Chapter Seventeen
Makenzie
Don't tame her, try to chain her
The second you do you'll break her
Don't dull that shine that caught your eye
'Cause you're afraid somebody will take her
She ain't a dial you just turn on and off
‘Leave Her Wild’ - Tyler Rich
It’s been three days since Logan claimed me.
Three days of learning what it means to be with him in this new way.
He has changed so much in that time. He’s attentive in a way that makes my chest feel full and he’s considerate in ways I didn’t think he had in him…
not that he isn’t still stubborn, frustrating, and occasionally infuriating enough to make me want to throw something at him.
I’ve been off work, so whenever he didn’t have club business, we’ve been together.
Mornings with coffee in his kitchen. Afternoons with him stretched out on the couch while I read or watched whatever mindless show I could find, his hand idly tracing circles on my thigh.
Nights falling asleep with his body heat at my back and his arm heavy across my waist. It’s felt good. Better than good.
Now, standing in front of the mirror getting ready for work, I smooth my hair into place and look at my reflection. The thought of going back to Ambrosia was almost enough to start a war between us.
It had started with his voice raised, sharp enough to cut.
“There is no way in hell you are still working at Ambrosia!” Logan’s tone was pure authority, his jaw tight, eyes locked on mine like he could will me into obeying.
I crossed my arms, holding my ground. “I sure am, at least until I find something else. You can’t control me, Logan.
That’s not a relationship, at least not one that I’ll be in.
” My mouth curved in a small smile, knowing my next words would needle him.
“Plus, you don’t have control over Ambrosia… remember?”
His eyes narrowed, a dark, warning look. “This is not a fucking joke, Mac.”
“I know it isn’t, Logan.” I stepped closer, refusing to back down. “This is me telling you I have work tomorrow and asking if you’ll pick me up after, bring me back here, and fuck me until I pass out.”
I saw it happen, his pupils dilating, his chest rising a fraction deeper. The air between us changed in a heartbeat.
“The second part of it I have no objection to,” he muttered, and then his mouth was on mine. That kiss nearly wrecked my resolve. The way he could tilt my chin, press in with just enough pressure to have my knees weakening, was almost enough to make me forget the whole point of the argument.
Almost.
I forced myself to pull my head back, drawing in air like I’d been underwater too long. No, if I gave in now I’d never stand my ground again.
He studied me for a beat, then said, “You work behind the bar only, and you wear your patch.”
“Logan, I am not wearing a leather jacket behind the bar all night,” I argued, throwing my hands up. “It’d be one thing if it was a t-shirt, but I’ll be sweating my ass off.”
His palm skimmed down, fingertips grazing the curve of my ass in a way that was anything but accidental. “That would be a shame,” he murmured.
I glance down at the “Property of Logan Pearce” t-shirt he’s apparently had custom made, rushed to me like it’s some kind of flag he wants planted in public. The cotton is soft against my skin, broken in just enough to feel lived-in, hugging me in all the right places without clinging too much.
I’d been ready to throw down about it, to tell him I wasn’t some trophy he could tag, but the way it fits… I hate that I don’t hate it. In fact, I almost like the way it makes me feel, like a part of something that’s his.
The shrill ring of my phone slices through the thought, making me flinch. The number is unfamiliar, but my thumb hits the answer button before I can talk myself out of it.
“Hello, Mackenzie.”
Everything in me stills. My lungs forget how to work. The voice is low, steady, dripping with that cold, calculated malice I know too well. One I never thought I’d hear again.
“Why are you calling me?” My voice is tighter than I want it to be, but I can’t help it.
Mr. Watson laughs, and the sound creeps over my skin like oil. “Just wondering if you’ve reconsidered my offer yet. Working in a strip club is really beneath you.”
My stomach turns over, cold spreading outward from the center. How the hell does he know where I’m working?
“Come back. I won’t be too hard on you for your disrespect.” His tone is almost amused, like I’m a pet that needs training, and the sheer arrogance in it makes bile rise in my throat.
“Fuck you.” My voice cracks just enough to betray how rattled I am, and I hang up before I can hear another word.
For a few beats, I don’t move. My heart thuds hard in my chest, my pulse pounding in my ears. I focus on my breathing slow, deliberate, trying to unclench my fists, trying to stop the tremor that’s already in my hands.
The dressing room door opens behind me and Shaina steps in, carrying the faint scent of outside air with her. Her eyes immediately land on my shirt, and she grins. “He’s an ass.”
I force a shrug, aiming for casual. “I don’t mind it too much.”
Her smile fades slightly, her eyes narrowing as she studies me. “You good?”
I nod quickly, too quickly. “Yeah. I just zoned out.”
I’m not telling her about the call. Not yet.
If I tell Logan, he’ll go after Watson, and once that fuse is lit, there’s no putting it out.
I’ll have to live with whatever follows, and I’m not ready to carry that weight.
Still, the pit in my stomach feels like it’s made of lead, pressing down hard and refusing to leave.
I push it aside. I have work to do, and at least in the club, there’s safety in the crowd.
Stepping onto the floor, I’m hit by the layered hum of voices, laughter, and music.
The smell of beer and faint traces of perfume mingle with the sharper scent of liquor behind the bar.
It’s already busy for this early in the night, bodies moving through the space, pockets of noise rising and falling.
I’m almost to the bar when a hand clamps around my arm. The grip is firm, meant to stop me, and I whirl around, adrenaline already spiking.
Darcy stands there, eyes glittering with mean satisfaction. “Just ’cause he claimed you doesn’t mean you’ll be the only girl he’s with. You’re his old lady, emphasis on the old. Shit gets boring quick.” She pops her gum and smiles like she’s waiting for me to snap.
My pulse steadies into something sharper, anger. I meet her stare, my voice cool and precise. “Get your goddamn hand off me now. Stay away from me and Logan, or I’ll have you thrown out on your skanky, STD-ridden ass here and at the club.”
Her hand falls away, but her smirk doesn’t. I turn my back on her before she can see just how much I want to rip that smug look off her face.
I slip behind the bar, keeping my movements controlled. Shaina glances over, one brow raised.
“I’m not making that bitch’s drinks,” I say flatly as I grab a clean glass. “She can wait.”
Shaina’s laugh is bright, easy. “Deal.”
The rest of the night moves in a steady rhythm with orders, banter, and clinking glasses but Darcy’s words keep replaying in my head like a song I can’t turn off. I’ve seen how some of the brothers operate. I know Logan isn’t a saint, but has he ever…? No. He wouldn’t. Would he?
I’m still lost in thought when a hand snatches mine from across the bar. I look up, and a drunk guy is grinning at me, his eyes roaming over me in a way that makes my skin prickle. Before I can yank my hand back, his wrist is twisted hard, slammed onto the bar so forcefully that the bottles rattle.
Logan is right behind him, radiating fury like heat. His voice is low, lethal. “You see her shirt? It says she’s mine, and I don’t react well to people touching what’s mine.”
I roll my eyes at the possessiveness, but my chest feels warm, tight, at the way he says it like it’s not just a claim, it’s a vow.
Logan hauls the guy upright by his collar, his knuckles white. “Next time I’ll chop off your fucking hand. This time, I’ll settle for breaking a few fingers.”
The guy stammers apologies as Logan marches him toward the door, disappearing outside.
I shake my head, half-smiling despite myself. My macho man might be out of his damn mind, but there’s no mistaking how far he’ll go for me.
A couple hours later, my shift is over. I find Logan leaning against the end of the bar, watching me with that quiet intensity that always feels like it sees straight through me.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he murmurs, pulling me into a kiss before I can say a word.
I kiss him back, but the weight of earlier is still there, sitting on my tongue.
“What’s wrong?” he asks as he pulls back, eyes searching mine.
“You’re not going to mess with the club girls anymore, right? I know some of the—”
“Mac, have I given you any indication that I’m interested in anyone but you?” His tone is so certain, so unshakable, it catches me off guard.
I shake my head. “No.”
“Then why are you asking this?”
I tell him about Darcy, about what she said. The muscle in his jaw ticks as irritation flashes across his face.
“She’s done with us. I’ll tell Allison tomorrow and text Jimmy to throw her out if she shows up at the clubhouse.”
He takes my hand, his grip warm, steady, pulling me toward the parking lot. “Let’s go home so I can remind you that you are mine and all that I could want.”
No argument here. I smile, waving to Shaina before following him out.
The night air is cool against my skin, carrying the scent of exhaust and leather that clings to Logan like part of him. His boots thud against the pavement in a rhythm that matches my heartbeat, steady and grounding.
He hands me my helmet, holding my gaze a beat longer than necessary, like he’s memorizing me under the harsh parking lot lights. Without a word, I climb on the bike, my hands sliding around his waist. This time, I hold tighter not because I have to, but because I want to.
The engine growls to life beneath us, sending a vibration through my legs, up my spine.
The ride is short, the night air rushing past, but my mind keeps circling back to earlier—the way he stepped in without hesitation, the fierce set of his jaw when he looked at me.
I don’t know if I should feel smothered or cherished.
Maybe it’s both. But God help me, I lean into him and decide I like it.
By the time we roll into his driveway, the pounding in my chest has settled into something warm and steady. The engine cuts off, leaving us in a cocoon of quiet, only our breathing filling the space.
For a moment, he just sits there, hands still on the handlebars, his profile sharp in the faint light. Then he turns to me, voice low, almost gravelly. “Inside. Now.”
There’s no threat in it, no need to intimidate. Just an urgency that thrums in my veins.
I follow him in, my earlier doubts drowned out by the weight of his presence. Whatever this life turns into, however messy it gets, one thing is certain.
I’m his.
And tonight, he’s going to make sure I never forget it.