Chapter 3
Kash
The day passed quickly. I dozed, went for a walk in the nearby woodland, put myself a few half-hearted exercise routines in the cabin.
Life on the run ain’t exactly a barrel of laughs.
But now it’s night again, and I’m beginning to feel the heat rise up inside me again. I want to get my life back. I want to see the Vipers get what’s coming to them. And I want to get my ass away from here so I can forget about that damn skater boy too.
The cabin’s dark, the only light coming from the moon slipping through the cracks in the blinds. There’s a small lamp in the corner, but the bulb fused the second I turned it on. So, yup, it’s the moonlight for me tonight…
I’m sprawled on the sagging couch, a half-empty bottle of whiskey on the table, my burner phone silent beside it. No contact. Nothing. All I can do is trust that Jace and the other Riders are looking out for me and trying to get me off the hook somehow.
It feels strange knowing that my life is in the hands of other people—quite literally. I feel powerless, and it’s not exactly a comfortable feeling either. I trust my fellow Wolf Riders, there’s no doubt about that. But truth be told I’d much rather be getting my own ass off these charges.
Still, beggars can’t be choosers.
I’m a wanted man, and until something changes that’s just the way it’s gonna stay.
The ocean’s roar outside is a constant, like a heartbeat I can’t escape, and it’s doing nothing to calm the storm in my head.
I take a swig of the whiskey, the burn grounding me, but it doesn’t erase the image of him. Spike. Those green eyes, that cocky grin, the way he leaned against my bike like he owned it.
Trouble doesn’t even begin to cover it.
I’m thirty-eight, old enough to know better, but that kid has me twisted up in ways I haven’t felt in years.
When he touched my Harley, when he stood there challenging me with that smirk, I wanted to grab him, pin him against the bike, and show him exactly what happens when you push a man like me.
But I didn’t.
I let him skate off, his laughter echoing in my head like a taunt.
I can’t afford to lose focus, not when the Vipers have me framed for a cop’s murder, not when every snitch in a hundred miles is itching to collect that five-grand reward and turn me over to the cops.
Man, I fucking hate the Vipers. I know a thing or two about rival beef with other MCs. All’s fair in love and war. But there still needs to be a code, a system of honor amongst us all. And the Vipers just don’t play it like that. Setting me up for the murder of a cop? That’s lower than low.
Shit. I need another slug of whisky.
I scrub a hand through my salt-and-pepper hair, the scar above my eyebrow itching under my fingers.
It’s all so frustrating.
I was across state lines, pulling a bank job with the Riders when that cop got his chest blown open.
No way I’m admitting to that, not unless I want thirty years—or probably more given my record—in a cell.
I’ve already done time, and even a short stretch like eighteen months was too long for me.
I nearly went crazy. The prospect of spending potentially the rest of my life in some filthy cell and being pushed around by guards is enough to make me want to face the firing squad instead.
Fuck.
I’m in a hole.
I need a distraction, something, anything, to make me feel better.
The burner phone buzzes, and I snatch it up, heart pounding. It’s a text from Jace, short and coded…
JACE: No leads yet. Vipers tight-lipped. Working to get you free, man. Don’t do anything rash. Trust in me. Stay low.
I curse under my breath, tossing the phone back on the table. Staying low means no attention, no connections, no green-eyed skater boys who look at me like they want to climb onto my lap and sink their ass down on my cock.
I take another swig of whiskey, trying to burn away the heat in my gut, but it’s no use.
Spike’s under my skin, and I hate it.
A sharp rap on the door jerks me out of my thoughts. My hand goes to the knife at my belt, instincts kicking in.
No one other than Spike knows I’m here except Gus, and he’s not the type to drop by for a chat. Or at least I hope he’s not. The last thing I want is to spend the next twenty minutes or more shooting the shit with that oily bum.
I move to the window, easing the blind aside just enough to see the porch.
Shit, the only person other than Gus who knows I’m here…
It’s him. Spike.
Standing there with his skateboard tucked under his arm, wearing a ripped tank top and those tight jeans that show off every lean muscle. His dark hair’s a mess, falling into his eyes, and he’s got that same defiant grin, like he knows he’s not supposed to be here.
I open the door, keeping my face hard.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Spike?” I growl, not wanting to give the boy a single hint of encouragement.
Spike shrugs, all casual, like he’s not standing on the doorstep of a wanted man.
“Couldn’t sleep,” Spike chuckles. “Figured I’d check on you. Make sure you’re not, y’know, murdering anyone.”
The boy’s grin widens, but there’s a flicker in his eyes—curiosity, maybe suspicion. He’s heard the rumors, no doubt. Small towns like Cresthaven talk, and that five-grand reward is loud.
“You need to leave,” I say, my voice low, a warning. “Now.”
Spike steps closer, ignoring the edge in my tone.
“Why? You scared I’ll turn you in?” He tilts his head, those green eyes locking onto mine. “Or are you scared of something else?”
The damn skater boy is baiting me, and it’s working.
My blood’s heating, my control slipping. I grab the front of his tank top, yanking him inside and slamming the door shut.
Spike stumbles but catches himself, his board hitting the floor with a clatter.
“You don’t listen, do you?” I growl, pinning him against the wall, my hand still fisted in his shirt. He’s much smaller than me, lean but strong, and I can feel the heat of his body through the thin fabric.
“Nope,” Spike says, his voice teasing, but there’s a tremor in it, like he’s feeling the same spark I am. “I’ve never been good at following rules.”
I should shove Spike out the door, send him skating back to his little world. But his eyes are on me, bold and unyielding, and my body’s screaming to close the distance.
“You’re gonna regret this,” I mutter, but my hand’s already moving, sliding up to his jaw, my thumb brushing over his lips. His breath hitches, and that’s all it takes.
I kiss him. Hard.
My lips crash against his, all heat and hunger, and Spike responds like he’s been waiting for it. His hands grip my shoulders, pulling me closer, and I taste salt and rebellion on his tongue.
It’s reckless, stupid, but I don’t care.
For the first time in weeks, I’m not thinking about the Vipers or the cops or the price on my head.
Just him. Spike.
The way he moans into my mouth, the way his body arches against mine, all defiance and need.
I break the kiss, my chest heaving, and shove him back against the wall, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make a point.
“You don’t get to call the shots here, boy,” I say, my voice rough with want. The word boy slips out, natural, and I see the effect it has—his eyes darken, his lips part, a flush creeping up his neck.
Spike likes it.
Fuck, so do I.
“Then tell me what to do,” Spike says, his voice low, challenging. “You’re the big, bad biker, right? Show me who’s boss.”
I growl, my control fraying.
“You want rules? Fine,” I bark. “Rule one: you don’t touch my bike.
Rule two: you don’t come here unless I say so.
Rule three: you do what I tell you, when I tell you.
” I lean in, my lips brushing his ear, feeling him shiver.
“And if you break my rules, you’ll find out what happens to skater boys who don’t listen. ”
Spike laughs, a soft, reckless sound that makes my blood boil.
“You think you can tame me, Kash?” Spike giggles defiantly. “Good luck.”
I grab his wrists, pinning them above his head, and he doesn’t fight it. His body’s pressed against mine, hard and warm, and I can feel how much he wants this. Wants me.
“This ain’t a game, Spike,” I say, but my voice betrays me, thick with desire. “You keep pushing, you’re gonna get burned.”
“Then burn me,” Spike whispers, and it’s like a match to gasoline.
I kiss him again, slower this time, savoring the way he melts into me.
My hand roams, sliding under his tank top, feeling the taut muscles of his stomach, the ink that tells a story I want to read. He’s all sharp angles and defiance, but there’s a softness too, a vulnerability in the way he lets me take control.
I pull back, my forehead resting against his, both of us breathing hard…
“This was a mistake,” I say, stepping back, letting his wrists go. My body’s screaming to keep going, to strip him bare and claim every inch of him, but my head’s louder.
I’m a wanted man.
Every second I spend with him is a risk, for both of us.
Spike straightens, adjusting his tank top, but his eyes are still locked on mine, unapologetic.
“Didn’t feel like a mistake to me,” Spike says, breathing heavily, grabbing his board. “You gonna kick me out now, or what?”
“Get out,” I say, but there’s no heat in it. I’m fighting myself as much as him. “And don’t come back unless I tell you.”
Spike smirks, like he knows I don’t mean it.
“See you around, biker guy.”
Spike saunters out, his board tucked under his arm, and I watch him skate off into the night, the wheels humming against the gravel.
I slam the door, my heart pounding, my body still buzzing from his touch.
I grab the whiskey, take a long pull, but it doesn’t help.
Spike’s trouble, and I’m in deep.
I pace the cabin, trying to get my head straight.
The Vipers, the cops, the bank job—they’re all closing in, and now I’ve got this kid tearing through my defenses like they’re nothing.
I need to stay focused, keep my distance, but even as I think it, I know I’m lying to myself.
I want him. More than I should.
And way more than is safe.
Outside, a car engine rumbles, too close for comfort. I move to the window, peering through the blinds.
A police cruiser rolls slowly past, its spotlight sweeping the bluff.
My stomach twists. They’re sniffing around, probably tipped off by some nosy local who saw my bike.
Luckily for me, my bike is well hidden now—I’ve got plenty of years of experience in the bank when it comes to concealing a bike, and fortunately for me all my years of playing the law for fools are now paying off.
If I need to keep my bike out of prying eyes, I’m more than capable.
I wait, holding my breath, until the cruiser disappears down the road.
They didn’t stop, but it’s a warning.
Cresthaven’s not as safe as I thought.
I sink onto the couch, my knife in one hand, the whiskey in the other. Spike’s face flashes in my mind again—but this time I’m thinking about our kiss. I could have pinned him down, ripped his clothes off and taken him right there and then.
But I held back.
Almost like I wanted to tease myself, make me want him even more, push myself until I can’t handle my desire for a single second longer.
Spike’s a complication I can’t afford, but I’m not sure I can stay away.
And with all the puzzles and problems in my life right now, that’s just one issue I really shouldn’t be adding to the list…