Chapter 3
I WAKE BEFORE DAWN, my head pounding. The room is still thick with shadows, the curtains drawn against the new day, but I force myself upright and glance at Reagan curled on the mattress, the entire blanket covering her.
She’s oblivious to the hangover beating through my temples, and for a moment I envy her.
I slip out of bed and pad downstairs, each step a jolt of nausea.
In the kitchen, Chief stands over the stove, flipping bacon, while Travis stirs something steaming in a saucepan. The air smells of sizzling grease and burnt coffee grounds—comforting scents, normally. I scrunch my nose and press my palms into the counter. “Ugh,” I murmur.
They turn in unison, grins already forming. “Not hungry?” Chief asks, his voice rough with amusement. “Thought you were an adult capable of handling things, guess alcohol wasn’t in the mix?”
I shoot him a glare. “Don’t be smart with me, old man. I might just murder you.”
He grins, winking at me before turning back to what he was doing.
Travis looks to me, his face relaxed and easy, as if last night simply did not happen. “You look like hell.”
“I’ll live,” I mutter. “I’m going to walk on the beach, I need fresh air.”
He nods but doesn’t turn. I avoid Travis’ stare and slip into the laundry room to change. Breath by breath, I lace up my shoes, pull on leggings and a long-sleeved top, steel myself against the throbbing in my head. Then I’m out the door, the brisk morning air hitting my face like a cold splash.
My legs find their rhythm as I walk down the quiet street.
The sky is pale on the horizon, the world still hushed.
With each stride, I feel the fog of last night’s drinking begin to lift, replaced by the steady thump of heart and muscles waking up.
I taste freedom in the air—until it all goes wrong.
It’s strange how life can change so incredibly quickly.
It’s just a morning walk, after all.
I’m halfway past the old brick church, getting ready to cross the road to the beach, when an arm curls around my waist and jerks me off balance.
A rough hand clamps over my mouth, another wraps cold fingers around my neck.
My feet scramble against the pavement, but whoever has me is impossibly strong, pressing me into a slim alleyway between buildings. Panic surges hot and jagged.
“Ah, the infamous Mischief,” the voice rasps near my ear. “It’s about time we met.”
I thrash, trying to twist free, but he holds me like I’m weightless. He pulls his hand from my mouth and breathes in—his stubble grazing my cheek—and my stomach lurches. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you. Not yet. I want you to tell your dear old daddy—”
“Who are you?” I hiss, cutting him off.
He presses closer, and I taste metal on his breath. “Just tell Chief that he couldn’t hide from me forever. This is a warning—next time won’t be so nice. Tell him I’ll be seeing him soon...”
He tightens his grip around my throat until the world blurs, and I fight for each ragged inhale. “I...won’t...”
“When you wake up, my dear, remember this is a warning. Oh, and my name is Demon,” his fingers stay tight until the world goes black.
I wake on the ground, my body slumped in the dirt, my mind spinning. It takes me a moment to come around, to remember what just happened. I lie there, chest heaving, tasting blood and asphalt, dizzy from oxygen deprivation. Slowly, I push myself upright and start the slow stumble home.
I don’t want to be out here for a second longer.
When I bust out the back, where all the guys are sitting around a heap of broken-down cars, I do it loud enough to stop them in their tracks. They all turn, and it’s Chief whose eyes narrow as he throws his spanner down and walks over.
“What happened? Why is your mouth bleedin’, baby?”
I swallow around the lump in my throat. My neck burns from where his fingers dug in. “Someone attacked me on my run. He said something about telling you that he told you he would find you. Demon, or something. He said it was a warning.”
Chief’s jaw tightens, and he lets out a fierce curse. “Fuck.”
From behind, Travis’ voice slices the air. “Mischief, are you okay?”
I nod, somewhat numb.
He reaches out to stroke my bottom lip but stops when he realizes where we are. He turns to Chief. “Isn’t Demon someone you’ve had bad blood with for a fuckin’ long time?”
“Yeah,” Chief mutters.
“We got a problem, Pres?”
Sergeant of arms, Paulie, steps up beside Chief, his face dark with words unspoken. Chief looks to me, eyes blazing. “Travis, get her inside and make sure she’s okay. I’m goin’ to find that motherfucker.”
Chief leans down, cupping my chin and inspecting my face, before planting a kiss on my head and disappearing, at least six bikers following him out. Travis reaches for me, but I take a shaky step back.
“Come on now, Mischief. You need ice.”
“I know where it is.”
“I’m quite fucking certain you do, but I’m going to get it. Sit down.”
He plants me down onto a chair, and then disappears. He comes back a minute later with an ice pack, and hands it to me.
“Thanks,” I mumble.
He studies me, his face flashing with anger. "That motherfucker, I hope they find him. He hurt you anywhere else?"
I shake my head. "He did choke me until I passed out. That's it."
Travis’ jaw clenches so hard I hear the click of bone. "What?"
"Is that bad?"
"Not fuckin' good," he mutters. "I'm taking you to the hospital. Now."
Twenty minutes later, we're sitting in hard plastic chairs under fluorescent lights. The triage nurse has already checked my vitals, but the ER is packed with weekend casualties. Travis hasn't stopped glaring at the wall since we arrived.
“You don’t have to wait,” I say, trying to break the silence.
I’m also trying to avoid looking at two women in the corner, taking photos of him. If I say something, I might just lose it and it won’t end well.
“I’m not leavin’ you here alone, Violet.”
It’s strange when he calls me that.
“I have spent plenty of time alone in the last few years, I’m good.”
He doesn’t answer, but his jaw tightens and I know my words have cut in deep.
"Why are you really back, Travis?" I finally ask, my voice barely audible over the hospital noise. "I thought you left this life behind, wasn’t that the point of just leaving and not telling anyone."
He hesitates, leaning forward with elbows on his knees. "Yeah, well, turns out the fuckin’ life I was livin’ wasn’t good for me.”
"But this is? Being with Chief? What, are you going to patch into the club? Is that really what you want?”
"Chief looked out for me when nobody else did," he says. "This is my home."
“What about your career, you’re not just a small name, Travis. You’re pretty big news.”
“Yeah, well, what fuckin’ good has that done.”
I can’t help but wonder what happened while he was away.
“So that’s it then? You are just going to give up on your career?”
He shrugs. “I have plans for my future, when you’re better, I’ll tell you all about them. This is the only thing I am thinking about, now...”
I open my mouth to answer but my phone vibrates in my pocket. I glance at the screen. "It's my mom. I should take it. I have no doubt Chief has already called her."
“He didn’t,” Travis says, standing. “I did.”
Our gazes lock, and for a moment, I forget what I’m doing.
I close my eyes and press the phone to my ear. "Hi, Mom... I'm okay, really..."
“YOU LOOK RAVISHING, Vi,” Reagan breathes, her tone warm but charged with something deeper—envy, pride, protectiveness.
I love her for the lengths she would go to for me, not just to protect me but to show me just how much I matter to her.
I twirl in front of the mirror, forcing a laugh. “Hillbilly in couture, more like.”
She folds her arms, dark brows lifting. “A hillbilly? Violet, you’re the best-looking girl I’ve ever seen, even when you’re not trying.”
I stare at my reflection: pale freckled skin, ash-brown hair pulled into an elegant up-do, silver-grey eyes I’ve always thought too dull. “Freckles, pale skin, brown hair—total backwoods cliché.”
“God, Vi,” she giggles, rolling her eyes. “Men stop mid-conversation just to watch you.” She steps closer, fingertips brushing a stray hair from my cheek. “You have porcelain skin, these doe eyes that draw them in, freckles that make you...irresistible. I’m jealous.”
I snort and then eye her—sleek, confident, in a scarlet dress that hugs every curve. “Now you’re just flattering me because you, girl, are a supermodel.”
Her lips twitch into a genuine grin before she bursts out laughing. The sound is intoxicating and, for a moment, I relax. But maturity demands composure. Reagan squeezes my hand. “Tonight, we’re smooth and sexy. No giggling schoolgirls. We’re all mature and shit.”
I nod, smoothing the fabric of my black midi-dress. “Smooth as.”
“Ready?” she asks, eyes excited.
I lift my chin. “Let’s go!”
We’re going to one of Trav’s shows. It has been a week since the hospital visit, and now I’m back with Chief again, for a bit longer this time, I have some time off. In that week, Travis has obviously been pushed by his management team to keep working, and so he has agreed to a local show.
Everyone has gone wild.
I’m terrified and excited. I’ve never seen him up close, doing what he once loved so much.
A yellow cab rattles through neon-lit streets, Reagan’s excited chatter filling the space between us.
Outside the biggest venue in the city they could find, a hurricane of screams, flashing lights, and Travis Phoenix posters plaster every surface.
His face is everywhere—sweaty, half-naked, muscular. My pulse quickens.
God damn.
We get out of the cab and push through the crowd.