Chapter 8 - Knuckles
The knocking drags me out of the best sleep I've had in years.
For a second, I'm disoriented. Not sure where I am or why there's a warm, soft body pressed against mine. Then everything comes rushing back. Savannah. The wedding dress. The casino. The best fucking night of my life.
We fucked two more times after that first round.
Against the wall with her legs wrapped around my waist, her back pressed against the paint while I pounded into her and she bit my shoulder to muffle her screams. Prone bone with her flat on her stomach and me covering her completely, fucking her deep and slow until she was begging.
I filled her every single time. Watched my cum drip out of her and felt something primal and possessive roar through me. Mine. She's mine now.
We finally passed out around five in the morning, tangled together, covered in sweat and completely satisfied. Now someone's knocking on my door and I have no fucking idea what time it is.
The knock comes again, harder this time. Insistent.
"Knuckles. Open the fucking door."
Fuck.
That's Pope's voice. And he doesn't sound happy.
I glance at the clock on the nightstand. Nine-thirty. We've been asleep for maybe four hours. Savannah stirs next to me, making a small sound of protest as I start to pull away from her.
"Someone's here," I tell her.
"Who?" Her voice is sleepy, rough from all the screaming she did last night.
"My president. Pope."
That wakes her up. Her eyes go wide and she sits up, clutching the sheet to her chest. "Already?"
"Yeah, well, Pope doesn't always follow his own schedule." I grab my jeans from the floor and pull them on. "Stay here. Let me handle this."
"Ryan—"
"Trust me. Just stay here."
I cross to the door and open it just enough to see out.
Pope is standing in the hallway looking exactly like what he is: a man who's been running an MC for years and doesn't have patience for bullshit. He's built like he could still throw down despite the gray in his beard, wearing his cut over a black t-shirt.
Behind him is Ghost, looking neutral as always, and Havoc, who's giving me a look that clearly says *you're fucked*.
"Morning," I say.
"Morning." Pope's expression doesn't change. "You gonna let me in, or we having this conversation in the hallway?"
I step back and open the door wider. All three of them walk in, and I see the exact moment Pope notices Savannah in my bed.
To her credit, she doesn't shrink back. Just sits there with the sheet pulled up, meeting Pope's gaze directly despite the fact that she's clearly naked under there and this is the worst possible first impression.
"Pope," I say. "This is Savannah. Savannah, this is Pope, our club president. You met Ghost last night, and that's Havoc."
"Hello," she says, voice trembling.
Pope doesn't respond. Just looks from her to me and back again.
"Ghost said you were bringing a runaway bride under club protection," Pope finally says. "Didn't mention you'd be fucking her."
"Pope—"
"How long she been here? Ten hours? Twelve?"
"About that."
"And you've already got her in your bed." It's not a question. "That was fast work, brother."
"It's not like that," Savannah says, her voice stronger now. "He didn't… It wasn't—"
"Wasn't what? Wasn't his idea?" Pope crosses his arms. "Let me guess. You came to his room. Asked him to stay with you. One thing led to another."
She flushes but doesn't look away. "Yes."
"And you think that makes it better?" Pope looks at me now. "You know the fucking rules, Knuckles. You don't shit where you eat. You don't fuck women under club protection. Not until the situation is resolved and they're not vulnerable."
"I know the rules."
"Do you? Because from where I'm standing, you broke them about five minutes after bringing her upstairs."
He's not wrong. And I don't have a good excuse except that I wanted her and she wanted me and everything else stopped mattering.
"You're right," I say. "I fucked up. But it's done now. And she's still under club protection whether I'm involved with her or not."
"That's not how this works and you know it." Pope turns to Ghost. "When did he call you last night?"
"Around midnight. Said he had a woman who needed clothes and a place to stay. Didn't mention why."
"And you didn't ask?"
"Not my business. Knuckles doesn't usually make stupid decisions." Ghost's pale eyes flick to me. "Usually."
"Clearly he's making them now." Pope looks at Savannah again. "Tell me what happened. And don't leave anything out."
She takes a breath and starts talking. Tells him about Derek, about the abuse, about her family choosing him over her, about running from the wedding. Her voice stays steady even when she's describing things that clearly hurt to remember.
Pope listens without interrupting. When she's done, he's quiet for a long moment.
"You got proof of the abuse?" he finally asks.
"I have the bruises. The one on my jaw is from three days ago. There are others." She hesitates. "And I have texts. From my mother and sisters. They reference what happened even if they don't explicitly say it."
"Good. We'll need those." Pope looks at me. "What do you know about the ex? Derek what?"
"Derek Marsh," Savannah supplies. "He works in finance. Has connections. Money. A temper."
"He knows where you are?"
"I don't think so. I've been walking around Vegas for hours before I got to the casino. My phone was off until last night, and Ryan helped me block everyone."
"Ryan, huh?" Pope's expression doesn't change but I can hear the edge in his voice. "Already on a first-name basis."
"Pope," I start. "I know you're pissed. I know I broke protocol. But she needed help and I gave it. What happened after—"
"What happened after is you thinking with your dick instead of your brain.
" Pope cuts me off. "And now we've got a complication.
Because if this Derek comes looking for her and finds out she's shacking up with a Steel Sinner, that's a problem.
He could go to the cops, claim we're keeping her against her will, make a whole fucking mess that none of us need. "
"I'm not here against my will," Savannah says firmly. "I came here on my own. And I'm staying on my own. Ryan didn't force me to do anything."
"Doesn't matter what the truth is. Matters what it looks like.
" Pope sighs and runs a hand over his beard.
"Look, I'm not unsympathetic to your situation.
You were in a bad spot and you ran. That takes guts.
And Knuckles did the right thing bringing you somewhere safe.
But him getting involved with you personally? That's a problem."
"Why?" Savannah asks. "Because it makes things complicated?"
"Because it makes things messy. And when things get messy, people get hurt.
" Pope looks at me. "You ready for that?
Ready to deal with the fallout when this ex finds out you're fucking his almost-wife?
Ready to handle it when your brothers question whether you're thinking clearly or just trying to play hero? "
"I'm not playing hero."
"Then what are you doing?"
Good fucking question. What am I doing?
Getting involved with a woman I met twelve hours ago. Breaking club rules. Potentially bringing heat down on my brothers because I couldn't keep my hands to myself.
But when I look at Savannah, still sitting there in my bed, still meeting Pope's gaze without flinching, I can't bring myself to regret it.
"I'm helping someone who needs it," I finally say. "Same way you helped me nine years ago. Same way the club has helped dozens of people over the years. And yeah, I got involved with her. But that doesn't change the fact that she needs protection from a piece of shit who was hurting her."
Pope looks at me for a brief moment. "You care about her?"
"Yeah. I do."
"After twelve hours."
"After twelve hours."
"That's fucking stupid."
"Probably."
"Definitely." Pope looks at Savannah again. "You care about him?"
She doesn't hesitate. "Yes."
"Even though you just left your fiancé? Even though you're still processing trauma? Even though you've known him less than a day?"
"Yes."
"That's also fucking stupid."
"I know," she says quietly. "But I'm done making smart decisions that make me miserable. I'd rather make stupid decisions that make me happy."
"Alright," he finally says. "Here's how this is gonna work.
Savannah, you're under club protection effective immediately.
That means you don't leave this casino without one of us with you.
You don't contact your ex, your family, or anyone who might tell them where you are.
You follow our rules, and we keep you safe. Understood?"
"Understood."
"Knuckles, you're responsible for her. Anything happens, it's on you. And if this situation blows back on the club, we're having a very different conversation. Clear?"
"Clear."
"Good." Pope heads for the door, then pauses. "And for fuck's sake, get her some proper clothes. She can't walk around in shitty t-shirts forever."
Ghost follows Pope out, but Havoc lingers for a moment.
"She seems like good people," He says. "Better than most who come through here looking for help."
"She is."
"Then don't fuck it up." He claps me on the shoulder. "And congratulations, brother. About time you found someone worth breaking the rules for."
He leaves, closing the door behind him.
Silence fills the room. Savannah lets out a breath she must have been holding. "That went better than I expected."
"Better?" I stare at her. "He just read us both the riot act."
"Yeah, but he's letting me stay. And he's not making you stay away from me." She smiles. "Could have been worse."
She's not wrong. Pope could have kicked her out. Could have told me to keep my distance. Could have made this whole situation a lot more complicated than it already is.
"You okay?" I ask, sitting on the edge of the bed.
"I'm okay. Mortified that your president found me naked in your bed, but okay."