a stray strand of hair from her cheek.
“You doing okay, Sparrow?”
She nods slightly. “Getting there.”
The fear still lingers in her eyes, the tremble still shakes her fingers. She needs a distraction, something that’s hers. Something good to fill the space in her chest where terror’s been gnawing her fragile heart.
I take her hand in mine.
“How about we get out of here tonight?” I say softly. “Just you and me. Dinner. Something to take your mind off everything.”
She blinks at me, stunned.
“Dinner?” she asks quietly. “Like a date?”
I grin, slow and warm. “Not just like a date. It is a date.”
Her smile widens, and before I can brace for it, she leans in and kisses me — soft, warm, grateful. I feel it everywhere.
“Well then,” she whispers against my lips. “I accept. It’s a date.”