Chapter 24 Sasha
SASHA
Ipace the kitchen floor, my nails bitten down to painful stubs. Every few seconds, I glance at my phone lying silent on the counter.
“You’ll wear a hole in that tile, sweetheart,” Ruth says, placing a hand on my shoulder as she passes. She’s been baking for hours—stress cookies, she called them—but the sweet scent does nothing to calm my nerves.
“He should’ve called by now.” My voice cracks. “What if something went wrong? What if they—”
“Don’t,” Lucy interrupts from where she sits at the table, her bruised face a reminder of yesterday’s attack. “Don’t go there. Havoc knows what he’s doing.”
I wrap my arms around myself, trying to contain the fear threatening to tear me apart. The clubhouse feels like a fortress and a prison all at once.
Wyatt stands guard by the front door, his expression grim. Through the window, I can see Kade patrolling the perimeter, hand resting on his holster gun.
“I can’t lose him, too,” I whisper. “I just found him.”
Carol appears with a mug of tea I didn’t ask for. “Men like Havoc don’t go down easy, sweetheart. And he’s got Diesel with him—those two are unstoppable together.”
But all I can think about is my father. He was unstoppable, too, until he wasn’t.
“The Forsaken Kings killed my dad.” The words feel like ash in my mouth. “What if they—”
“Havoc’s got backup,” Viper says, appearing in the doorway. His usual chaotic energy is subdued today, his eyes constantly scanning. “And he wouldn’t walk into a trap.”
I want to believe him, but fear has its teeth in me. “You don’t understand. I can’t—” My voice breaks. “I can’t lose him. Not when I just found out what it feels like to be loved like this.”
Tank passes through, nodding at something Reaper says outside. “Diesel just checked in. Meeting’s going fine so far.”
Relief washes through me, but fine could mean anything.
“I should be there,” I say, knowing how ridiculous it sounds.
“That’s exactly where you shouldn’t be,” Stray says from his position by the back door. “You’re staying put where we can keep you safe. Havoc would burn this whole town down if anything happened to you.”
I sink into a chair, my legs like jelly. “And what am I supposed to do if anything happens to Havoc?”
I stare at the mug of tea Carol set before me, the steam curling up like the anxiety twisting in my gut. I can’t even bring myself to take a sip.
Lucy pushes herself up from the table with a determined look. “This isn’t cutting it.” She walks to the bar along the wall, wincing slightly from yesterday’s bruises, and pulls out a bottle of tequila and shot glasses. “What we need is something stronger.”
“Lucy, should you be drinking in your condition?” Stray asks, concern etching his features as he watches his pregnant wife.
She gives him a look that could melt steel. “Who said I’m drinking? This is for everyone else.” She pours shots, sliding them across the table to each of us. “Just one for the nerves.”
Carol raises her glass. “Amen to that.”
I lift the shot hesitantly, watching as everyone else does the same.
“To the men coming home safe,” Ruth says.
We throw back the shots, and the tequila burns a fiery path down my throat. I cough, my eyes watering as heat blooms in my chest.
“There you go,” Lucy says, sliding into the chair next to me. She takes my hand, squeezing it firmly. “Now stop with all the what-ifs. Havoc is fine. The meeting is going fine. Diesel’s checking in, which means things are proceeding as planned.”
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “But—”
“No buts,” Lucy cuts me off. “You’re not going to lose him, Sasha. That man has survived things that would kill most people three times over. And now he has something to live for.” She smiles, gently tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “He has you.”
I push my empty shot glass toward Lucy. “Another, please.”
Lucy raises an eyebrow but pours another measure of tequila. “Easy there. You don’t want Havoc coming home to find you passed out.”
“I know I’m being paranoid.” I take the glass but don’t drink immediately, rolling the small cylinder between my palms. “It’s just... when my dad died, I had no warning. One minute we were having dinner, and the next—” My words fail me. “I keep waiting for history to repeat itself.”
“That’s understandable,” Lucy says, settling back in her chair. “But you’ve got something now your dad didn’t have then—a whole club watching your back.”
I nod, trying to believe it. “I wish I understood all this better. Before my dad died, I didn’t even know what the Wicked Sinners were. Dad never told me anything.”
“Viking protected you from this life,” Lucy says, her expression softening. “But now you’re in it, so let me help you understand.”
I throw back the second shot, welcoming the burn.
“You know,” Lucy continues, leaning forward with a conspiratorial smile, “this isn’t the first big showdown between clubs I’ve seen. Before we came here, Stray and I were with the Nevada chapter when they had beef with the Desert Scorpions.”
“What happened?” I ask, grateful for the distraction.
“Their president and ours met at this old hunting lodge—neutral ground. Everyone thought it would end in bloodshed.” Lucy’s eyes light up with the memory.
“Two dozen bikes on each side, all of us expecting a massacre. Instead, they talked for six hours, worked out territory lines on a map, and walked out with a truce that’s still holding today. ”
“Really?”
“Sometimes the most threatening situations end with handshakes, not bullets.” She pours herself some water.
“Another time, the Tucson chapter faced off with a cartel. Now that should have been a slaughter, but they found common ground—turned out both the president and the cartel enforcer had served in the same unit in Afghanistan.”
I feel my shoulders relaxing slightly. “So these meetings... they usually end peacefully?”
“More often than not,” Lucy nods. “These men may look like animals, but they’re businessmen at heart. Nobody wants a war if they can avoid it.”
For the first time since Havoc left, I feel like I can breathe again.
As Lucy finishes her story, Ruth sets down her teacup with a knowing smile.
“That reminds me of the time Tank and I ended up in the middle of a standoff between Wicked Sinners and the Devil’s Outfit.
We thought for sure blood would spill.” She leans forward, her eyes twinkling.
“Instead, their president pulled out a bottle of thirty-year-old scotch, and by sunrise, they were singing Johnny Cash together.”
Carol laughs, her weathered face lighting up. “Those boys and their testosterone. Remember when that mess with the Iron Horsemen looked like it might go south? Bone walked right into their clubhouse alone—”
“With nothing but a hunting knife and a bad attitude,” Ruth finishes, and they both dissolve into laughter.
I find myself smiling despite my worry. These women have lived through decades of this life, seen presidents come and go, and weathered wars and truces. Their stories flow one into another, painting a picture of a world where violence always looms but doesn’t always win.
“The thing about these men,” Carol says, “is they’ve got more options than just pulling triggers. Havoc’s smarter than most. He knows when to fight and when to talk.”
Time stretches as they share more stories—close calls, near misses, unexpected alliances. The tequila bottle sits forgotten as I hang on their every word, each tale easing my anxiety a little more.
Then I hear it—the distant rumble of motorcycles approaching the compound.
My heart leaps into my throat as I push away from the table, nearly knocking over my chair. I rush to the front door, where Wyatt stands guard.
“Is it them?” I ask breathlessly, my hands shaking.
Wyatt peers through the peephole, then nods. “It’s them. They’re back.” He opens the door, stepping aside.
I burst into the compound yard. The rumble of engines grows louder as motorcycles roll through the gate.
I sprint across the yard, heart pounding in my chest, eyes locked on Havoc as he dismounts his bike. I don’t care about protocol or appearances—I need to feel him, to know he’s real and whole and alive.
“Havoc!” I crash into him with enough force to make him step back, my arms wrapping around his solid form.
The smell of him—leather, sweat, and that essential scent that’s purely Havoc—fills my lungs. I press my face against his chest, feeling the strong, steady beat of his heart beneath my cheek.
“I was so scared,” I whisper, my voice breaking. My fingers dig into his cut, clutching the leather like it might disappear if I loosen my grip. “I hate it when you’re away. I kept thinking about Dad and—” I can’t finish the sentence.
Havoc’s strong arms tighten around me. One hand slides up to cradle the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair.
“Hey,” he says, his voice a low rumble I feel more than hear. He pulls back just enough to tilt my face up to his. Those intense blue eyes lock with mine. “I’ll always come back to you, Sasha. Always.”
His thumb strokes across my cheek, wiping away tears I didn’t realize I’d shed.
“Promise?” I ask, hating how small my voice sounds.
Instead of answering with words, Havoc lowers his mouth to mine.
The kiss starts gentle, a reassurance, but quickly ignites into something more urgent.
My body responds instantly, heat flooding through me as I press closer.
His tongue slides against mine, claiming, possessing.
I moan into his mouth, my hands now gripping the front of his shirt.
Havoc’s fingers tighten in my hair, tilting my head to deepen the kiss. His other hand slides down to the small of my back, pressing me against him until I can feel every hard plane of his body.
I pull back from our kiss, breathless but needing answers. “What happened at the meeting? Are you okay? Is everyone safe?”
Havoc’s thumbs brush over my cheeks, his expression softening as he looks at me. “It was some crazy shit, baby. Bishop didn’t know about the attack on you—turns out Switchback’s been plotting against him, running his own operations behind Bishop’s back.”
“So what does that mean? For us? For—” I swallow hard. “For what happened to my dad?”
Havoc’s eyes darken, a flash of something savage crossing his features before he controls it. “It means your father’s been avenged, Sasha. Switchback was the one who ordered the hit on Viking. And now he’s paid for it.”
I don’t ask for details. The grim satisfaction in Havoc’s voice tells me enough.
“Bishop and I’ve agreed on a truce. The Forsaken will stay out of our territory, and we’ll respect theirs. The war’s over, baby girl.”
Relief floods through me, my knees nearly buckling. “It’s really over? They won’t come after me anymore?”
“No one’s coming after you. Not ever.” He presses his forehead against mine. “And right now, all I want is to lose myself in you.”
His words send a shiver of anticipation through me. The fear that’s gripped me all day transforms into something else—a desperate need to feel alive, to celebrate his safe return.
“Let’s get out of here,” he murmurs against my lips. “How about a ride in the moonlight? Just you and me.”
“Yes,” I whisper, suddenly craving the freedom of the open road, the vibration of his bike beneath me, and his solid body to hold onto.
Havoc grabs a helmet and hands it to me. As I secure it on my head, he swings his leg over his motorcycle, the engine roaring to life beneath him. He looks back at me, eyes bright in the compound lights.
I climb on behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist, feeling the solid warmth of him. My body molds against his back as I press close, my cheek resting between his shoulder blades.