11. Ash
11
ASH
T he flicker of the television casts a faint blue light across the worn leather couch in my apartment above the clubhouse. Tessa is sprawled out next to me, one arm thrown over her forehead as she stares blankly at some true crime documentary. The narrator’s voice drones on about suspects, motives, and timelines—all while my mind churns with its own grim puzzles.
I nurse a half-empty glass of whiskey. The sharp bite of it cuts through the fog of exhaustion clinging to me but does nothing to quiet the unease crawling under my skin.
The apartment feels suffocating tonight. Tessa hasn’t said much since she marched upstairs after arguing with one of the new prospects earlier. Her silence usually doesn’t bother me, but tonight, it feels heavy and suffocating.
God, I want her to leave.
“You’re going to wear a hole in that floor,” Tessa’s voice cuts through the hum of the television.
I glance down at my boots, realizing I’ve been pacing. My jaw ticks as I drain the rest of the whiskey and set the glass down on the counter with a dull thud.
“Something’s off,” I mutter.
Tessa sits up, propping herself on her elbows, her dark hair tumbling over her shoulders. “Something’s always off with you, Ash. That’s not news.”
“Suppose not.”
“Come sit down and watch this with me. We’re just getting to the good part. The ex-husband kept the body in a freezer for months.”
“Jesus, Tessa. Why the hell do you like this shit?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes and snaps, “That’s cute coming from you.”
I don’t bother replying. Instead, I turn my head slightly, my ears catching the faint sound of raised voices drifting up from below.
Liam. Ryder. Dagger.
Their voices are loud, animated—borderline reckless.
I set the glass down harder than I meant to, the sharp sound making Tessa flinch.
“What now?” she asks, her voice edged with irritation.
“Club business,” I say shortly, already striding toward the door.
“Of course it is,” she mutters, flopping back onto the couch and pulling a throw blanket over herself. “You know, one day you might actually let someone in, Ash. But hey, what do I know?”
I don’t bother with an answer. The door swings shut behind me with a muted click.
The noise from downstairs grows louder as I go down the creaky wooden staircase, every step tightening the knot in my stomach. Something’s going on—something they didn’t think I needed to know about until now.
I reach the bottom of the stairs, the heavy bass of classic rock vibrating faintly through the floor. The clubhouse is alive tonight; voices overlapping, laughter cutting through the haze of smoke and booze. I pass by the guys and head down the hall, where things quiet down.
But my focus zeroes in on the three familiar voices echoing from one of the smaller rooms down the hall.
Whatever it is, whatever mess they’ve stirred up tonight—it’s mine to clean up.
I push the door and step into the room lit by the warm glow of a single overhead lamp. My attention is immediately drawn to the lone figure sitting on the edge of a worn leather couch.
Laina.
She looks wounded and fragile with her shoulders drawn tight and her arms crossed protectively over her chest. Her head snaps up at the sound of the door opening, her wide, dark eyes locking onto me. She looks fragile and fierce all at once—like a blade made of glass, sharp enough to cut but moments away from shattering.
They all stop talking and stare at me.
Ryder’s leaning against the doorframe beside her, his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes are sharp and focused. Dagger’s perched on the armrest of the couch, one boot planted firmly on the floor, his gaze flicking between me and Laina like he’s ready to intervene if things go sideways. Liam is leaning against the far wall, arms folded, wearing his usual cocky grin, but even he looks tense.
I can’t stop staring at her.
She’s smaller than I remembered. Delicate, almost. Her hair falls in soft waves around her face, a faint sheen of exhaustion and worry clinging to her like a second skin. But her eyes… Jesus, her eyes.
For a second, I forget how to breathe.
I swallow hard, my boots scuffing against the floor as I force myself to step into the room. My voice comes out rougher than I intended, barely controlled.
“What…the hell…is going on here?”
The words hang heavy in the air, tension crackling like static electricity. Ryder shifts his weight, his smirk fading slightly as he pushes off the doorframe. Dagger stays quiet, his gaze flicking to Laina, then back to me.
Laina doesn’t move, but I see the way her hands tighten around the sleeves of her jacket, her knuckles turning white.
Ryder’s voice slices through the silence, dragging my focus away from Laina.
“We’ve got a problem, Ash.” His usual smirk is gone, replaced by something sharp and serious. “A box showed up at her doorstep tonight with a little marionette doll all done up just for her.”
Dagger taps the box beside him.
The words hurtle at me like a sledgehammer to the chest, and for a second, the room feels chilly. The only sound is the faint hum of music leaking in from the main bar.
Laina looks down at her hands, her shoulders stiff and her jaw set tight, but she still doesn’t say anything.
I drag a hand over my face and exhale slowly, forcing my voice to stay level. “You’re telling me Reynolds—who, according to every goddamn report, is dead —somehow managed to leave a twisted little calling card on her doorstep?”
Ryder nods, crossing his arms. “That’s what it looks like.”
I walk over to Dagger and inspect the box. Sure enough, a creepy-ass-hand-carved doll stares blankly back at me. This was some fucked up shit.
“It’s him,” Laina says. Her voice is soft and muted but carries across the room like a gunshot. “It has to be,” she continues, “the doll, the note… it’s him. I know it.”
I stare at her, trying to piece this mess together, but every conclusion I come to feels worse than the last. “You’re sure about this? Because if you’re wrong?—”
“I’m not wrong. Who else would leave something like this outside my door? You don’t know him like I do. This is exactly his style.”
Liam speaks up, “She showed Ryder her security cameras, Ash. Someone left the box on her doorstep. He was masked, wearing sunglasses, and a hat pulled down low. No way to ID him.”
“I think we should go to the police,” Laina says.
“The police think he’s dead,” I say sharply. “They think his body was cremated and scattered into the wind. They’ll just think you’re some traumatized girl chasing a ghost.”
She flinches at my words and immediate regret washes over me. “They’re not going to help you,” I add, softening my tone. “Why would they?”
“Look,” Liam sighs, stretching his back, “we all know the cops aren’t going to do a damn thing. Even if we could convince them Reynolds is alive, they’ll still be ten steps behind him by the time they get their shit together. The only thing we can do is keep her somewhere safe.”
I glance around the room, meeting each of their gazes. Liam looks determined, Dagger looks conflicted, and Ryder—God help me—looks like he’s ready to start cracking skulls.
“And where the hell is safe Liam?” I ask, even though I have a good idea of where he’s going with this.
“Here, with us,” Ryder says immediately, his green eyes locked on mine.
“I’m still not sure about that,” Laina starts to say. “I need to-”
“You’ll what?” Dagger interrupts. “You’ll go back to your place? Back to that empty apartment with one deadbolt and a security system that didn’t stop him from leaving you a gift tonight?”
“He knows where you live, Laina,” Ryder adds calmly. “He knows how to get to you. And you of all people know that he’s not done playing with you.”
Laina swallows hard, her lips pressing into a thin line as she stares at her hands.
“He’s right,” Dagger continues. “If Reynolds is alive, and if he’s targeting you again, you’re not safe out there. You’re barely safe here. But at least here, you’ve got us.”
Laina looks up at me, her eyes shining with something fragile and hesitant. I hold her gaze, studying the shadows under her eyes, the faint tremble in her shoulders, the way she’s fighting so damn hard not to let herself fall apart.
“You don’t have to like it,” I say. “But they’re right. You stay here. With us. At least until we figure out what the hell is going on.”
She hesitates, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she processes what I’ve just said. Her gaze flicks between Ryder, Dagger, and Liam, before landing back on me.
“And then what?” she asks softly. “What happens after you figure it out? After you catch him—or don’t?”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” I reply evenly.
Her shoulders slump slightly, the fight draining out of her all at once. She nods slowly and whispers, “Okay. It’s not like you’re giving me a choice.”
“Good,” I say, straightening up and dragging a hand through my hair. “Liam set up one of the empty rooms for her. Dagger, make sure the perimeter cameras are active. Ryder…”
Ryder smirks faintly, raising an eyebrow. “Babysitting duty again?”
I glare at him, but there’s no real heat behind it. “Just keep an eye on her. And for God’s sake, try not to start any fires while you’re at it.”
Laina shifts on the couch, wrapping her arms tightly around herself as if trying to make herself smaller.
I linger in the doorway for a moment longer, my gaze still locked on her. There’s something about her that pulls at something deep in my chest.
She’s in over her head. Hell, we’re all in over our heads.
I step back into the chaos of the clubhouse, but the image of her—small and fierce on that worn leather couch—burns in the back of my mind like a goddamn brand.
A brand that lingers on my skin so deep that I can’t shake the idea of her.
I start to make my way back to my place upstairs when Liam’s hand lands on my shoulder.
“Wait up, boss.”
I stop, side-eyeing him.
“Did Ryder tell you where she went tonight before all this?”
“Yeah. He texted me.”
“She’s with the Hellfire Riders,” Liam whispers the other club’s name like it’s two words that should never be said out loud.
“Even more reason to keep her close to us.”
He gives me a sharp nod, “Understood.”
When I find myself back in my apartment, Tessa is passed out on the couch. I walk over, turn the television off, and head to the shower.
The hot water pounds against my skin, steam fogging up the glass doors as I lean my forehead against the cool tile wall. My mind churns, Laina's haunted eyes and trembling hands flashing behind my closed lids.
What the hell have we gotten ourselves into?
Reynolds was supposed to be dead. Buried. A ghost that couldn't hurt anyone anymore. But it’s impossible to doubt any of it now. That sick son of a bitch is still out there, playing his twisted games...
My fist clenches at my side. I should've put a bullet in his skull when I had the chance. Should've made sure he could never touch another innocent soul again.
But I hadn’t. And now, Laina was paying the price.
Her face keeps flashing behind my closed eyelids; the delicate lines of her face and the soft curve of her lips. A sudden image of her pink lips wrapped around my cock flashes through my mind.
I shake my head, turning up the temperature of the water in hopes it will burn some sense into me. But with each passing second, the images of her only become more intense like I can see her right in front of me.
She is on her knees, gasping for air as she takes my length.
I can almost feel the intoxicating warmth of her mouth and the way she might tease me with her tongue before taking me all at once.
I groan in frustration, fisting my hardened length as the fantasies continue to play out before me. Laina looks up at me through hooded lashes, dark with need as she bobs her head up and down. The sight of her swollen lips stretched around my cock, the way her cheeks hollow with each hungry swallow...
Jesus Christ, I need to get a fucking grip.
But my dick isn't fucking listening. It pulses and throbs in my hand, demanding attention I'm sorely tempted to give it.
As my mind races with filthy thoughts, I picture her in my arms, her naked body pressed against mine as she moans out my name. My cock throbs even harder.
I pick up the rhythm, each stroke is harder than the last. The spray of hot water pounding against my back does nothing to cool the white-hot lust that's coiled in my belly, spreading through my veins like wildfire. All I can see is her and how good it would feel to make her mine.
The water continues to pelt my back, and all I can hear is the rhythmic slap of my hand against my cock, a crescendo of tension building in my balls. Laina hasn't even touched me, but it's her face I see, and her name that escapes my lips in a barely audible growl.
"Fuck," I grunt as I tighten my grip on my cock, bringing myself to the edge of orgasm so quickly I can barely catch my breath. Visions of Laina's face, her soft moans, and the way she'd feel around my cock fill my mind as I spill myself on the shower wall.
My chest heaving, I lean against the tile, panting as the aftershocks of my orgasm ebb away.
"Christ," I breathe out, closing my eyes and scrubbing a shaking hand over my damp face.
What the hell just happened?
I shut off the water and step out, wrapping a towel around my waist. Droplets slide down my chest and back as I wipe the steam from the mirror and stare at my reflection.
Dark eyes, sharp cheekbones, and coiled tension visible in every line of my body. I look like what I am; a man with too many secrets and even more sins weighing him down. A man who destroys more than he saves.
I grab a towel and quickly dry off.
When I walk through the living room, Tessa is sitting up on the couch, blinking sleepily at me. "Everything okay?" she asks, her voice rough with sleep. “You were in there a while.”
I nod curtly and wordlessly head into the bedroom and pull on a pair of boxers.
“You’re such a shitty liar, Ash.