Chapter 31 #2
This is bad in a way I didn’t expect because it happened too fast and now I can feel people watching and my legs are burning and my pulse is suddenly climbing so hard it feels like my ribs can’t contain it. “I’m leaving,” I say. My voice comes out thinner than I want it to.
I hate that.
I hate that he can probably hear the shift too.
Then he grabs my wrist. Hard.
Too hard.
The second his hand closes around me, something in my chest drops straight through the floor. Because this is no longer awkward. No longer uncomfortable. No longer some bad date gone sour in a public place where I can roll my eyes and walk away.
This is fear. Hot. Immediate. Primal.
“Let go of me.”
Drew’s face is different now. Not just angry. Ugly.
That’s the only word for it.
All that controlled, measured, “I’m a good guy, I’m trying to help you” bullshit is gone, and underneath it is this mean, entitled thing that thinks he gets to hold on because he hasn’t finished talking yet.
“You are not walking away from me to go crawl back to those biker pieces of shit—”
“Let. Go.”
I yank against his grip, and it only tightens. Panic starts climbing fast and vicious now, curling up my throat and making everything feel too close and too loud all at once.
My heart is pounding. My skin is hot. My legs still sting from the coffee. And for one split, horrible second, all I can think is Jimmy was right. Jimmy was right. Jimmy was right.
Then a voice cuts through the room like a blade. “Take your fucking hand off her.”
Everything stops.
Drew’s grip doesn’t loosen, but his head snaps toward the sound.
Mine does too.
And there, three tables over near the back wall with a coffee and half a breakfast sandwich I never even noticed, is Blaze. He’s already on his feet, moving toward us.
I didn’t know he was here. Didn’t know he’d been here the whole time.
Blaze doesn’t posture. That’s the scariest part.
He doesn’t puff up or yell or make a scene of it.
He just steps closer, eyes locked on Drew like he’s already decided exactly how this ends if the next five seconds go wrong.
And because Blaze is one of those men who doesn’t have to work to be dangerous, the entire room seems to understand the shift immediately.
Drew pivots too fast, still dragging me partly with him before I wrench my wrist free hard enough that pain shoots up my arm.
Blaze’s jaw flexes. “Bad move,” he says.
Drew squares up, chest high like he thinks being a cop means everybody in the room is supposed to defer to him. “Mind your fucking business.”
Blaze’s expression doesn’t change. “It became my business when you put your hands on her.”
Drew laughs once, ugly and sharp. “Oh, right. Another one of her little biker guard dogs.”
That’s it.
That’s the moment.
Because I see the exact second Blaze decides he’s done giving this man chances.
Drew takes one step toward me again, hand half out like he’s going to grab my arm and pull me back into this like he still has the right to.
Blaze hits him. Hard. Fast. Clean.
The punch lands so solidly Drew’s head snaps to the side and he stumbles into the edge of the table, knocking a chair sideways hard enough to send it skidding across the floor.
Somebody gasps. Somebody swears. The barista behind the counter yells something about calling the cops, which is almost funny if the adrenaline wasn’t making my whole body shake.
Drew recovers just enough to lunge back, but Blaze is already there. Already in his space. Already done playing. “You touch her again,” Blaze says, voice low and lethal, “and I’ll finish this outside where there aren’t witnesses.”
The whole room goes dead silent.
Drew wipes at his mouth and looks at the blood on his hand. Then his eyes cut to me. And that’s somehow worse than the yelling. Because there’s something in his face now that makes the panic I barely got under control come roaring right back.
Not embarrassment. Not just anger. Humiliation.
The kind that turns mean men dangerous.
Blaze steps slightly in front of me without fully blocking me in, one arm angled back just enough that if I move, he’ll feel it.
Protection. Not possession. Not handling.
Just making sure Drew can’t get to me again.
And God. The difference between that and what just happened hits so hard it nearly makes me dizzy.
Drew laughs once, bitter and ugly. “This what you want?” he spits. “A bunch of violent criminals solving your problems?”
Before I can even answer, Blaze says, “No. What she wanted was for you to act like a man and take a breakup without losing your shit in public.”
That one lands.
Hard.
Because Drew’s whole face twists. Because it’s true. Because everybody in this room just watched him prove exactly what kind of man he is when he doesn’t get his way.
And he knows it.
That’s what makes this worse. That’s what makes him dangerous.
Blaze glances back at me just enough to check, “You good?”
I nod too fast. Not because I’m actually good. Because I need to get out of here before my body realizes I’m not and fully betrays me.
“Yeah.”
Blaze doesn’t look like he believes me. Still, he just says, “Come on.”
I don’t argue.
I grab my bag off the floor with shaking fingers, step around the fallen cup and coffee mess and the table that’s half crooked now from Drew slamming into it, and follow Blaze toward the door without looking back.
I can feel Drew’s eyes on me the whole way.
That’s the worst part. Not the coffee. Not even the wrist.
That.
The way my skin crawls knowing he’s still looking.
Outside, the cool air hits me like a slap.
It should help. It doesn’t.
The second the door swings shut behind us, everything I’ve been holding together starts slipping.
My hands shake. My pulse won’t come down. My throat feels too tight.
Blaze notices immediately. “Hey.” His voice is calmer now. Softer. Not soft, exactly. Just not aimed like a weapon anymore.
“You with me?”
I nod once, but it’s probably not convincing because he takes one look at my face and says, “Breathe.”
I try. It comes out thin and uneven.
He steps a little closer but doesn’t touch me, and I appreciate that more than I know how to explain. Because right now even well-meaning hands might send me straight over the edge.
“You need me to call somebody?” he asks.
The answer is immediate.
Jimmy. Every cell in my body screams Jimmy.
But right behind that comes another thought...
If Jimmy sees the red mark already forming around my wrist and hears what happened in the exact state he was in this morning when I was still perfectly safe, he is going to commit an actual crime before lunch.
And while some dark, messy part of me absolutely loves that, the more rational part of me knows that’s not a great first official-boyfriend move for us.
So instead, I shake my head once and say, “Just…just give me a second.”
Blaze nods. “Okay.”
He glances back toward the shop, jaw still tight enough to crack teeth, then adds, “You’re not going back in there.”
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
“Good.”
I pull my phone out of my bag with fingers that still don’t feel entirely connected to the rest of me.
There’s a missed text from Jimmy from fifteen minutes ago.
Jimmy: Everything good?
I stare at it for a second too long, then type back.
Me: Leaving now
I hesitate.
Because if I don’t tell him something and Blaze shows up at the clubhouse with me looking like this, I’m going to create a whole different kind of disaster.
Me: Blaze is with me. I’m okay.
The typing bubble appears almost instantly.
Then disappears. Then appears again. Then disappears.
Which somehow tells me more than words could.
He’s losing his fucking mind.
I know it. I can feel it all the way from here.
My phone buzzes.
Jimmy: Where are you?
Me: Coffee shop on main. I’m heading back now
Another immediate reply.
Jimmy: Stay with Blaze. I’m sending someone or coming myself
I close my eyes for one second.
Of course he is.
Of course.
Me: Jimmy please don’t overreact
The reply comes so fast it’s almost insulting.
Jimmy: Too late
Despite everything, despite the adrenaline and the sting in my legs and the panic still clawing at the base of my throat, a shaky little laugh escapes me.
Blaze looks over. “What?”
I shake my head. “Nothing. Jimmy is coming, will you wait with me?”
Blaze gives me a knowing nod, and glances back toward the coffee shop.
We both share a knowing gaze and a silent communication, hopefully Drew is gone before Jimmy gets here.
Because the second I picture Jimmy reading those messages and immediately deciding distance, logic, and probably several state laws no longer apply to him, something in me loosens just enough to let air back into my lungs.
Not because I need saving. Because I’m not alone in this.
I’m just not.
And that changes everything.
Drew walks out of the coffee shop his gaze fixed on Blaze and I.
“I don’t want to wait here.”
Blaze nods, “I’ll let Jimmy know we’re coming to him instead.” Blaze walks me to my car and waits until I unlock it before he says, “I’ll follow you back?”
I look at him.
At the man who just happened to be in the right place at the exact right time and stepped in without making me feel small or helpless for needing it.
My throat tightens. “Thank you.”
He shrugs one shoulder like it’s was nothing. It isn’t.
We both know it wasn’t.
I get in the car, lock the doors, and force myself to breathe through the first two minutes of the drive while Blaze’s bike stays in my rearview mirror the whole way.
By the time I pull onto the road out of downtown, my hands are steadier. Not steady.
Steadier.
Enough that I can think. Enough that the panic starts loosening its grip and leaves room for anger to move back in.
Real anger.
Because I did everything right. Public place. Calm tone. Clear ending.
And he still turned ugly the second I stopped being something he thought he could control.
That thought sits hot and sharp in my chest all the way back toward the clubhouse.
My phone buzzes at a red light. I glance down.
Unknown sender.
And something in my gut drops before I even open it. I shouldn’t. I do anyway.
You’ll regret embarrassing me like that.
For one second, the whole car goes silent around me.
The air. The engine. My own breathing.
Everything.
Then my pulse kicks hard again. Not panic this time. Something colder. Because that isn’t anger.
That’s a threat.
Not dressed up. Not vague enough to explain away.
A threat.
I stare at the screen until the light turns green and somebody behind me honks.
Then I toss the phone onto the passenger seat like it burned me and drive the rest of the way home with my jaw locked and every nerve in my body suddenly wide awake again.
By the time the clubhouse comes into view, I know one thing for sure.
This isn’t over.