Chapter 11 #4
I wake to the sensation of Greyson carefully extracting himself from our tangle of limbs. Sunlight streams through the gaps in the curtains, highlighting the determined set of his jaw as he moves silently around the bedroom.
"Where are you going?" I mumble, voice thick with sleep as I prop myself up on one elbow. My eye throbs, a painful reminder of last night's activities.
Greyson pauses in pulling on his cut, his expression carefully neutral. "Club business. Nothing for you to worry about."
But I recognize that look, the cold focus and that controlled anger simmering beneath the surface. "This wouldn't happen to be about those assholes from last night, would it?"
His silence is answer enough.
"Greyson," I sigh, sitting up fully now. "It's handled. We took care of it."
"And now we're going to make sure it stays handled." He buckles his belt, checking his phone as it buzzes with incoming messages. "Zach's already at the clubhouse with Trenton. Kyle, Torch, Techy, and Butcher are on their way."
My stomach drops. "Tell me you're not planning to hurt them."
He crosses to the bed, cupping my bruised face with a gentleness that contrasts sharply with the steel in his eyes. "No one puts their hands on what's mine, Livie. No one disrespects our family."
"So, what's the plan? Beat them up in broad daylight?"
"The plan," he says evenly, "is to have a conversation. Make sure they understand the new rules."
"Which are?"
"They stay the hell away from you and the other women. They keep their mouths shut about what happened. And they remember exactly who runs this town." His thumb traces the edge of my swollen eye. "If they can manage that, they get to keep all their teeth."
I should protest, should tell him this isn't necessary, but the truth is, there's something deeply comforting about knowing these men are willing to go to war over a bruise on my face.
"Just be careful," I say instead. "Don't do anything that'll bring the cops down on the clubs."
His smile is sharp-edged. "We're just going to talk, baby. Nothing illegal about that."
"Right." I snort. "Just a friendly chat between six patched members and some country club boys."
"Exactly." He presses a kiss to my forehead. "Rest. I'll be back before you know it."
As he heads for the door, I call after him. "Greyson? Try not to enjoy it too much."
He pauses, glancing back with a wolfish grin that sends shivers down my spine. "No promises."
After he leaves, I lie back down, but sleep eludes me.
My phone buzzes with texts from the girls, everyone checking in after last night's adventures.
Meadow sends a picture of my brother looking thunderous as he examines her bruised knuckles.
Tiana reports that her father is on the warpath.
Even Cassandra, whose father, Kyle, is usually the most levelheaded of the bunch, admits he nearly put his fist through a wall when he saw her split lip.
An hour later, my phone rings. Tiana.
"They're at Bethany's husband's office," she says without preamble. "All six of them. Dad made Zach wear a tie to look 'respectable' while they terrify the shit out of those guys."
"How do you know this?" I ask, though I'm not really surprised. Tiana has always had an uncanny ability to know everything going on around her.
"Please," she scoffs. "Like I wouldn't have a prospect following them to report back.”
We speculate about what's happening at the insurance office, painting increasingly outlandish scenarios until we're both laughing so hard it hurts my bruised ribs.
"Seriously, though," Tiana says when we calm down, "those guys are never going to look at their wives the same way again.”
"Good," I say with surprising vehemence. "They deserve to be scared."
"Look at you, all fierce and protective. Greyson's rubbing off on you." There's approval in her voice. "Speaking of which, girls' brunch tomorrow?”
"Wouldn't miss it," I promise.
After we hang up, I finally drag myself out of bed and into the shower, letting the hot water soothe my aching muscles. I'm just finishing getting dressed when I hear motorcycles in the driveway.
From the window, I watch as Greyson dismounts, followed by Zach, Trenton, Kyle, Torch, and Techy. There's something in their bearing—a satisfied swagger, the look of men who have successfully defended what's theirs. Despite my earlier concerns, I feel a surge of pride.
Downstairs, they file into the kitchen like conquering heroes, filling the space with leather and testosterone. Greyson's eyes find mine immediately, possessiveness flashing in their depths when he sees me.
"Well?" I ask, leaning against the counter. "How was your 'conversation'?"
The men exchange looks, a silent communication passing between them.
"Productive," Torch says finally, his scarred face creasing in a smile that's all predator.
"Very educational for all parties involved," Kyle adds, his usual calm demeanor firmly back in place, though there's a hint of satisfaction in his voice.
"Especially the part where Bethany's husband pissed himself," Zach says with a smirk, loosening the tie he's clearly been forced to wear. "Right after Greyson explained what would happen if his wife ever came near you again."
* * *
Greyson
"What did you do to them?" Livie asks, her eyes widening as she takes in our satisfied expressions.
I move to her side, my fingers gently tracing the bruise blooming around her eye. Rage flares in my chest again at the sight of it. Someone put their hands on what's mine. Someone hurt her.
"Nothing they didn't deserve," I say, keeping my voice measured despite the fury still simmering beneath my skin.
I don't tell her how we rolled up to Bethany's husband's insurance office in formation, six bikes in perfect sync, the rumble announcing our arrival long before we cut the engines. How the secretary's face drained of color when we walked in, all cuts and patches and brotherhood.
"Prez," Zach murmurs, nodding toward the group dispersing to raid my fridge. "Maybe we should give her some details. So she knows it's handled."
I consider this, watching Livie's expression. There's concern there, but also something else—a fierce pride that matches what I feel for her.
"Fine," I decide. "But the condensed version."
* * *
Earlier in the day
The ride to the insurance office had been silent, each of us locked in our thoughts. These aren't club enemies, not rival MCs or drug dealers threatening our territory. They were civilians, businessmen who thought their money and status put them above consequences.
They're about to learn differently.
"James Whitmore," I say when the trembling secretary shows us into the main office where Bethany's husband and his partners are gathered for a morning meeting. "We need to talk."
The four men from last night freeze, recognition and fear washing over their faces in waves.
"This is a place of business," one of them, the red-faced man who'd called Xavier names, stammers. "You can't just barge in here."
"Actually," Kyle says pleasantly, closing the door behind us, "we can. And we have."
I step forward, keeping my voice calm and measured. "Last night, you and your wives put hands on our women. Made comments about our family. Disrespected people under our protection."
"It was just a bar fight," another protests weakly. "Everyone was drunk—"
"Everyone was not drunk," Torch cuts in, his face twisted in a scowl. "Our princesses were having a night out. Your wives started trouble. You backed them up. And now here we are."
The four men exchange nervous glances, clearly realizing the gravity of their situation.
"What do you want?" James finally asks, sweat beading on his forehead.
I smile, the kind of smile that never reaches my eyes. "Understanding. We want you to understand exactly how things work in this town."
For the next twenty minutes, we educate them. Explain how the MC has protected this community for generations. How we don't tolerate disrespect toward our families. How the consequences for crossing that line again would be severe and permanent.
"Your wife put her hands on my woman," I tell James, leaning over his desk. "Left a bruise on her face. Do you have any idea what I'd normally do to someone who hurts what's mine?"
He swallows audibly, his face ashen. "Please, we have families—"
"So do we," I cut him off. "Families you insulted and attacked. Families who showed remarkable restraint by only giving your wives split lips and bloody noses."
"Next time," Zach adds, his voice deceptively soft, "there won't be restraint. Next time, we won't be having a conversation. We'll be digging holes."
The threat hangs in the air, crystal clear without being explicit enough to constitute a crime if recorded.
"Are we understanding each other?" I ask, straightening up.
Four heads nod frantically.
"Good." I step back. "One more thing. Dr. Xavier Blane is under our protection now. Permanently. If any of you so much as looks at him wrong, if we hear one more slur or threat…" I let the sentence hang, unfinished.
"We understand," James whispers.
"Excellent." I adjust my cut. "Then our business is concluded. Enjoy the rest of your day, gentlemen."
As we turn to leave, Techy pauses. "Oh, and those garden gnomes? Our women found them like that. If you try to press charges or cause any more trouble, we might have to get creative ourselves. We're much less… restrained… than our ladies."
The look of pure terror on their faces is deeply satisfying.
* * *
Now, watching Livie absorb the version of events I told her, I search her face for disapproval or fear. Instead, I find something that looks almost like satisfaction.
"So, they won't be bothering any of us again," she concludes, leaning into my side.
"Not if they value their lives," Zach confirms, grabbing a beer from the fridge. "Though I'm still disappointed we didn't get to be more persuasive."
"Violence isn't always necessary," Kyle reminds him, ever the voice of reason. "Fear works just as well, with fewer legal complications."
Livie looks up at me, her unbruised eye sparkling with mischief. "Bethany's husband really pissed himself?"
I can't help the grin that spreads across my face. "All over his expensive leather chair. Right after I explained exactly what would happen if his wife ever came near you again."
She laughs, and the sound eases something tight in my chest. This woman—this fierce, beautiful creature who fought for our family last night—understands our world in a way I'd feared she never would. She doesn't flinch at the darker aspects of MC life. She embraces them.
"What about Xavier?" she asks, glancing at Zach, whose expression shifts at the doctor's name. "Is he okay after everything last night?"
Something flickers across Zach's face, something private and intense. "He's fine. I made sure of it."
"We should celebrate," Torch declares, raising his beer. "The princesses kicked ass, we put the fear of God into some deserving assholes, and nobody got arrested. I call that a win."
"Family dinner at the compound tonight," I decide, looking around at these men who dropped everything to defend our women. "Both clubs. Let's show our ladies how proud we are of them."
As the others voice their agreement, my phone buzzes with a text. I check it, my body tensing as I read the message from one of our informants.
"Everything okay?" Livie asks, immediately sensing the change in my demeanor.
I lock my phone, forcing my expression to remain neutral. "Fine. Just club shit."
But it's not fine. The text was a warning—Diane has been spotted in town, skulking around the edges of our territory.
I glance at my woman, her face bruised from defending our family, her eyes bright with belonging. She's finally found her place here, finally embraced this life. I won't let anyone—not Diane, not some mob enforcers—take that from her.
The celebration will go on as planned. But afterward, the real work begins. Because protecting what's mine isn't just about confronting some country club husbands who don't know any better.
It's about eliminating threats before they can touch what I love.
And Diane has just moved to the top of that list.