Chapter Five #2
He hit the bathroom, then bought some ChapStick because the combination of wind and sun was murder on his lips.
Walking out of the convenience store, he drew the gaze of more than one customer.
Some gave him a wide berth, while others stared, and one busty woman with over-processed hair licked her lips and winked.
She probably hoped he’d take her around the side of the building for a quick fuck, which he’d very much love, but not with her.
The one he wanted had better be standing next to his bike, munching Twizzlers like she was auditioning for porn.
He was used to all manner of reactions from people when they saw his cut.
Most steered clear, assuming an outlaw biker would fly into a homicidal rage if anyone got too close.
Civilians wildly misunderstood their one-percenter culture.
But then there were fender bunnies like the bleached blonde eyeing him like her next snack. None of it fazed him anymore.
The store’s automatic door slid open, revealing Beth right where he’d left her, only she wasn’t alone.
His spine stiffened instantly, and his hand went to his pocket, where he always kept a switchblade. He preferred a gun, but traveling across multiple state lines with one often invited unwanted attention from the local cops.
Beth stood at the front tire of his motorcycle, posture rigid and uncomfortable.
She held her leather jacket closed, hiding the skin she’d freely allowed him to see, while some douchebag leered at her from the opposite side of the bike.
The guy’s stance screamed gym bro with a puffed-up chest, spray-tanned muscles, and hair styled within an inch of its life.
He said something Saint couldn’t hear, but it made Beth frown as she tugged the jacket tighter, and that was e-fucking-nough for him.
Saint’s blood zinged with the same thrill that surged through him when he got to fuck someone up for screwing over his club. The same delicious sense of homegrown justice he’d experienced pummeling the fuck out of Beth’s piece-of-shit ex.
He reached his bike in time to hear the gym bro with his Instagram-muscle and shampoo-commercial hair say, “Promise I’ll be the best lay you’ve ever had.”
“Yeah?” Saint said, voice soft and deadly calm. “That’s a pretty bold claim, my man.”
Both heads snapped his way.
Beth’s eyes widened with relief and embarrassment. She shifted closer to the bike, almost using it as a shield. Gym Bro’s gaze flicked down to Saint’s cut, lingered on the patch, then popped back up to his face with forced bravado.
“Just talking to the lady, man,” the guy said. “Didn’t know she belonged to anybody.” His eyes slid over Beth again, slower this time. “Though maybe she wants to belong to someone else.”
Saint’s jaw flexed.
Wrong-fucking-answer.
He stepped in close, closing the space between them in two easy strides. “That right?” He had at least four inches on Gym Bro, but the guy had more bulk. Still, Saint would bet his bike the guy had no idea how to use those muscles in a fight.
And he’d never risk his bike.
Beth opened her mouth. “Saint, it’s fine. I—”
“No, it’s not,” he said without looking at her. His gaze stayed locked on the guy who stared up at him with unwarranted arrogance. “When a woman’s got her arms crossed and a frown on her face, it means walk the fuck away. You too stupid to figure that out?”
Gym Bro scoffed. “She’s playing games.” He lifted his hands in mock innocence.
“You ladies gotta stop fucking with us. How are we supposed to know you don’t want it?
” His gaze dipped to Beth’s chest again, and he smirked.
“Though, sweetheart, you’re sending some real mixed signals with that slutty top. ”
Beth flinched and hugged her jacket tighter.
Something in Saint snapped.
He slung an arm around the guy’s shoulders in what looked, from a distance, like an easy, bro gesture. “Walk with me a sec,” he said, steering him a few steps away from Beth and the bike, turning their backs to the parking lot.
The man chuckled nervously. “Uh, what the fuck, dude? I don’t swing this way.”
Saint’s fingers slipped his switchblade from his pocket, flicking it open with a quiet snick he knew would carry just enough to be heard by Gym Bro.
He pressed the cold metal tip into the soft spot between the guy’s ribs, right through his thin T-shirt.
Not hard enough to pierce skin, but enough to let him feel the pressure and know how quickly his fate could change.
The man went stock-still. “Whoa. Hey… easy, man. What the hell?”
“Here’s the thing,” Saint murmured, voice low enough that only the two of them could hear.
He smiled as if they were sharing a joke.
“That woman over there?” He tilted his head toward Beth.
“She’s not just some random chick at a gas station.
She’s family. Part of the Hell’s Handlers Motorcycle Club. ”
Saint increased the pressure a fraction.
The guy sucked in a sharp breath and lost any last hint of bravado.
“And I’m what we like to call an enforcer-in-training,” Saint continued. “Means when people make my family uncomfortable, I fix the problem. Permanently.”
“Hey, man, I didn’t touch her,” the guy whispered. Sweat beaded at his hairline, and his legs began to shake. “Jesus Christ, I was just talking to her.” His pitch rose until he was nearly whining.
“Oh, I heard you talking.” Saint’s smile widened. “Promises, right? ‘Best she’s ever had.’ You talk to all women like that?”
“N-no.” The guy flinched as Saint shifted the blade the tiniest bit. “Look, I’ll fucking back off. I get it.”
“See, now we’re getting along,” Saint said, squeezing the guy’s shoulder so hard he winced.
“Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna apologize to her, not to me, and then you’re gonna climb in that shiny little Prius your daddy bought you, and get the hell out of here.
You will not look back. You will not circle back.
You will not suddenly realize you left your emotional support energy drink at this gas station.
You will not, for the rest of your miserable life, approach a woman who looks like she’d rather be anywhere else. You get me?”
The guy nodded quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, I get you.” He nodded so fast that he looked like one of those dolls with the wobbly head. This guy better not piss himself.
“Because if I see your face near her again,” Saint went on, tone still conversational, “I’m gonna take this little knife…” he pressed in just enough to make the guy grunt, “… and carve a reminder into your side. Something simple. Maybe the word ‘no,’ so you don’t forget it.”
A strangled whimper escaped Gym Bro’s throat.
“Am I clear?”
“Yes,” he wheezed. “C-clear.”
“Good man.”
Saint flipped the blade closed and slid it back into his pocket in one smooth motion, then slapped the guy’s back as if they’d just finished discussing sports. He turned him around by the shoulders and shoved him back toward Beth.
The guy swallowed hard. “Uh…sorry, ma’am,” he mumbled in her direction. “Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
Beth’s brows rose, but she gave a short nod. “Okay.” Her voice was cool and controlled, despite the flush in her cheeks.
Saint could tell she’d have liked to eviscerate the guy verbally, but she kept her thoughts to herself.
Gym Bro backed away fast, then broke into a near sprint toward a shiny black car at a neighboring pump. He didn’t look back.
Saint watched until the car pulled out of the station and merged onto the highway. Only then did he turn back to Beth.
She let out a breath. “You know…” she said, “… I was doing okay handling it.”
He grunted. “You were uncomfortable. Your face was, at least.”
She huffed. “He was a creep, yeah. But he was just spouting off bullshit. Doesn’t mean he needs to get stabbed in a truck stop gas station.”
“Didn’t stab him,” Saint said with a shrug. “Thought about it, sure, but I have self-control.”
Despite herself, Beth’s lips twitched. “You always travel with a knife?”
“Just a little one,” he said. “Barely counts.”
She stared at him for a long beat, then shook her head. “You bikers are insane.”
“We prefer effective.” He studied her, noting the way her shoulders were slowly relaxing now that the guy was gone.
“For the record, you never owe a dude politeness when he makes you uncomfortable. You never owe a smile. You never owe a conversation. You sure as fuck don’t owe him your time or your body. ”
Her throat worked as she swallowed and then nodded. “I know.”
“Yeah,” he said softly. “But sometimes knowing and feeling aren’t the same thing.”
Her gaze flicked to his, surprise and something like gratitude in her eyes. “You’re getting real wise in your old age, Saint.”
He snorted. “Fuck off. I’m not old.”
“You gotta be what, like close to forty?” she said around a Twizzler, then smiled, for real this time.
“Come on, brat,” he said, jerking his chin toward the bike. “We’ve got a few more hours till home. And I’m thirty-fucking-three. Nowhere near forty.”
She giggled, then grew serious.
Home.
The word settled between them like a living thing.
Beth’s fingers drifted unconsciously to the faint bruises along her throat. In the harsh daylight, they’d faded from angry purple to sickly yellow-green, but they were still visible. She glanced at the convenience store windows, where faint reflections showed her makeup-free face and loose hair.
“Gonna try to cover them up at the next stop?” he asked gently.
“Probably,” she said. “I don’t want… them to see this. Not right away.”
He nodded. He got it. Shame had a way of making you want to hide the evidence, even when you weren’t the one who’d done anything wrong.
“Helmet on,” he said instead. “Let’s roll.”
The last stretch of the ride flew by, and crawled at the same time.
Beth leaned against him, quiet, as the scenery shifted from a flat mid-west sprawl to rolling hills and, eventually, the familiar rise of the Smoky Mountains. The air grew cooler, the ground grew greener. The smells changed too—less hot asphalt and exhaust, more pine and damp earth.
Tennessee.
Home turf.
For Saint, it meant club, family, and responsibilities. For Beth, it hopefully represented safety, love, and healing, but she feared it also meant facing hard truths.
He felt the tension humming through her body the closer they got. Every time he slowed for a town or a light, her fingers flexed slightly at his waist, like she was bracing for impact.
They stopped once more at a small station on the outskirts of town so Beth could duck into the bathroom.
When she returned, her makeup was heavy on her throat and cheeks.
She looped a scarf loosely around her neck despite the warm weather.
It wouldn’t fool Copper or Shell for long, if at all, but he didn’t call her on it.
He’d already sealed his fate by keeping information from his president.
By the time the familiar road to the clubhouse appeared, Saint’s chest felt tight. He rode in slowly with gravel crunching under his tires and the low rumble of his bike carrying over the quiet of the late afternoon.
The compound was its usual controlled chaos with bikes parked in a line, a few brothers milling about, smoke curling from the grill out back, and the faint thump of music coming from inside the clubhouse.
Out front, at one of the heavy wooden picnic tables that had seen more than their fair share of beer, laughter, and threats, sat Copper and Shell.
Copper’s massive frame was kicked back on the bench, one forearm resting on the table, a bottle of beer in hand. Shell sat tucked into his side, their shoulders touching, her legs crossed, her blonde hair up in a messy knot.
They both looked up at the sound of Saint’s bike.
His stomach gave a slow, uneasy roll.
He cut the engine. The sudden silence rang in his ears louder than the screech of skidding tires. Beth’s arms loosened from around his waist, hesitating for a fraction of a second before she pulled away.
She slid off the bike, boots hitting the gravel, and lifted her helmet with shaking hands. Her scarf shifted, and Saint watched Copper’s gaze zero in on that tiny movement like a laser sight.
For half a heartbeat, no one moved.
Then Copper set his beer down with deliberate care and rose to his full, imposing height. Beth let out a small squeak and then ran to her father at full speed. She threw herself into his massive arms, burrowing her face into his chest.
Beside him, a few tears escaped Shell’s eyes. Her gaze met Saint’s, and she smiled. Thank you, she mouthed.
He nodded.
He’d done his job.
Beth was home.
There wasn’t any reason for him to stick around and torture himself staring at her all night.
Beth glanced over her father’s shoulder and caught his eye. Something passed between them—gratitude, maybe, or the weight of shared secrets. Like her mother, she mouthed thank you, and he gave her a small nod.
Copper’s gaze found his next, sharp and knowing. Saint held it, gave his president a respectful chin lift, then climbed back on his bike. Time to find someone to fuck so he could stop fantasizing about his president’s gorgeous daughter.