Chapter 19
Jasper
When we pull into the clubhouse, our escort flanks us, parking tight before swinging off their rides.
My family’s already out front. I catch sight of them before I even kill the engine.
Ma’s standing on the porch, her arms crossed and worry plain on her face.
My old man is next to her, wearing that same deadpan look he always does when he doesn’t wanna freak her out.
But I can see it in his jaw, in the way he stands—he’s fuming.
My boots crunch on gravel as I swing off the bike, circle around, and pop her door.
Tessa glances up, her eyes all wide and uncertain. “Are your parents angry?”
“Nah, just worried about us,” I tell her, pulling her in a little closer.
She nods. “Should we get my bags?”
I look over at a nearby prospect and jerk my chin. “Yeah, grab ‘em. All of ‘em.”
He hustles. “Yes, sir. Where you want it all?”
“My suite. Get some of the boys to help you haul it.”
When we hit the steps, Ma’s already coming down, her stride fast, almost twitchy. “You two okay?” she asks, and before anyone can answer, she yanks Tessa into a hug like she’s known her forever. Tessa freezes, then slowly leans in, hugging her back.
“We’re alright,” Tessa says, voice low.
I murmur, “They blindsided us. I didn’t even know they were sniffin’ around me. Unfortunately, I led ‘em right to my baby mama.”
Ma smacks my chest with the back of her hand. “You know I hate that term.”
I brush off the spot pretending like she knocked the wind outta me. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry, Ma.”
She turns, eyes sharp on Tessa. “You’re safe now. Come on, let’s get you upstairs.”
Rock steps in, looks me over. His voice is a quiet rumble. “Drone?”
“In the trunk.”
He grunts. That’s my dad’s version of ‘we’ll handle it later.’
Ma slips an arm around Tessa’s shoulders, guiding her towards the steps like she’s done it a thousand times. I fall in behind, eyes sweeping the lot, my instincts still red-hot and twitchy.
Soon as we’re inside my suite, Ma heads for the kitchen, rummaging through cabinets, lookin’ for shit because she’s not been to my place in forever.
Tessa stands just inside the door, her arms crossed, her eyes flicking over the place.
My suite is clean, filled with leather furniture, and my wooden floors shine.
I have a decanter of whiskey on my side table for those times when I need a stiff drink.
These are all the perks of a club officer.
Trying to see it through her eyes, I now realize there is nothing soft or homey about my suite, no feminine touches to indicate I’ve had women living with me.
This poor woman is lookin’ like she’s not sure whether to sit or bolt.
I motion her over. “Crash wherever. You’re welcome here, for as long as you need.”
Her eyes find mine. There’s a thank you there, buried under all the fear and adrenaline.
“I didn’t expect your place to be… this nice,” she murmurs, easing onto the couch.
I grin, just a little. My suite has been called many things, but I don’t think ‘nice’ is one of them. “Rank has its perks.”
Ma’s clinking around in the kitchen, making herself right at home. “Hot tea okay?” she calls out.
“That would be nice,” Tessa replies, barely above a whisper.
“I’ve got some herbal back at mine and Rock’s, if you’d prefer that?” Ma calls over.
“I don’t want to be any trouble. Whatever Jasper has will be okay,” Tessa answers.
I drift towards the window, checking the lot. Prospects are already hauling in Tessa’s stuff—quick, efficient, just like I told ‘em to be.
Behind me, Ma sets a steaming mug on the table in front of Tessa, then settles beside her, pretending this is some kind of social call, rather than a damn crisis.
“Hot, sweet tea always helps,” she says softly. “Welcome to the clubhouse. I’m a good listener, if you ever need to unload.”
Tessa takes a sip. “Thanks for coming up with us. The tea’s amazing. I don’t even know what to say, except tonight’s been more danger and adrenaline than I’ve had in my whole life.”
Ma nods. “I imagine it is. Things don’t always go exactly how we expect them to, especially around here. Right, son?”
I step back from the window, satisfied that our lot is secure and my orders are being followed.
“You got that fuckin’ right, Ma.”
Tessa’s curled into the corner of the couch, her hands wrapped around her mug like it’s keeping her grounded.
Ma’s still in front of her, calm as ever. But I know that look. She’s reading Tessa like a damn book, catching every flicker of emotion across her face.
My old man doesn’t budge from his spot, still posted up against the kitchen doorway. His arms are crossed, his face is carved from stone, with that deep-ass furrow between his brows I’ve seen a thousand times, and it never once meant anything good.
I drag over an armchair for my old man to sit in and drop down on the sofa beside Tessa. Leaning forward, my elbows on my knees, I let out a breath.
“It happened fast,” I say, my voice rougher than I expect.
“We were at her place, just hanging out, shootin’ the shit, when all hell broke loose.
Flames lit up the driveway. They torched my bike and left the frame twisted and smoking.
It was an attack meant to be personal and let me know they could get to me whenever they wanted.
Fuckers wanted us to know it was them, wanted us to feel their eyes on us in a very obvious way. ”
My dad just nods.
I continue, “And then we spotted the drone. I shot the fucker down before it could get away. It’s in the back of her car, brought it in just like I said I would.”
“That was good work, Jasper.”
Tessa shifts beside me, quiet. Her face is a mask, but I catch that twitch in her jaw.
She’s rattled. And I don’t blame her. Most don’t get tossed into the deep end like this.
The thing is, when it’s just us, I can pull her out of her head.
But put her in a room full of people? She shuts back down again.
This tells me that she fuckin’ needs me in her life.
Rock doesn’t speak right away. He just sits, still as a statue in the chair I dragged over. But I see it—the tension he’s tryin’ real damn hard to hide.
“We need eyes on that drone,” he says finally. “Check the optics. Range, angle. Might tell us how much they’ve seen.”
“I’ll get onto that.”
Ma gives me a look. It’s her version of a nod, a silent ‘you did good, son.’
Tessa sets her mug down real careful on the end table. “There’s no telling how long they’ve been tracking us, is there?”
Before I can answer, there’s a soft knock at the door.
I cross the suite and pull it open. Tyler’s there, arms full of busted-up cardboard boxes.
He’s out of breath and has sweat glinting along his hairline.
His cut’s hanging open over a black wife beater, and his boots are dusty from the road.
The second he spots my old man inside, his spine snaps straight.
“Where do you want her stuff, Jasper?”
“Back bedroom,” I tell him. “Anything marked fragile goes on the bed. Put the rest on the floor and don’t stack her shit to the ceiling. Keep it clean.”
He nods once and steps inside with the slow, exaggerated care of a man walking a minefield.
Two more prospects roll in behind him. One’s got a stuffed duffel slung over one shoulder and a laundry basket stacked with throw pillows. The other’s bringing a canvas tote bursting with god-knows-what from her living room.
The prospect lingers a second too long, his eyes drifting towards Tessa on the couch. He’s not leering, just curious. I can tell that he’s trying to figure out who the hell she is. I’ve never brought a woman into my space, so I can’t blame him for wondering.
I clear my throat by way of a warning. “You boys keep coming and going till all her stuff’s in. I’m not playing doorman all night.”
“Yes, sir,” he says quick, then bolts back out to finish the job.
Ma stands, brushing invisible dust from her jeans like she’s about to inspect troops. “Let’s go check the room, honey. Make sure the boys didn’t crush anything important.”
Tessa hesitates. Her eyes flick to mine, there’s a quiet question hanging between us. I give her a quick chin jerk towards the back. “Go on. See to your stuff. Might take your mind off the rest.”
She comes to her feet and follows my ma. Her hands still tremble slightly as she adjusts the satchel strap on her shoulder, but her shoulders are no longer hunched. She’s standing taller now. It’s a sign that she’s pulling herself together, and I’m glad to see it.
She follows Ma down the short hall, disappearing through the doorway into the guest bedroom. I stay with my old man, who’s as quiet as ever. He’s moved to the window, and is standing there with his arms crossed, watching the lot below.
“They struck first. No matter how messy things get, don’t ever forget that, son.” He’s saying they deserve what they fuckin’ get for starting the violence.
I grit out, “I won’t.”
My dad lets out a sound of agreement, more a huff.
Why do I always feel like the old buzzard is always five steps ahead of me?
Unless I miss my guess, he’s already thinking about retaliation, leverage, how potential allies could shift the coming conflict in our favor.
That’s my old man—he’s a strategy-comes-first kinda guy. The emotions catch up later, if at all.
Another prospect comes quietly through, dropping off items. I motion him towards the bedroom, and he slips past me with a muttered, “Excuse me, sir.” At least someone’s raising the standard today.