Chapter Two
Lena woke before dawn, her body aching from the long shift and the adrenaline crash that followed. Sleep wouldn’t come back, no matter how many times she shifted under the covers. Finally, with a groan, she pushed herself upright and padded into the kitchen.
The coffeemaker coughed and hissed as it came to life, filling the cramped space with the sharp scent of brewing coffee. She cracked two eggs into a pan and dropped bread into the toaster, moving on autopilot. The motions were familiar, comforting in their own small way.
Her thoughts weren’t on breakfast, however. They were on King Maddox. She saw him every time she closed her eyes. The way he’d filled the doorway, the way his presence alone had crushed the Iron Serpents’ swagger. He’d been merciless, violent, terrifying, and yet...
When his eyes had landed on her, it hadn’t been fear curling low in her stomach. It had been something else. Something hotter.
She hated herself for noticing. Men like him were fire and ruin, storms that left nothing standing in their path. Lena had enough storms in her life already. Still, his voice echoed in her head, the gravelly weight of it, the sharpness of his gaze that made her feel exposed.
Lena scraped the burnt edges off the toast and sat at the small kitchen table, eating mechanically. For one fleeting moment, she let herself imagine what it might feel like if someone else carried the weight for once.
If she didn’t have to keep everything together, all on her own. But that was a fantasy. King Maddox wasn’t salvation. He was the kind of man mothers warned their daughters about.
By the time she had dressed and drove towards the hospital, the sky outside had shifted to a soft, pale gray. The city yawned awake around her, but Lena’s thoughts stayed tangled, heavy.
Her mother’s hospital room smelled like bleach and sickness, the beeping machines marking out the steady, fragile rhythm of life.
Every time Lena stepped inside, she braced herself for how much worse her mom might look. This morning was no exception.
The woman who had once been sharp-eyed and unbreakable looked pale and worn, her frame thinner than ever beneath the thin blanket. Still, she smiled faintly when Lena entered.
“Morning, baby,” she whispered, her voice rasping.
Lena forced brightness into her own voice. “Morning. I brought you contraband.” She held up a travel mug of coffee. “Don’t tell the nurses.”
Her mother chuckled softly, a fragile sound that lodged in Lena’s chest like broken glass. “You’re terrible.”
“I get it from you,” Lena teased.
She helped her sit up enough to sip. Her mother’s hands trembled as she tried to hold the mug, and Lena had to guide it carefully. Watching her mother’s weakness hurt more than Lena could admit.
They talked for a while. Safe topics, easy ones.
Old neighbors, TV shows, the kind of small chatter that didn’t demand too much energy.
However, beneath every word hung the truth.
Her mother was getting worse. The coughs lasted longer, her sentences trailed off more often, and her eyes closed faster.
When her mother finally drifted back to sleep, Lena stayed seated, watching her chest rise and fall, the machines’ steady beeps filling the silence.
Fear pressed heavy on her shoulders. Bills piled high at home, responsibilities she couldn’t outrun, and now this, watching the only family she had slip further away each day.
She kissed her mom’s forehead before leaving, whispering, “I’ll figure it out. I promise.” Whether she could or not.
Lena soon left the hospital and drove to work. Something was wrong the moment she turned onto the block where The Pit Stop sat.
From a distance, she could already see the spray paint. An ugly green snake scrawled across the front door, dripping down the wood. The closer she got, the worse it looked. Windows smashed, glass glittering across the sidewalk.
The front door hung crooked, one hinge barely holding on. Her stomach dropped. The Serpents.
Lena rushed out of her car, her heart hammering. Inside, the damage was worse. Tables overturned, chairs broken, bottles shattered across the sticky floor. The whole place smelled like stale beer and destruction.
And standing in the middle of it all, pacing like a caged animal, was Rick. For once, the absentee owner had actually shown up. His usually slicked-back hair was a mess, his shirt wrinkled, his eyes wide and frantic.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered when he saw her. “Jesus Christ, Lena, what the hell am I supposed to do about this?”
She stared at him. “You’re asking me?”
“You were here last night!” His hands flailed toward the wreckage. “You saw those bastards. You know what they’re capable of. What the hell do we do?”
Lena bit back a bitter laugh. What did he expect her to say? He was the owner. He was supposed to have answers, supposed to protect what was his. Instead, he looked to her like she was some kind of savior.
But she wasn’t. She was just the girl pouring drinks to keep her mother’s hospital bills barely afloat. Then, like a stone sinking in her gut, she remembered.
The folded scrap of paper in her jacket pocket. King’s number. He’d handed it to her before he left last night, his voice low, rough. “Just in case.”
She had told him she wouldn’t need it. She didn’t need his protection. He hadn’t argued, hadn’t tried to convince her. He’d just looked at her with something dark in his eyes, something that said he knew better.
Now, standing in the middle of shattered glass and panic, she realized he had been right. Her hand trembled as she pulled the scrap from her pocket, staring at the heavy, deliberate numbers written there.
Rick noticed. “Who’s that?”
Her voice came out tight. “Someone who might be able to help.”
“Then call them!” Rick snapped. “For Christ’s sake, call them before those bastards come back and finish the job.”
Lena’s throat was dry. Calling King Maddox wasn’t something she could take back. Once she invited him in, there would be no undoing it. He was the kind of man who left marks that didn’t fade.
But her mother’s face flashed in her mind. The hospital bills. The Serpents’ laughter. With a deep breath, she pulled out her phone and dialed.
The line rang once, twice. Then clicked.
“Maddox,” came the low, steady voice on the other end.
For a second, Lena couldn’t breathe.
“It’s Lena,” she managed, her voice catching. “From The Pit Stop. I think I need that help after all.”
****
King Maddox had seen a lot of things in his years. Blood, betrayal, brotherhood, and every kind of woman who thought she could handle a man like him. But damned if he could remember the last time someone had gotten under his skin the way Lena had the night before.
She shouldn’t have. She was just a bartender, standing behind the sticky counter of a two-bit dive. But when the Serpents had rolled in and spat their poison, Lena hadn’t cowered.
She’d stood there with her chin tipped up, her voice steady, eyes burning with defiance. Not a hint of fear. What a woman.
Most people folded under that kind of heat. Hell, even grown men had pissed themselves when facing down an MC. But Lena? She hadn’t flinched. She’d looked him in the eye afterward, too, as if daring him to say he’d saved her. Like she didn’t owe him a damn thing.
That had been the part that hooked him deep.
Now, hours later, as dawn crept pale across the sky, King leaned against the bar at the clubhouse, watching the women drift around the room. Club girls, hang-arounds, the eager bodies who came sniffing around the Devil’s Crown for scraps of attention.
Normally King didn’t mind the distraction. He didn’t get attached, didn’t let anyone close, but he was still a man with needs. These women were more than happy to fill the gaps when he wanted them to, but not this morning.
Their painted lips, their wandering hands, their high-pitched laughs, all of it washed over him like static.
Meaningless. None of them held his focus and none of them made his blood stir the way Lena’s sharp tongue had, or the way she’d looked at him like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to slap him or kiss him.
King tightened his jaw as he pushed away from the bar. He ignored the calls of his name as he strode down the hall, away from the noise and the perfume, out toward the garage attached to the clubhouse.
The repair shop was theirs, one of the few legitimate businesses the Devil’s Crown ran, a clean front for money and a place to keep their hands busy between jobs.
King pulled open the rolling metal door, the scent of oil and steel greeting him like an old friend.
He needed that, the steadiness of engines.
Machines made sense in a way people didn’t. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He frowned, pulling it free. An unfamiliar number lit the screen.
King didn’t answer calls from strangers. Not ever, but something in his gut told him to hesitate this time. For a second, he almost let it go to voicemail. But then he remembered the scrap of paper he’d slipped across the bar last night. Just in case.
His thumb hit “accept.”
“Maddox.”
Silence for a beat, then a voice, tight, rushed, almost breaking.
“It’s Lena. From The Pit Stop.”
King froze, every nerve on high alert.
Her voice was panicked, the kind of panicked people tried to hide but couldn’t.
“The Serpents ... they hit the bar. Windows smashed, paint everywhere. We don’t— Rick doesn’t know what to do. And the cops...” She trailed off, her breath shaky.
King wasn’t surprised. Everyone knew half the city’s uniforms were already in the Serpents’ pockets.
“Slow down,” he ordered, his tone steady, grounding. “You at The Pit Stop now?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be right there.”
A pause. “You don’t have to—”
“Lena.” His dropped his voice lower, brooking no argument. “I said I’ll be there.”
King hung up before she could argue.
King didn’t waste time. He stalked back through the clubhouse, barking for Viper and Bishop. Viper, his vice president, sharp-eyed and mean as a whip, rose immediately, tugging on his cut. Bishop, their sergeant-at-arms, didn’t even ask questions, just followed. That was loyalty. That was family.
Within minutes, the three of them were on their bikes, engines roaring as they tore through the streets. King led the charge, every muscle taut, every thought zeroed in on the sound of Lena’s voice shaking through the phone.
When they pulled up to The Pit Stop, King’s stomach turned at the sight.
The bar was a wreck. Spray paint dripped venomous green across the door, glass crunched under their boots as they dismounted. Chairs and bottles were scattered inside like a battlefield.
Lena stood near the counter, arms crossed tight around herself. She looked up as they entered, relief flickering in her eyes before she quickly masked it with steel.
Rick hovered behind her, looking pale and useless.
King’s gaze swept the wreckage, then locked on Lena. “They came back,” he said flatly.
Her chin lifted. “You sound like you expected it.”
“I did.” King stepped closer, his size filling the ruined space, his presence heavy enough to make Rick stumble back. “You don’t bleed snakes without them striking back.”
Rick finally found his voice. “So what do we do? I can’t ... this is my business, Maddox, I can’t afford—”
King cut him off with a sharp look that shut him up cold. Then he turned back to Lena, who hadn’t flinched, who was still staring him down.
“You don’t call the cops,” King said. “Not for this. They won’t help you. They’ll just tell the Serpents what you said.”
Rick cursed under his breath, pacing. “So that’s it? I just, what? Close up? Walk away?”
King ignored him. His eyes stayed on Lena, his voice firm. “From this moment forward, this bar and everyone in it is under the Devil’s Crown’s protection.”
The words hung heavy in the air.
Lena stiffened, her eyes narrowing. “Protection,” she repeated, her tone dry. “That sounds a lot like ownership.”
King’s mouth curved in a faint, dangerous smile. “You got a problem with me keeping the snakes off your doorstep?”
Her lips pressed tight, like she wanted to argue but knew she had no ground to stand on. She hated it, that much was clear. But she also knew she had no choice.
Rick, on the other hand, sagged with visible relief. “Good. That’s good. That’s what we need,” Rick said.
King ignored him again. All his attention stayed locked on Lena.
She unsettled him in a way no woman had in years. Most avoided his gaze, or dropped their lashes and played sweet. Lena did neither. She stared straight back, fire in her eyes, daring him to try and own her.
The air between them tightened, something hot sparking under the tension. King saw the way her breath hitched, the way her throat moved as she swallowed. She felt it too, the pull neither of them wanted to acknowledge.
For a split second, he let himself imagine Lena in his bed, that defiance turned to something else, something just as consuming. In the end, King shoved it down, locking it tight. He didn’t do attachments, and she wasn’t the kind of woman a man like him got to keep.
Still, as he stood there in the wreckage, with the Serpents’ venom staining the walls and his men at his back, King knew one thing for sure.
Lena might not want his protection. She might not want him at all, but she had him anyway. King would be damned if he let the Serpents lay a hand on her again.