Christmas with the Biker (Christmas in Hope Peak #4)

Chapter 1 - Hawk

I hit the throttle hard as the "Welcome to Hope Peak" sign comes into view, my Harley's engine growling beneath me like it shares my rage. Two years away from this place, and it takes just one phone call to drag me back. One terrified phone call from the only woman who's ever mattered.

*"Tyler, please. I don't know what to do anymore. He's going to kill me."*

That's family. The only real family I've had since I left the military.

I ease off the throttle as I hit the town limits.

Hope Peak hasn't changed. Same rundown gas station on the corner, same diner where high school kids still hang out on Friday nights, same Christmas tree that can be seen from anywhere around town, same small-town vibe that once suffocated me.

Now it just feels like a battlefield I need to navigate.

My leg aches from the long ride, the old injury flaring up like it always does after hours on the bike.

Eight years in the military, one IED, and four surgeries later, I've got a permanent reminder of what happens when missions go wrong.

I flex my knee at a stoplight, trying to work out the stiffness.

The town seems smaller than I remember. Or maybe I'm just bigger now.

Not in size, but in experience. I've seen things most people in Hope Peak couldn't imagine.

Done things I don't talk about. The patch on my cut reading "PROSPECT" is new to me, but I've already earned respect in the Outlaw Order.

I'm just waiting on the formality of full membership.

I turn down Maple Street, where Olivia's little blue house sits three doors from the corner. My heart pounds against my ribs. Two years of forcing myself not to think about her, and now I'm minutes away from seeing her face again.

The house looks quiet as I pull up across the street. No Christmas decorations. No extra cars in the driveway. Good. I don't want to deal with Devin right off the bat. I need to see Olivia first, assess the situation before I put that piece of shit in the ground.

Because that's what's going to happen. I've known it since I heard her voice trembling on the phone. Nobody hurts what's mine and keeps breathing.

Except she's not mine. Never has been. That's the thought that's been tearing me apart for years.

I dismount, ignoring the protest from my bad leg, and cross the street.

The wintery morning sun casts long shadows across the porch as I climb the steps.

I check my cut from habit—knife in the inner pocket, 9mm tucked in my waistband at the small of my back.

Not that I expect trouble right now, but eight years in combat zones teaches you to always be prepared.

I knock three times, soft but firm. Wait. Listen.

Movement inside. Hesitant footsteps.

"Who is it?" Her voice is barely audible through the door.

"It's me, Liv. Tyler."

The door opens just a crack, and then I see her. Just one blue eye visible through the narrow opening, wide with something between relief and fear.

"You actually came." Her voice cracks.

"I told you years ago. You call, I come. No questions."

The door opens wider, and the sight of her hurts me. Olivia stands before me in a loose sweater, her blonde hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. But it's the fading yellow bruise around her left eye that makes my blood run cold.

"Jesus, Liv." I step forward without thinking, my hand reaching up to gently tilt her face toward the light.

She flinches at first, a reflexive movement that tells me more than words could but then forces herself to be still as my fingers hover near her cheek. Her eyes widen as she takes in my appearance, lingering on my leather cut with the Outlaw Order MC patches.

"Tyler, what is?" Her question trails off, confusion blending with the fear already in her eyes. "It's not as bad as it looks," she adds, deflecting, the lie so practiced it almost sounds believable.

"Don't." The word comes out sharper than I intend. I take a breath, soften my tone. "Don't lie to me. Not now."

She steps back, letting me inside before closing the door quickly behind us. The house is tidy but feels hollow somehow, like it's missing the warmth homes should have. No photos on the walls. No personal touches. Just a shell where someone exists rather than lives.

"He's at work," she says, answering my unspoken question. "Won't be back until six."

I nod, taking in everything about her. She's thinner than I remember, her curves slightly less pronounced, like stress has been eating away at her. But her eyes… Those clear blue eyes that have haunted my dreams for years, they're still Olivia's. Somehow still hopeful despite everything.

"Since when are you in a motorcycle club?" she asks, her eyes still fixed on my cut.

"About a year after I left," I say, not offering more details. "It's complicated."

"I thought you were just... I don't know, working somewhere. Living your life." She shakes her head slightly. "Not this."

"This is my life now," I say simply. "And right now, I'm more concerned about yours. How long has he been hitting you, Liv?"

She looks down, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. "It started about a year ago. Just... grabbing at first. Then pushing. Then..." She gestures vaguely toward her face.

A year. I've been gone two, which means it started after I left. The knowledge doesn't make me feel any better.

"Why didn't you call me sooner?" I move toward her living room, scanning the place. Single point of entry from the front, another through the kitchen. Windows too small for an adult to climb through easily. I'm already formulating defensive positions out of habit.

Olivia follows me, keeping distance between us. "I didn't think it was that bad at first. I thought I could fix it." She gives a small, bitter laugh. "Then I thought I deserved it."

"No." I turn to face her, unable to keep the intensity from my voice. "No one deserves this, Liv. Especially not you."

She hugs herself, looking smaller than ever. "Why did you leave, Tyler? You just... disappeared. One day you were here, and then you were gone."

The question I knew was coming but still don't have a good answer for. At least, not one I'm ready to give her.

"I needed to figure some things out." It's not a lie, just not the whole truth. "I couldn't stay in Hope Peak anymore."

"For two years? Without a word?" There's hurt in her voice, old pain that hasn't healed.

"I left you my number," I counter. "Told you to call if you needed anything."

"I didn't need anything then. I needed my friend." She looks up at me, eyes suddenly fierce despite the fading bruise. "You were my best friend, and you left right after my mom died. When I was trying to figure out how to live without both my parents."

The guilt hits me hard, right in the chest. She's right. I did leave when she was vulnerable. But watching her fall for Devin, seeing the way she looked at him… It was killing me slowly.

"I'm here now," I say finally. "And I'm not going anywhere until you're safe."

She stares at me for a long moment, and I wonder what she sees. Do I look different to her? The military and the club have changed me. I'm harder now, more guarded. The way I hold myself, always alert, always ready, it's second nature after years of combat.

"So... Outlaw Order? Sounds dangerous." Her eyes drift to the knife hilt barely visible inside my cut.

"They're my family now," I say, not directly answering her implied question. "Good men."

"And what does a motorcycle club do exactly?" There's a new wariness in her voice.

"We look after each other. And the things we care about."

Her eyes narrow slightly. "That's not really an answer."

"It's all I've got right now." I step closer. "Look, I didn't come back to Hope Peak to explain my life choices. I came back because you said you needed help, and I'm here to give it."

She takes a deep breath, eyes still on my cut. "What are you going to do?"

"First, you're going to pack a bag. Everything you need. I'm taking you somewhere safe here in town."

"I can't just leave. I have my job. My students—"

"You're not leaving Hope Peak," I clarify. "Just this house. Somewhere Devin won't look for you while we figure this out."

"And then what?" she challenges. "Hide forever in the same town? Run into him at the grocery store?"

I step closer to her, close enough that I can smell the faint scent of her shampoo. Something citrusy and familiar that brings back a flood of memories.

"Then I make sure Devin never comes near you again."

Fear flashes in her eyes. "Tyler, no. That's not why I called you. I don't want you to hurt him—"

"What did you think would happen when you called me, Liv?" My voice is low, controlled, but there's an edge to it I can't hide.

"I called my friend. The guy who left the military and was getting his life together. Not..." She gestures at my cut. "Not whatever this is."

"This is who I am now," I say, letting some of the hardness I usually hide show through. "And I protect what matters to me."

She looks at me for a long moment, really looks at me. I wonder if she's seeing all the changes. The new scars, the harder set of my jaw, the watchfulness that never really leaves me now.

"You're different," she says finally.

"We all are."

Her eyes drift to my bad leg. "Does it still hurt? Your injury?"

"Only when it rains." It's a lie. It hurts almost every day, but I've learned to live with pain. Some kinds you just carry with you.

She nods, not believing me but not pushing it either. That's Olivia, always knowing when to let things lie.

"I'll pack a bag," she says finally, resignation in her voice. "But I need to know your plan. All of it. No secrets."

I hesitate, weighing how much to tell her. The truth is, I don't have a detailed plan yet. I need to see Devin, assess the threat, decide how to handle it. But I know the endgame.

"My plan is to make sure you're safe, permanently. Whatever that takes."

She holds my gaze, and for a moment I see a flash of the old Olivia. The one who wouldn't take vague answers, who would push until she got the truth.

"I don't want you to kill him, Tyler."

"I didn't say I would."

"You didn't have to." She searches my face. "Is that what you do now? With your... club?"

"We protect our own." I hold her gaze steadily. "That's all you need to know."

She pushes past me toward her bedroom. "Give me fifteen minutes."

As she disappears down the hall, I move to the window, scanning the street out of habit. The neighborhood is quiet, just a woman walking a dog, a mail carrier making their rounds. Normal life continuing while inside these walls, everything is about to change.

I pull out my phone, send a quick text to Reaper: *In position. Assessing situation. Will update.*

His response comes almost immediately: *Backup ready if needed. Handle it.*

Three simple words that carry the weight of the club's authority. Handle it. That's what I do now. I handle problems.

And Devin is definitely a problem.

I move through the living room, taking in the details of Olivia's life. There's a stack of children's books on the coffee table—preparation for her classes, no doubt. A mug with cold tea sits abandoned beside them. But what catches my eye is the small photo frame turned face-down on the side table.

I pick it up, turn it over. It's a picture of Olivia with her parents, taken maybe five or six years ago. They're all smiling, arms around each other, the kind of happy family I never had. I wonder why she keeps it face-down. Is it too painful to see their faces? Or did Devin make her hide it?

The thought makes my jaw clench. Another reason to end him.

I hear Olivia's footsteps and quickly replace the frame, leaving it as I found it. She emerges from the hallway with a small duffel bag and a determined expression.

"I'm ready."

I take the bag from her hand, our fingers brushing briefly. Even that small contact sends electricity up my arm, a reminder of all the feelings I've tried to bury for years.

"Where are we going?" she asks as I open the front door, checking the street one more time before leading her out.

"The Blue Pine Motel on the edge of town," I say, knowing it's far enough from her house. "I've got a friend who owes me a favor. You'll be safe there."

She looks at my motorcycle with apprehension. "I've never been on one of those before."

"You'll be fine. I have an extra helmet." I secure her bag and hand her the spare helmet I brought along. "Just hold onto me."

She puts on the helmet, and I help her adjust the strap.

Her hands are trembling slightly, whether from fear or adrenaline, I can't tell.

I swing my leg over the bike, ignoring the twinge in my bad knee, and feel her climb on behind me.

Her arms wrap around my waist, tightening as I start the engine.

"Ready?" I ask over my shoulder.

Instead of answering, she presses her cheek against my back and holds on tighter. I can feel her heart beating against me, fast but steady.

I pull away from the curb, heading toward the motel. My mind is already racing with next steps, contingencies, plans. This is Hope Peak. Small town, limited places to hide, everyone knows everyone. Keeping her safe here won't be easy. But I've fought in worse conditions with less motivation.

And this time, I'm fighting for the only thing that's ever really mattered to me.

Devin? He's a dead man walking. He just doesn't know it yet.