Chapter Six
Evie
I sit on the edge of my bed, wrapping the end of my leg tightly with the compression bandage. The stump, what’s left of my right leg after the accident, aches faintly, a dull reminder of everything I’ve lost.
The tighter I wrap it, the more likely it is to keep the phantom pain at bay. At least, that’s what I tell myself. Some days, it works. Others, I end up curled in bed, clutching the empty space where my leg used to be, wishing I could claw the sensation out of my skin.
Not today.
Today, I don’t have the luxury of letting the pain win. I laugh at myself, knowing that it’s a feeble task. Pain always wins.
The bandage secure, I stand and grab my crutches, taking a moment to steady myself. My reflection in the full-length mirror catches my eye, and I pause. The dress I’ve chosen, a deep burgundy that clings just enough to feel flattering, looks good, but I can’t help wondering if it’s too much.
It’s not like this is a date. It’s dinner. With strangers. And Mitchell.
I don’t even know why I said yes. The idea of walking into the Obsidian clubhouse, surrounded by people who clearly belong there, makes my stomach churn. But then I think of the way Mitchell looked at me earlier, the steadiness in his voice when he invited me, and I can’t bring myself to back out.
However, I do decide to change into something much more casual. A pair of black leggings and a cute baby pink shirt. Luckily, I’ve already cut and hemmed all of my leggings to fit my missing limb.
With a final look in the mirror, I shrug. I don’t look great, but at least it doesn’t look like I’m trying too hard now.
I grab my coat and bag, settling them both onto my body. The apartment feels quieter than usual, the ticking clock on the wall seeming louder than it has any right to be. It’s probably just nerves.
I glance at my wheelchair as I head towards the door but brush it off. I hate that chair. It’s bulky and more trouble than it’s worth. I also live on the second floor of my apartment building, and our elevator has never worked. I’d have to push the chair down the stairs, and the last time I did that, I fell down about five steps. Because of that fall, I had to pay a hefty fee for the small hole my chair put in the wall.
My landlord is an ass.
My phone buzzes with the notification that my five-minute wait time is almost up and the driver will leave soon. Sighing, I grip my crutches and pray that I don’t fall down the stairs as I rush to reach my ride.
***
The taxi rolls to a stop in front of the Obsidian clubhouse, and I stare out the window, my nerves twisting tighter with every passing second. The building looms large and unyielding, a stark contrast to the row of motorcycles lined up like an honor guard along the entrance.
“Here you go,” the driver says, glancing back at me through the rearview mirror.
“Thanks,” I mumble, handing him his payment and grabbing my crutches.
As I step onto the gravel driveway, the cold air bites at my cheeks, making me shiver. The muffled sounds of laughter and music seep through the clubhouse doors, which swing open periodically as people filter in and out. A small group lingers near the entrance, chatting and laughing, their leather jackets gleaming under the dim porch lights.
I pull out my phone, my thumb hovering over the screen. I should text Mitchell to let him know I’m here, except I don’t have his number.
Frustrated, I scroll through my contacts and land on Emily’s name instead. She’s my best shot at avoiding an awkward, aimless wait outside.
Hey. I’m outside.
Her reply comes almost instantly.
OMG! YOU’RE HERE!!!
A faint smile tugs at my lips, though my stomach flips as the reality of where I am sets in.
Not even a minute later, the clubhouse door bursts open, and Emily comes bounding out like an excited puppy. Her dark hair spills over her shoulders in loose waves, and she’s somehow managed to make a leather jacket and floral dress look effortlessly cool.
“Evie!” she squeals, rushing over to wrap an arm around me. “You’re actually here! What changed your mind? Last time I asked, you were a hard no.”
I shift on my crutches, suddenly feeling exposed under her bright, eager gaze. “I don’t know,” I mumble, though we both know that’s a lie.
“Evie,” she says, her voice sing-song as she nudges me with her elbow. “Tell me the truth. Was it Mitchell?”
Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I glance away. “Maybe.”
She gasps, clutching her chest dramatically. “I knew it!” she says, grinning like she’s just won the lottery. “I knew there was something between you two.”
“There’s nothing between us,” I protest weakly, but she’s already turning toward the door.
“Come on,” she says, her voice softening just a touch. “Let’s get inside before you freeze to death out here.”
As she leads me closer to the clubhouse, the nerves in my stomach twist tighter. I can feel my resolve faltering, but then I remember the steadiness in Mitchell’s gaze when he invited me, the softness in his voice. I take a deep breath.
I can do this.
“So,” Emily says casually as we reach the door. “I should probably warn you about something before we go inside.”
I glance at her warily. “What?”
“This family is... big,” she says with a grin.
“I know,” I say, forcing a smile. “You’ve told me about them before.”
“Yeah, but people don’t really get it until they see a gathering like this.”
“How many people are we talking?” I ask, my grip tightening on my crutches.
“Oh, let’s see…” She glances up at the night sky and begins pointing her fingers as if counting stars.
“There’s Ghost, Amara, and their daughter Dove. Steel, Blaze, and their woman Raven. King and Maddy, plus their newborn daughter Aubree. She’s so damn adorable. Then there’s Venom and Sophie with their two girls. Reynolds, Delphi, and their two kids. Ma and Pops, obviously. Taylor and Knox. Mitchell and Parker. And I think that’s it...”
She pauses, then adds with a snap of her fingers, “Oh! Viper and Bitsy are here, too, with their daughter. So, including me and you, that makes... twenty-eight.”
I freeze, my stomach flipping for an entirely different reason now. “Twenty-eight people?”
That’s fifty-six eyes looking at me with pity…. Assuming everyone has both of their eyes, that is.
“Big family,” she says with a shrug, completely unbothered.
I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone as a surge of panic rises in my chest.
“Who are you calling?” Emily asks, her brow furrowing.
“A taxi,” I admit, my voice shaking slightly. “I’m way out of my element. I need to go home.”
Emily grabs my arm gently, halting my attempt to text the taxi service. One of my crutches falls, but Em grabs it and places it back in my hand.
“Evie, no,” she says, adjusting my crutch until I have a firm grasp on it. “Look, I know it’s overwhelming. But you’re here now, and I promise I won’t let you drown in this crowd.”
I hesitate, gripping my handles tightly. The thought of facing nearly thirty people, strangers, no less, makes my chest feel tight. But Emily’s steady gaze anchors me, and the warmth in her expression gives me a small burst of courage.
“Fine,” I sigh. “But if it gets too much, I’m leaving.”
“Deal,” she says, her grin returning. “Come on, you’ve got this.”
Sighing in resignation, I follow her inside. This is going to be a lot worse than visiting Em at the Cage. There, most people are drunk and don’t pay attention to me. Here, everyone is going to be curious about the stranger crashing their family dinner.
The noise hits me first. It’s a mixture of laughter, clinking glasses, and a low hum of conversation that swells in waves. The room is large, with tables spread out and people scattered in small groups, their leather cuts and easy camaraderie making it clear they all belong here.
Emily squeezes my arm reassuringly as she guides me through the crowd. “See? Not so bad,” she says.
I’m not so sure. My heart races as I try to take everything in without tripping or making a fool of myself. My crutches feel more conspicuous than ever, and I wish I could shrink into the floor.
“Wow, what happened to your leg?”
Glancing at the small voice, two little girls, roughly around the same age, look up at me with wide eyes. “Did a bear eat it?”
I glance at the little girl talking, but her hands move at the same time. Seconds later, the second little girl moves her hands, but she doesn’t say anything.
“Dove thinks it was a shark attack and not a bear attack,” she says. “She’s prolly right.”
“Girls,” a beautiful dark-haired woman says, her hands, too, moving as she speaks. “Those are rude questions. Now, apologize and go play.”
“Sorry,” the one little girl said.
The other one makes a small circle against her chest. It must mean sorry in sign language.
“It’s alright,” I smile down at them. “Unfortunately, it wasn’t a bear or a shark attack. It was a car accident. My car got hit by a really big truck, and my leg got stuck.”
I don’t want to go into the gory details, but it is the truth. The driver fell asleep and slammed right into me. By the time our vehicles stopped dancing, the truck was smack dab on top of my little car. And, while my leg did get stuck, I left out the part where it was almost sliced completely off.
“They couldn’t get it unstuck?” the girl asks.
“They did,” I tell her kindly. “But I was stuck for too long, and my leg got really sick.”
“Alright, girls,” the woman sighs. “You have your answer. Now, go play.”
I watch as the girls turn and walk away.
“Sorry,” I tell the woman. “I hope I didn’t say too much to scare them.”
“Oh goodness, no,” she laughs. “Those girls are practically adults in tiny bodies. They’re biker’s children, after all. Not much scares them. I’m Sophie, by the way. The little girl talking your ear off is my daughter, Allie. The other little one is my niece, Dove. She’s deaf but can read lips like a pro.”
“Nice to meet you,” I smile. “I’m Evie.”
“Emily’s Evie?” she asks.
I glance at Em, and she shrugs.
“What? You’re my best friend. Of course, I’m going to tell my family about you.”
Then I hear my name.
“Evie?”
“I’m also not the only one on the Evie bandwagon,” Em smirks. “Our chocolate-hating Mitchy is very interested in her. He’s the one who talked her into coming tonight.”
The deep, familiar voice cuts through the noise of Em’s chatting, and I turn my head just in time to see Mitchell striding toward me.
He moves with purpose, his sharp eyes locked on mine, and for a moment, everything else fades into the background. He’s wearing a black skin-tight shirt with the sleeves rolled up, the hint of tattoos peeking out from beneath the fabric.
“Mitchell,” I say, my voice coming out softer than I intended.
“Hey,” he says as he stops in front of me, his gaze scanning my face and then dropping briefly to my crutches before meeting my eyes again. “You made it.”
“Yeah,” I say, gripping the handles a bit tighter. “I almost back out when Emily told me how many people were here, though.”
His brows furrow, and he glances at Emily, who gives him a pointed look and a subtle shrug.
“Well, I’m glad you didn’t,” he says, his voice steady but warm. “You okay? Need anything?”
“No, I’m fine,” I say quickly, though my heart is still racing. “Emily’s got me covered.”
Emily grins. “She sure does. But I’ll leave you two to chat. I need to grab something from the kitchen.”
Before I can protest, she slips away, leaving me alone with Mitchell.
For a second, neither of us speaks. The noise of the room fills the silence between us, but his presence is so grounding that I don’t feel the panic creeping back in.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asks again, his tone quieter now.
“I’m sure,” I say, nodding. “Just... a little out of my element.”
He smiles faintly, his expression softening. “That’s understandable. Big gatherings can be a lot.”
“You don’t seem bothered by them,” I say, trying to shift the focus away from me.
He chuckles. “I’m used to it. But that doesn’t mean I don’t prefer quieter moments sometimes.”
His words hang in the air, and I catch a glimpse of something in his eyes. Something thoughtful, almost vulnerable.
“Well,” I say, trying to lighten the mood, “you can add Obsidian tour guide to your list of skills tonight. I’m going to need it.”
His smile widens, and he nods. “Deal. Stick with me, and I’ll make sure you don’t get overwhelmed.”
For the first time since I arrived, I feel a little less like bolting for the door.
“Is it true that you don’t like chocolate?” I ask, remembering Em’s comment.
Mitchell sighs, but it’s not a sound of aggravation. It’s more like reluctant acceptance. He rubs the back of his neck, his lips quirking in a sheepish half-smile.
“It’s true,” he admits, his voice low.
I blink at him, feigning horror. “Wow. That’s... concerning. Do you realize that only psychopaths hate chocolate?”
He chuckles, the sound warm and soft. “Well, then, I guess that makes me one of the rare ones.”
I shake my head dramatically, clutching the handles of my crutches like I need them for emotional support instead of just physical. “Unbelievable. This changes everything. I don’t know if I can trust someone who actively dislikes chocolate.”
Mitchell crosses his arms, a smirk playing on his lips as he leans slightly closer. “I didn’t say I hated it. I just don’t care for it. There’s a difference.”
“Not much of one,” I quip, lifting an eyebrow. “Chocolate is the universal love language, and you’re over here rejecting it like a villain in a romance novel.”
“Guess that makes me the villain tonight,” he says, his smirk widening. “But I did lie.”
“About what?” I ask.
“I really do hate it,” he smirks evilly. “I was just hoping to get on your good side.”
“Not sure that’s possible,” I tease. “We’ll have to wait and see. At least you’ve got a redeeming quality or two. Like your... tattoo collection. That might make up for the chocolate thing.”
He looks genuinely amused now, glancing briefly at the ink peeking out from his rolled-up sleeves. “You think so?”
“Definitely,” I say, nodding sagely. “You’re still on thin ice, though.”
Mitchell laughs, and the sound is deep and genuine, rumbling in a way that makes my chest feel lighter.
For a moment, I forget where we are. The noise of the room fades into the background, and it’s just him and me, locked in this easy banter that feels... right.
“So,” he says after a beat, his tone softer. “What’s your go-to dessert, then? Since chocolate’s obviously not an option if you’re around me.”
“Anything fruity,” I reply without hesitation. “Strawberry shortcake, lemon bars, peach cobbler. You name it.”
“Good to know,” he says with a nod like he’s tucking the information away for later.
I tilt my head, watching him curiously. “Why? Planning to bring me dessert sometime?”
“Maybe,” he says, his gaze meeting mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch. “Guess you’ll have to stick around and find out.”
Before I can come up with a response, Emily’s voice calls out from across the room. “Evie! Mitchell! Dinner’s ready! Bring Evie over before these pigs eat all the turkey.”
Mitchell steps back slightly, gesturing toward the table with a small smile. “Shall we?”
I nod, gripping my crutches as I follow him toward the dining area.
“Fair warning,” he says softly, his hand grazing the small of my back. “My family is a nosy lot. I’ll run interference, but be prepared for a question hurricane.”
“I’ve already met two little girls who asked if my leg got eaten by a bear or a shark,” I giggle.
“Allie and Dove,” he smiles. “They are something else.”
As if on cue, the two little girls run up and tug at Mitchell’s shirt.
“Uncle Mitchell,” Allie says. “Her leg didn’t get attacked by a bear.”
Dove says something, and Allie nods. “Or a shark. It got eaten by a truck. How cool is that?”
“I’m not sure cool is the right word,” Mitchell says, glancing cautiously at my reaction.
“It’s really not,” I tell the girls. “A shark and bear attack sounds way cooler than a big truck.”
Dove says something that makes everyone around us laugh. Can everyone here read sign language?
“Dove says that if it was a shark attack, you could tell everyone you survived Jaws,” Allie translates.
“Wow,” I say, grinning down at Dove. “That’s... quite the perspective. I’ll have to keep that in mind for future storytelling opportunities.”
Dove makes another quick motion with her hands, and Allie pipes up again. “She says you should also get a hook for a hand, and you’ll be a pirate. Then everyone will forget about the truck.”
Mitchell opens his mouth to say something, but I shake my head. He probably thinks that the conversation bothers me. But it doesn’t. I’m finding it refreshing. Most people avoid the topic of my leg, or rather, my lack of a leg, for that exact reason. I don’t care to talk about the accident. I’ve done my fair share of therapy, and my missing limb doesn’t bother me. What bothers me is my insurance fighting me tooth and nail about getting a prosthetic leg.
“Pirates are pretty cool,” I say, nodding solemnly. “But I think I’ll stick with the crutches for now. Hooks sound... uncomfortable.”
Dove tilts her head thoughtfully, then shrugs before signing again.
“She says that’s fair,” Allie translates, her voice full of childlike sincerity. “But if you change your mind, she has a pirate hat you can borrow.”
The laughter ripples through the room again, and even Mitchell can’t contain himself this time.
“Dove,” he says, crouching to meet her eye level, “you’ve got the best ideas, kiddo.”
Dove beams and signs something else, but this time, Mitchell nods without waiting for Allie’s help.
“She says you’re welcome,” he tells me with a grin.
“You can read sign language, too?” I ask, impressed.
Mitchell shrugs modestly. “Enough to keep up with these two troublemakers. They keep all of us on our toes.”
Allie and Dove giggle before running off, already chattering about their next adventure.
As the girls disappear into the crowd, Mitchell straightens and turns to me, his expression softer now. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, smiling. “I think I just got recruited into the Pirate Club, though.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Welcome aboard.”
***
The dinner has been surprisingly nice. Loud, chaotic, and a little overwhelming, but everyone was welcoming, and I even laughed a few times.
Now, as people linger around the clubhouse, chatting in small groups or playing cards, I find myself in a quieter corner with Mitchell. He’s barely left my side all evening, always nearby with a calming presence that makes me feel less out of place.
But then, it started.
A faint tingling in my missing toes. At first, it’s manageable, the kind of discomfort I can ignore with a few deep breaths. But within minutes, it turns sharper, the familiar burn racing up the phantom limb like wildfire.
Panic settles in my chest as I realize it wasn’t going to fade like it sometimes did. Instead, the pain surged all at once, stabbing and twisting with brutal intensity.
“I… uhm. I need to use the bathroom,” I say quickly, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice.
Mitchell looks at me, his brows furrowing slightly. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I lie, forcing a smile. “Just need a minute.”
He doesn’t look convinced, but he nods, letting me slip away.
I make it to the bathroom, locking the door behind me before collapsing onto the cool tile floor. My crutches clatter to the ground as I clutch at my thigh, gasping as the pain tore through me. Following my crutches to the floor, I sit down and squeeze my knee as hard as I can, knowing that it sometimes helps. But, this time, it doesn’t.
Tears stream down my face, and I bite down on my lip to keep from screaming. The sensations are relentless. Sharp, searing jolts radiate through the empty space where my leg used to be.
It feels like it’s happening all over again. The accident, the surgery, the loss. It’s almost as if someone is taking a cattle prod to my ankle while simultaneously slicing my leg open from the knee down.
Fun fact…my phantom pain happens daily, but this level of pain happens only three to four times a week. I was just hoping and praying that today’s phantom pain would be tolerable. At least until I got home.
A sob escapes before I can stop it, and I press my fist against my mouth, desperate to stifle the sound.
“Evie?” Mitchell’s voice comes from outside the door, low but laced with concern.
I don’t answer, hoping he’d assume I was fine and leave.
But then I hear the knob rattle.
“Evie, are you okay?” he calls, louder this time.
When I still don’t respond because of the yelp that escapes my mouth, the door bursts open with a sharp crack, and Mitchell stands there, his eyes wide with worry.
“Evie,” he says again, softer now, his gaze dropping to where I sit curled on the floor.
“I’m fine,” I croak, even as another wave of pain wracks my body, making me double over.
“You’re not fine,” he says, stepping inside without hesitation.
Before I can protest, he kneels down and scoops me into his arms as if I weigh nothing. My breath hitches, but I don’t have the strength to fight him.
“Where…” I start, but the words get caught in my throat as he carries me out of the bathroom and up a set of stairs.
The world blurs as he moves, and before I know it, we’re in a quiet room. He sits me gently on a large bed, his arms still bracing me as if afraid I might shatter.
“It’s okay,” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair out of my face. “I’ve got you.”
I shake my head, tears spilling down my cheeks. “Mitchell, you don’t understand. Th…this can take hours. I…I’ll be fine. I just need to get home and into bed. You can go back to your party. I just need a few moments to gather myself before heading out.”
His jaw tightens, and he sits down on the edge of the bed, pulling me into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Not happening, baby,” he says firmly. “I’ll stay right here.”
I try to argue, but another wave of pain hits, and a strangled cry escapes me. Without thinking, I bury my face in his chest, clutching his shirt as I fight to breathe through the agony.
He doesn’t flinch. Instead, his arms tighten around me, holding me like an anchor in a storm.
“I’m here,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady. “I’m not going anywhere.”
For what feels like an eternity, he just holds me. He doesn’t try to fix it or ask questions. He simply stays, his presence grounding me even as the pain rages on.
Eventually, my sobs stop, and I lean heavily against him, exhausted but grateful. The pain is still pretty severe, but it’s at a manageable level. At least manageable enough to talk.
“It’s phantom pain,” I whisper, my voice hoarse. “It’s not real, but it feels like it is. Like my leg is still there, and it’s on fire or being crushed. Sometimes, it lasts minutes. Other times... it doesn’t.”
He nods, his hand moving in slow, soothing circles on my back. “What can I do?”
“You’re already doing it,” I admit, tears spilling again, but this time they aren’t just from pain. “I had TMR surgery last year. It’s where they reroute the nerves that typically control the missing limb into the remaining muscle. It’s supposed to trick your brain into thinking the limb is still there. But it didn’t work for me. Neither does medication. I usually take some pills once the attack is over, but it’s to help the aches in my body from clenching every muscle for so long.”
Taking a deep breath, I try to control my tears.
“My doctor told me that I’m one of the 40% of amputees that experience this level of phantom pain. There’s a good chance that it will never go away.”
He doesn’t say anything, just holds me tighter, his steady strength wrapping around me like a shield. I relax my entire body as I sit on his lap. My breathing slows, and I finally start drifting off to sleep.
Mitchell tightens his arms around me and whispers one single word as the world around me fades.
“Fuck.”