Chapter Nine
THE RIDE BACK felt quieter than the ride there, not because anything about the bike had changed, the engine still vibrating beneath me, the night air still cutting cool across my face, but because Evie held onto me differently now, her arms no longer careful or hesitant but settled around my waist like she’d decided she belonged there, her body leaning into my back with a kind of quiet trust that hadn’t been there before.
I felt the shift the second it happened.
Didn’t think about it. Just adjusted, easing the bike through the darker stretch of road a little smoother than I normally would, my grip steady on the handlebars while the throttle relaxed beneath my hand, not because the road demanded it, but because she was there.
She leaned a little closer as we rolled through the quiet neighborhood streets, her helmet brushing lightly against my shoulder, and that small contact sent a warmth through me that had nothing to do with the engine beneath us.
I found myself riding slower. Not enough to make it obvious. Just enough to stretch the distance between the clubhouse and her place a little longer than it needed to be.
I pulled up in front of her house and cut the engine, the sudden silence settling heavy after the steady vibration of the bike, and a second later she slid off behind me, pushing her hair back as she looked up at the porch like she was seeing it differently tonight.
“Thanks for showing me the clubhouse,” she said.
I swung off the bike and leaned back against the seat. “I knew you’d survive.”
She smiled, soft but real. “Barely.”
“Yeah,” I said, a hint of a smile pulling at my mouth. “You hid it well.”
The porch light cast a warm glow over the yard, a wind chime stirring gently near the door, its quiet notes carrying through the still street, and it felt… calm in a way that didn’t exist at the clubhouse. In a way that almost nothing in my life existed.
Evie hesitated for a moment before turning back to me. “Do you want to come in for a bit?”
It sounded casual, but there was something just under it, a small uncertainty like she wasn’t entirely sure what I’d say.
I pushed off the bike. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
Inside, the place felt the same as I remembered, warm, lived-in, everything chosen like it meant something.
A lamp glowed beside the couch, a quilt folded neatly over the back, books stacked in a slightly crooked tower near the coffee table like she’d set them down mid-thought and never got around to fixing it.
My eyes moved over the room without trying, catching the details, old framed photographs, worn edges, a ceramic bowl filled with mismatched buttons sitting on a shelf like it had its own story.
I picked up one of the frames without thinking, a faded snapshot of a woman laughing at something off-camera, and set it back down a little more carefully than I needed to.
“Let me guess,” I said. “Thrift store?”
She slipped off her shoes and grinned. “Some of it.”
“Only some?”
“Okay… most of it.”
I huffed a quiet laugh. “I like it.”
Something in her shoulders loosened at that, small but noticeable.
She crossed the room and picked up a DVD case, turning it over once in her hands before holding it out like she was testing me. “I’m guessing you like old movies?”
I didn’t answer right away. Just watched as she stepped a little closer and angled it toward me.
Roman Holiday.
A corner of my mouth lifted slightly. “You serious?”
Her expression shifted—half hopeful, half bracing. “That a problem?”
I shook my head once. “No. Just didn’t expect that to be your pick.”
“It’s a good movie,” she said, a little defensive now.
“Didn’t say it wasn’t.”
She narrowed her eyes slightly. “Then what are you saying?”
“That you’ve got better taste than most people I know.”
That caught her off guard.
“Most people think it’s slow,” she said, quieter now.
“Most people are impatient.”
She tilted her head, studying me. “You’ve seen it more than once.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because you didn’t hesitate.” A small smile tugged at her mouth. “You knew what was talking about.”
I let out a breath that almost passed for a laugh. “Fair.”
She turned before I could say anything else, sliding the disc into the player like she didn’t want to linger on it too long. “Well… do you wanna watch it?”
I leaned back against the couch. “I’d watch anything with you.”
She glanced at me over her shoulder, something curious flickering there before she turned back to the screen.
A few minutes later we were on the couch, the soft flicker of black and white filling the room, and the movie started to fade into the background faster than it probably should have.
Evie shifted beside me, tucking her feet beneath herself, the quilt sliding slightly as she leaned back into the cushions.
“It’s better like this,” she said quietly after a minute.
I glanced over. “Like what?”
“Not having to explain why it matters,” she murmured, gesturing lightly toward the screen. “Watching it with someone who appreciates it.”
The movie kept playing, but it wasn’t the point anymore. It was the quiet. The shared space. The way neither of us felt the need to fill it. And then my attention drifted.
Not away.
Just… toward her.
The way she leaned into the corner of the couch. The quiet sound of her breathing. The faint scent of whatever she used when she shifted just a little closer beside me.
Eventually, she caught me. “You’re not watching the movie.”
“I am.”
“You’re not.”
I exhaled. “Alright. Maybe a little.”
Her smile softened. “Well… I’ll try not to overwhelm you.”
“Think I’m already in trouble.”
That earned me a look. We held each other’s gaze a second longer than we probably meant to. Something shifted.
“You know,” she said quietly, “for someone who spends his time around motorcycles and danger… you’re surprisingly calm.”
I tilted my head. “You saying bikers are usually worse company?”
“I’m saying,” she replied with a small smile, “I expected you to be a little more rough and intimidating.”
“And now?”
She studied me for a second. “Now I think you’re not like anyone I’ve ever met. Especially a biker.”
I leaned in before I could overthink it. “Careful,” I murmured. “You might be underestimating me.”
Her breath caught, but she didn’t move away. “Would that be so terrible?”
The space between us disappeared without either of us deciding to close it.
My hand lifted, brushing a loose strand of hair away from her face before settling lightly against her cheek, and the warmth of her skin hit harder than I expected. My nose brushed hers first, just slightly, just enough that I had to find the angle, and then I kissed her.
Slow at first. Careful.
She made a small sound against my mouth that I don’t think she meant to, and something about that undid me more than any of the rest of it had.
When she leaned into it, when her hand came up to rest against my chest, fingers curling slightly in my shirt, the kiss deepened on its own, warmth spreading between us until the quiet house didn’t feel quite so big anymore.
When we pulled back, she looked just as surprised as I felt.
Neither of us spoke right away.
Then I said the only true thing I had. “I don’t do this.”
She looked at me.
“Any of it,” I said. “The movies. The coming inside. I don’t do any of it.”
She didn’t ask what I meant. Just held my gaze like she already understood, and that was almost worse.
I let out a breath. “If I stay much longer, I’m probably not leaving tonight.”
Her cheeks flushed faintly. “That would be… a little fast.”
“Yeah,” I said, standing and grabbing my jacket. “It would.”
She walked me to the door, the porch light flicking on as she opened it, spilling warm light across the street. We stood there for a moment, neither of us quite ready to let the night close.
“Thanks for the movie,” I said.
“You barely watched it.”
“Still counts.”
She smiled. “Drive safe.”
I stepped out onto the porch, then paused just long enough to lean down and kiss her again, quick this time, but enough to make her breath catch, before heading back to the bike.
The engine roared to life, breaking the quiet street open.
I didn’t look back.
Didn’t need to.
But something about the night felt different as I rode off, like I’d left something behind whether I meant to or not. Like the version of me that had walked through that door wasn’t quite the same one riding away from it.
I was two blocks out before I noticed the bike parked just past the corner. Dark. Engine off.
Probably just a neighbor.
***
“GATSBY.”
MYSTIC’S VOICE stopped me the next afternoon just as I was heading out for my shift at High Voltage, one foot already angled toward the door.
“Yeah?” I said, turning back and waiting for him.
He closed the distance between us at an easy pace, but there was something in his expression that didn’t match the casual way he moved, something quieter, heavier.
“Got a few questions for you.”
I leaned a shoulder against the wall, folding my arms loosely across my chest.
“Shoot.”
“It’s about Evie.”
That got my attention in a way I didn’t bother hiding.
Mystic leaned back against the wall beside me, his gaze drifting briefly past me like he was sorting through something before settling again.
“Where’d you meet her again?”
“She’s Ruby’s sister,” I said, giving him a slight look. “Met Evie through her.”
Mystic nodded once, slow. “Remind me who Ruby is again.”
Now I frowned a little. “She waitresses at the bar,” I said. “Been around a while. Why?”
Mystic didn’t answer right away. Instead, he dragged a hand down his face, the movement rougher than usual, like whatever he was trying to put into words wasn’t lining up clean.
“I just…” He exhaled through his nose. “I got this feelin’ in my gut something’s not right.”
I felt my shoulders tighten a fraction. “Mystic—”
“I know how that sounds,” he cut in, pushing off the wall and then settling back against it again like he couldn’t quite decide what to do with himself. “I can’t explain it. But the way she looked at Zeynep…” He shook his head slightly. “Didn’t sit right with me.”
I let out a quiet breath, forcing my tone to stay even. “She was nervous,” I said. “First time in a biker clubhouse, first time meeting everyone. You remember what that’s like.”
Mystic’s gaze shifted to me, studying me in that same quiet way he had the night before. “Yeah,” he said. “I do.”
For a second neither of us spoke.
Then he sighed, the tension easing just a little from his shoulders.
“You’re probably right,” he said. “I’ve just been…
on edge lately.” His hand moved unconsciously toward his chest, like he was grounding himself.
“Ever since we found out about the baby,” he said, his voice dropping just enough to carry the weight behind it, “I won’t let anythin’ happen to them. ”
And there it was, not suspicion, not accusation, just something solid and unmoving beneath it.
Protection.
I gave a single nod, steady enough to match what he was putting down. “I get it… but Evie’s safe.”
Mystic held my gaze a second longer, like he was measuring that, deciding what to do with it, before giving a small nod of his own.
“I trust you,” he said, his hand coming down once against my shoulder before he pushed off the wall and walked away without another word, leaving the hallway quiet in that way places get when something’s been said that doesn’t quite settle.
I stayed there a moment longer, staring at nothing, letting that silence press in just enough for the thought to slip through anyway, sharp and unwelcome.
What if he’s not wrong?
I let out a breath and pushed myself off the wall before it could dig in any deeper, shaking it off with more force than it probably deserved.
No.
Evie wasn’t like that—didn’t feel like that—and I’d been around enough people, enough lies, to know when something was off, when something didn’t line up the way it should. Nothing about her set those alarms off.
If anything… she felt right.
And that, that was probably the more dangerous thing.
I shook the thought off and headed outside, swinging a leg over my bike and bringing it to life beneath me before I could talk myself into overthinking something that didn’t need it.
By the time I pulled onto the road, the doubt had already started to fade beneath the familiar rhythm of the engine and the night air cutting clean against my face.
Evie was a good person, I felt that in my bones, in that quiet, instinctive way that didn’t come around often but never really steered me wrong, and that had to count for something, had to mean more than the kind of doubt that didn’t quite have anything solid behind it.
By the time I reached High Voltage, I’d shoved the whole thing far enough out of my head to breathe again, pulling my phone from my pocket before heading inside and typing out a quick message.
Stop by High Voltage tonight?
I barely made it a few steps toward the door before my phone buzzed in my hand.
Sure. After I close up at six. I’ll stop in before heading home.
A grin pulled at my mouth before I could stop it, easy and automatic in a way that said more than I probably wanted to look too closely at.
“What the hell are you smilin’ at?”
Chain’s voice hit me the second I stepped inside, and I barely had time to pocket my phone before he was already looking at me like he had it figured out.
“Never mind,” he added with a smirk. “I already know. You’re already whipped.”
I huffed out a laugh, shaking my head as I moved behind the bar. “This coming from a man who can’t be away from Lark for more than a few hours without turning into an ass?”
“Fuck off,” he shot back, flipping me off without missing a beat as he turned and headed straight for Lark, who had just come out from the back.
I watched him go for a second, still smiling a little despite myself, before reaching for a glass and getting to work.