Chapter 11
The thick, clinging fog that had shrouded the town for days finally rolled away, leaving behind a crisp bright morning. Sunlight spilled golden over the cobbled lane outside my window, sky pale perfect blue. If I wasn’t wound tight with hyper-vigilance, I’d have been thrilled to have a day off.
Instead, I stood hidden behind velvet curtains, mug of tea burning hot between my hands, staring down the garden path equal parts annoyed and bewildered.
They’d been posted out there for three whole hours.
Parked dead opposite the cottage, beneath the gnarled old oak, was a dented dark club van. And stood right beside it, ruining any hope of quiet day, were two Iron Angels prospects. Like they’d vanish if they so much as shifted position.
I rested my forehead against the cool glass, breathing out slow.
I’d caught a glimpse of this one yesterday, right after the mess with that London private investigator had scattered.
Everything had been chaos then, adrenaline so sharp I’d barely registered just how huge he was.
But in this clear unforgiving daylight? He looked less like a man and more like something out of legend.
Shoulders so impossibly broad his cut looked fit to burst, pulled taut over a chest like a brick wall.
A sudden quiet laugh bubbled up before I could stop it, startling me in the still room.
I remembered yesterday, how he’d stood near the counter.
And now I saw the name stitched plain across the front of his vest: Tiny.
If this was a thriller, this would be the moment the reader groaned.
But right now? That classic biker irony actually made me smile.
I sipped my tea, watching him through the gap in the curtains.
But the smile turned into laughter again as I shifted my gaze to the second prospect.
His tag read Swift. He was the complete opposite: lean, wiry, built like he ran on nothing but strong coffee and restless energy.
He hadn’t stopped moving once in three hours, pacing a tight perimeter, sharp dark eyes scanning hedges, rooftops, every shadow.
Hand resting near his hip like he was a predator locked onto a target that would never show. They should’ve named him Shark.
The sun climbed higher, air warming fast. I checked the time – just gone ten. I could see faint beads of sweat glistening on their foreheads, shifting weight foot to foot. They looked hot, stiff, and frankly like they were scaring every neighbour for miles. And it was starting to get under my skin.
It felt wrong. Unnatural. Having someone stand guard while I sat safe inside drinking tea. The part of me that ran the coffee shop, that had been raised to be polite, finally snapped. I wasn’t going to let two guys melt out there on my account.
I marched to the front door, threw it wide open, and strode straight down the path.
The second the gate clicked, Swift moved so fast he was nothing but a blur, hand dropping straight to his hip. Tiny didn’t jump, just turned his head slow, watching me like he knew exactly what was coming.
“Right, you two,” I called out, folding my arms firm as I stopped at the pavement edge. “Inside. Now.”
Swift blinked, those sharp eyes flicking between me and the road. “Uh, Miss Danika? Pres said to stay put. We’re running perimeter watch.”
“I don’t care what he told you,” I shot back, glowering right at him. “It’s far too warm to be pacing holes in the tarmac. And you’re making this place look like a crime scene. I’ve got cold drinks inside, and I’m not taking no for an answer. Move.”
Tiny glanced at Swift, then down at me. A slow soft grin spread right across that huge face. “Boss’s girl says jump, Swift. We jump. Besides, I’m parched.”
“I am not his girl,” I muttered under my breath, heat flaring bright up my cheeks. I turned right around and marched back inside, leaving the door propped wide open behind me.
The second they stepped over the threshold, my tiny cottage felt like it had shrunk by half.
It was ridiculous really. Tiny had to hunch so far just to clear the doorframe.
Once inside, he moved with such absurd gentle care you’d think he was afraid the floorboards might crack under him, lowering himself onto my smallest sofa like he was handling glass.
The cushions groaned in protest, knees bending so far his chin nearly rested on them.
“Nice place,” he rumbled, voice so deep it hummed through the walls.
“Thank you,” I said, biting back another smile as I headed to the kitchen to make fresh drinks.
But while Tiny was trying his hardest to take up as little space as possible, Swift was doing the exact opposite. He hadn’t even taken his sunglasses off. Walked straight over to my front window, nudged the curtain aside just enough to watch the lane, and settled there like a statue of a guard dog.
I came back in with two big glasses of lemonade and a plate of biscuits, setting them down on the table in front of Tiny – who stared at the glass like it was a teacup.
Then I turned straight to Swift.
“Swift,” I said, voice tight with exasperation. He didn’t even look round. Just kept staring out. “Swift, the drink’s on the table. Come sit down and relax.”
“Can’t, Miss Danika,” he replied fast, fingers tapping a restless rhythm against his thigh. “Perimeter’s clear for now, but things feel off. Got eyes scanning the high street. Can’t afford to drop focus.”
I gritted my teeth. Inviting them in was meant to help me feel less like a prisoner but watching him flicker his eyes and stare at something was making me more on edge than before. I opened my mouth to tell him exactly what I thought, when a sound I knew better than my own heartbeat cut me off.
That deep thunderous rumble of a custom chopper tearing down the lane, followed close by the heavy crunch of tyres pulling up on the kerb.
Swift went instantly still, hand reaching for his vest, while Tiny braced both palms on his knees, ready to stand.
“Easy you two,” I breathed out, heart giving a wild excited little flip I couldn’t explain. “That’s just Rage.”
I walked over to the window myself, peeking past Swift’s shoulder.
Sure enough, there he was, killing the engine, broad frame looking like he owned every inch of sunlight he stood in.
Then the driver’s door swung open, and a third prospect hopped out – Gears – a young guy with a grease-stained cap pulled low.
He hurried round to open the passenger side.
Before Gears could even step back, a whirlwind of blonde energy practically bounced out of the truck.
It was Rose.
My eyes went wide as I watched the President’s wife march purposefully up my garden path, gaze locked straight on my door like she’d come to settle something. Rage followed one step behind, scanning every hedge and window, jaw set hard.
Warm flush crept up my neck. I was still in my comfiest oversized jumper, hair pulled up messy, and right now I had a giant human and a human gargoyle taking up my living room. Two of the most intimidating people in the whole club were on my doorstep.
A sharp firm knock echoed through the house.
I took one long steadying breath, smoothed my jumper down, and reached for the handle. I had no idea just how much my quiet day off was about to change.