Chapter 8 Shane
SHANE
The wind screams in my ears, a deafening roar that fails to drown out the chaos in my head.
I tear around the switchback, the rubber of my rear tire protesting as I lean the bike dangerously low.
Asphalt scrapes the metal of my boot, a shower of sparks briefly illuminating the darkening woods.
I twist the throttle harder, demanding more from the machine, needing the vibration of the engine to rattle my bones until the image of Kyle’s face crunching under my fist disappears.
The rage remains, simmering in my gut like a pool of acid.
Worse than the anger is the memory of her face.
Bianca. Standing in the gravel parking lot, her chest heaving, her eyes wide as she watched me dismantle a man for the crime of breathing her air.
She looked at me and saw the monster beneath the man, the violent enforcer who breaks bones for a living.
I did her a favor by roaring off and leaving her in the dust of her own yellow car.
If she’s smart, she’ll pack her bags. She’ll take her little yellow Beetle and drive back to Philly, back to a world where men use words instead of fists.
A place where safety is a guarantee, not a privilege defended by blood.
My chest aches, a hollow, thumping pain behind my sternum.
The thought of her leaving feels like tearing off a limb without anesthesia.
But I’m poison to her. I proved that today.
I brought my war to her feet and expected her not to bleed.
I bank hard around the final curve leading to the private road up to my cabin. The sun dips low, casting long, bruised shadows across the pines. Brake lights flash red ahead.
A quarter mile up, right at the base of my driveway. A black SUV. Sleek, tinted windows, expensive. It doesn't belong here. Tourists drive rentals or Subarus. Locals drive beat-up pickups that have seen more mud than pavement. This is a predator sitting in the tall grass.
Costa.
The name freezes the blood in my veins before boiling it into fire. They were watching the tavern. They saw the "new girl." They saw me claim her. Now they’re here to see if she’s the weakness they’ve been looking for.
Instinct takes over—the predator responding to a threat.
I downshift, the engine screaming as I launch the bike forward.
I’m doing eighty on a road meant for thirty.
I’m going to rip the driver out of that seat and dismantle him piece by piece.
The SUV spots me. Tires screech, kicking up a plume of dust as it peels away, accelerating hard toward the eastern ridge road.
Chase or protect?
My eyes dart to the winding gravel road leading up to my cabin. To Bianca. To Maddie.
Protect.
I curse, slamming the bike into the turn and fishtailing onto the gravel.
Rocks spray behind me like buckshot. I push the bike to its limit, bouncing over ruts that threaten to throw me over the handlebars.
Every second is a lifetime. If they were sitting there, they were watching the house.
If they were watching, they know she’s alone up here.
The cabin comes into view, dark timber against the violet sky.
Her Beetle is parked crookedly in the drive, a splash of defiant yellow in the gloom.
I skid to a halt, killing the engine and vaulting off the bike before the kickstand is even down.
I draw the Glock from the holster at the small of my back, racking the slide with a metallic clack that echoes through the trees.
"Bianca!" I roar her name as I slam into the front door.
Unlocked. Fuck.
I kick the door open, sweeping the room with the barrel of my gun. The living room is empty. Toys scatter across the rug—the same rug where I had her screaming my name. The fire is low, casting flickering orange light against the walls.
"Daddy?"
The small, sleepy voice comes from the couch. I freeze, lowering the weapon instantly as Maddie sits up, rubbing her eyes. Safe. Untouched.
"Maddie." I breathe her name, air rushing back into my lungs like a physical blow. "Where’s Bianca?"
"Kitchen," she mumbles, yawning. "Making dinner. She said the tavern food was yucky."
I cross the room in heavy steps, boots thudding on the hardwood. I swing into the kitchen, adrenaline tunneling my vision.
Bianca stands at the stove, stirring a pot.
After the tavern, she’d clearly tried to scrub the scent of that place off her, shedding the sundress for one of my old flannels that swallowed her whole.
It’s unbuttoned at the top, revealing the curve of her throat.
She spins around as I storm in, the wooden spoon clattering to the floor.
Her gaze drops to the gun in my hand, then snaps up to my face.
"Shane?" Her voice trembles.
I holster the gun, but the tension in my shoulders refuses to release. The enemy is at the gates. I march to the back door, checking the lock. Locked. I check the window latches. Secured.
"Shane, what is it? You’re scaring me. You look like you’re ready to start a war."
"I am," I growl, staring through the blinds into the twilight. Nothing but trees and shadows. But I know they’re out there. I can scent the change in the air. "You should be scared. Get Maddie. Pack a bag."
Silence.
I turn to face her. She hasn’t moved. She stands in the middle of the kitchen, hands gripping the edge of the granite island.
The sight of her in my shirt hits me in the gut—a visual claim that makes my cock twitch even in the middle of a crisis.
She looks like she belongs in my clothes. She looks like she belongs in my bed.
"Did you hear me?" I snap, my voice sounding like gravel. "Pack a bag, Bianca. I’m taking you into town. You’re staying at the Lodge tonight, and tomorrow you’re going home."
She blinks, her lush mouth parting. "What? No. I’m not going anywhere."
"I am not negotiating," I snarl, stepping into her space.
I need to intimidate her. I need to make her leave for her own good, even if the thought of it makes me want to burn this mountain to the ground.
"I saw a scout at the end of the driveway. A black SUV. Costa’s men.
They saw you today, Bianca. They saw me put my hands on you. That makes you a target."
"Who are the Costas?" she demands, her chin lifting with that Philadelphia grit that makes me want to kiss her and shake her at the same time.
"The people who put scars on men like me," I say, leaning down until our noses are inches apart. Her scent hits me—fragile wild orchid, rain, and the faint, unmistakable musk of her own arousal, she’s dripping for me.
"The people I warned you about. You saw what happened at the tavern. That was playtime. If they get their hands on you, they won’t just talk.
I will not let you get caught in the crossfire of my life. "
"I’m not leaving Maddie," she says, her voice steady.
"Maddie goes to Logan’s. The clubhouse compound is a fortress. It’s locked down. You go home. To Philadelphia. To your paints and your concrete."
"This is my home now!"
The words hang in the air between us, heavy and impossible.
I stare at her, stunned. Her eyes shine with unshed tears, burning with a fire that matches my own.
"This isn't your home, Bianca. This is a fortress.
A target. And I am the man who brings the violence to the doorstep.
Look at my hands. Do you see the blood under the nails? That is your future if you stay."
"I don't care about the blood," she whispers, stepping closer to me, into the heat radiating off my body. "And I wasn't scared of you at the tavern, Shane."
My breath hitches. "You were shaking. I felt it through your arm."
"Because of the adrenaline," she says, her hands coming up to rest on my chest. Her palms feel warm through the leather of my cut.
"Because when you grabbed him... when you told the whole room I belonged to you.
.." Her pupils blow wide, swallowing the hazel.
"My pussy was already drenched, Shane. I was dripping through that dress because for the first time in my life, I felt completely, totally safe.
I knew you would kill for me. And God help me, I loved it. "
The confession hits harder than a bullet to the chest.
She felt safe. With the monster. She felt aroused by the violence.
"You're crazy," I rasp, my resolve crumbling like dry earth in a storm. My cock is pulsing now, straining against my jeans, demanding to be buried inside the woman who finds safety in my rage.
"Maybe," she whispers, her fingers curling into the leather. "But I’m not leaving. I’m not leaving Maddie, and I’m definitely not leaving you.
I’ve spent my life running from things that scared me.
I’m not running from the one thing that finally made me feel like I could breathe.
So if there’s danger, lock the doors. Protect us.
Do what you do, Sergeant at Arms. But don't you dare send me away. "
My heart hammers a slow, heavy rhythm against my ribs. I look at her—really look at her. She’s wearing my shirt, standing in my kitchen, telling me she wants to stay in the fire.
"The mountain is changing, Bianca. The Costas are scouting the perimeter, and Tristan found tracks near the nursery window this morning.
This isn't a game. I can’t protect a 'nanny' with the full weight of the club.
But I can protect an Old Lady. I can protect a woman who carries my patch on her back and my seed inside her. "
She sucks in a sharp breath.
"I'm not asking you to stay for the paycheck anymore," I tell her, my voice dropping to a low rumble that vibrates in my chest. "I’m telling you that you’re the only light this house has seen in three years.
I'm claiming you—not just for Maddie, but for me. I want the whole valley to know that if they touch you, they’re at war with the entire Broken Halos MC. "
"Is that a proposal, Sergeant?" she asks, a small, defiant smirk playing on her lips despite the tears.
"It’s a warning," I growl, wrapping my hand around the back of her neck.
"It means from this second on, your pussy belongs to me.
Your heart belongs to me. And your safety is the only thing I care about.
You want to stay? You want to be in the line of fire?
Then you take everything that comes with it. You take the monster."
"I want you," she breathes.
I crush my mouth to hers.
This is a raid. A claiming. I devour her, tongue sweeping into her mouth, tasting the sweetness I’ve been craving since I rode away.
She tastes like salvation. She tastes like home.
I groan into her mouth, my hands dropping to her hips, pulling her flush against my mounting heat.
I can feel her soaked center through my jeans, the heat of her branding me.
She meets me stroke for stroke, hands tangling in my hair, pulling me closer. She whimpers into my mouth, the sound vibrating straight down my spine and making my cock throb with a desperate need to be occupied by her.
I frame her face with my hands, breaking the kiss but keeping our foreheads pressed together. My breathing is as ragged as hers.
"Then you’re mine," I vow, the words scraping out of my throat. "Property of the Sergeant at Arms. The patch protects you, but I own you. I’m going to fill you so full of my seed that you forget Philly ever existed."
"Yours," she whispers, her eyes dark with a surrender that is more powerful than any command I’ve ever given.
I kiss her again, hard and fast, sealing the pact. Then I step back, the soldier taking over before I lose my mind and take her on the kitchen island while Maddie is in the next room.
"Get dressed properly," I say, my tone leaving no room for argument, though the heat in my eyes promises more later. "And wake Maddie up. We’re moving downstairs."
"We have a downstairs?"
"A safe room. Reinforced concrete walls. No windows. It was built for this."
"Shane..."
"No arguing, Bianca. The time for talking is over." I pull my phone from my pocket, my thumb hovering over Logan’s name. "I’m calling the President. I’m calling the boys."
I walk to the window, peering out into the darkness one last time. The black SUV is gone, but the feeling of being watched remains. The hair on the back of my neck stands up—the instinct of a man who knows the wolves are circling.
I dial Logan’s number. He picks up on the first ring.
"Talk to me," Logan’s voice is gravel.
"We have a problem," I say, my eyes fixed on the tree line where the shadows are deepest. "Costa had eyes on the cabin. Black SUV. They were waiting at the turnoff. The truce is dead, Logan. They saw the girl."
A beat of heavy silence. "Is she safe?"
I look back at Bianca. She’s standing by the stairs, looking up at the landing where Maddie is. She looks fragile and fierce all at once. She looks like everything I’m going to kill to keep.
"She’s safe," I say, my voice dropping to a lethal octave. "And she stays that way. Bring the boys, Logan. Bring the heavy stuff. We’re turning this mountain into a graveyard if we have to."
"We’re rolling," Logan says. "Twenty minutes. Tell Tristan to get to the ridge."
I hang up and turn back to my woman. My girl. My responsibility.
"Go get Maddie," I tell her, my voice hard. "I'm going to lock this place down. From this moment on, no one enters this house unless they’re wearing our patch or they’re dead."
Bianca nods, fear finally touching her eyes, but she doesn't freeze. She moves toward the stairs. She trusts me to handle the violence while she protects the heart of this home. I check the mag in my Glock. Full. I have three more in my cut.
Let them come. Let the Costas come. Let the whole damn world come for us. I’ll burn every tree on this mountain to ash before I let them touch a hair on her head.
I am the Sergeant at Arms. And this is my territory.