Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Aero
The sun cracks over the horizon as we rumble down the highway, our engines growling low beneath us.
Lacey’s arms are wrapped tight around my waist, her cheek resting between my shoulder blades, both of us silent.
Emery clings to Surge a few bikes behind, her head tucked into his back like she’s trying to hide from it all.
The rest of the club rides solo, road-weary and raw, the weight of the night still clinging to our leathers like lead.
We roll into the lot, cutting our engines one by one.
Leaving a silence hanging over us that's only broken by the creak of kickstands and the soft scuff of boots. Lacey slides off the back of my bike, stretching her arms and back. Her face is pale with exhaustion but she’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
Too damn good for me. Emery doesn’t say a word as she dismounts behind Surge, her eyes distant.
Grizzly lingers by his bike, his head tilted like he's listening to something I can't hear. I glance toward the upstairs windows out of habit. The curtain in Marianna’s open window sways just a little, though there’s no breeze.
Light leaks through where the blackout panel isn’t fully closed.
No one speaks. We’re too damn tired for words.
Most of the guys crashed where they dropped.
Pike couldn’t even make it to the furniture, he’s face-down on the pool table.
Hashtag’s curled up on the couch with his phone beside him, screen dimmed to black.
Surge and Emery disappear down the hall together without a glance back.
Backdraft plops on to a chair and immediately passes out upright, one boot off.
Zoey, already awake or more likely never slept, drags a blanket over him.
She’s still new to the way the club works but love like that doesn’t need to be taught.
She gets it and it’s settling the way Surge and Backdraft have found Ol’ Ladies to share their lives with.
Women who offer silent support when words just won’t do.
When Grizzly finally comes inside, there's a softness in his face I don’t recognize.
He doesn’t say a word, just heads upstairs to his room a beat too fast. Tango and Rancor have disappeared, likely to their rooms. It’s so damn quiet, you can hear the toilet flush down the hall.
Crank must have hit the gym because I can hear the clinking of metal weights from behind the door.
Padre’s still on the porch, chain-smoking and staring off at nothing.
No one’s said it, but we’re all thinking the same thing. What we found last night was unforgivable and as soon as we regroup, we’ll have to deal with the Bloody Scorpions once and for all. I won’t allow them to get away with what they’ve done, this club won’t stand for it.
An unnerving quiet settles over the clubhouse.
The kind of quiet that leaves you feeling exposed.
Lacey’s at the table, her fingers wrapped around a chipped mug, steam curling up around her face.
Her hair’s a mess, half pulled up, strands falling around her neck in a way that makes it hard to look anywhere else.
Her eyes find mine from across the room.
There’s hesitation there. A little resentment too.
I don’t blame her. I claimed her and snuck away like a damn fake.
I didn’t even give her a reason. Didn’t explain a damn thing. Just disappeared.
I hate myself for how much I need her, even though I’m trying like hell not to.
I’m supposed to be the guy in charge. The one who holds it all together while everything else goes to shit.
I shouldn’t want her, ever, but especially right now.
Not after the night we’ve had and the girls we had to pull out of that hellhole.
Not when my brain is still full of what-ifs and what-the-fucks.
But my body doesn’t care about any of that.
Not when it comes to her. It doesn’t give a damn about timing.
It doesn’t care that I already failed her once by walking away without a word.
Because every time she’s near, I feel it.
That need. That pull. Like she’s gravity and I’m tired of trying to fight it.
I move toward her like I’m not in control of my own legs.
“Come with me, Bambola.” My voice is rougher than I mean it to be. It sounds strange in my own ears, like it’s carrying more weight than I know how to unpack.
She studies me a second longer before rising from the table. She doesn’t say anything, just holds my gaze and turns toward the stairwell, with a slight shift of her head.
I follow.
Her footsteps fall soft on the stairs, but mine echo like war drums behind her.
I feel every step in my spine. We reach the second floor where most of our bedrooms are and it’s just as quiet here.
Nothing louder than murmured voices and snores behind closed doors as the rest of the club gives in to exhaustion.
But I’m wide awake. Her presence burns too hot beside me to think about sleep.
We reach her door, and without hesitating, she swings it open and steps inside.
I stop. My boots planted just shy of the threshold like there’s a damn force field holding me back.
I stare at the worn wood, scuffed near the bottom, the scratch in the paint near the handle.
I’ve passed this door a hundred times, but this moment feels different.
All the nights we’ve shared, all the heat, the chaos, the vulnerability, it’s always been in my space. My rules.
I don’t think I’ve ever crossed this threshold. Not once. I don’t know if it was by choice, but suddenly that matters more than I want to admit.
She turns just inside the room, catching my hesitation with a tilt of her head.
“If you’re gonna leave again,” she says, her voice quiet but sharp enough to cut through bone, “it’ll be from my space. We do this on my terms this time.”
That does something to me. The last thread of resistance snaps tight, then breaks. I give her a small clipped nod, then step just inside the doorway.
Her room smells like citrus. It’s clean but visibly lived-in.
There’s a stack of paperbacks on the nightstand, a slim tablet beside them.
A black hoodie, I instantly recognize as mine, is draped across the arm of a chair.
Her shoes are lined up neatly by the closet, next to a beat-up gym bag, even though I’ve never known her to go to the gym or even use the one here at the clubhouse.
I step in farther and close the door behind me.
Her bed isn’t made. The sheets are tangled like she fights with them nightly.
Her walls are covered with pinned up snapshots of candid moments.
One of them with Emery grinning beside her.
A blurry one of Surge flipping off the camera with Zoey doubled over laughing behind him.
And one of me, I’m pretty damn sure she didn’t mean for me to see, I’m bent over my bike, grease on my fingers, sun in my eyes, caught when I wasn’t looking.
It hits me harder than I expected. She’s made herself a home here, a family and as badly as I want her, I can’t promise I won’t fuck it all up.
She sets her phone down on the dresser and finally looks back at me.
“If this is just sex, Aero, say so now, because I thought you meant what you said last night and then you just left.”
“It’s complicated, Lacey.” I run a hand down my face. “I have responsibilities and a whole damn club expecting me to lead them. There’s a lot on my shoulders.”
She just looks at me like she sees through every layer of bullshit I’ve ever wrapped myself in. I’m such an asshole, sometimes I can’t even stand myself.
I don’t want to pick apart my reasons for leaving. I don’t want to look too closely or I’ll have to face the lies I’ve told myself.
But she’s right. I didn’t give her what she needed. I left her after promising I’d be there in the morning. No reason. No apology. I just took and walked away. The same damn pattern I always fall into. And I hate that I made her question what she means to me.
I move toward her without thinking. “I’m sorry.”
The rare apology falls from my lips naturally. She exhales slowly, and I catch the way her shoulders rise, how her throat works like she’s swallowing something hard.
I step closer but I don’t look her in the eyes. I can’t. But for once, I don’t try to hide the wreckage in me.
“I don’t know how to do this right,” I say, my voice rough with the truth. “I’ve spent years building walls so high I forgot what it felt like to let anyone in. And then you show up, and suddenly I want to tear them down faster than I’m ready for.”
I take a step closer, watching the way her breath stutters, like maybe she wasn’t ready to hear this, but hell, I wasn’t ready to admit it.
“I think about you all damn day. Every time I close my eyes, it’s your face I see. And when I left…” I shake my head. “It wasn’t because I didn’t want you. It’s because I don’t think I have the right to.”
She doesn’t rush to fill the silence. Her sharp eyes soften like she understands. Of course she does. It’s like she can see into my damn hollow fucked-up soul.
She reaches out slowly, curling her soft fingers around mine.
“You’re allowed to want things, Aero,” she says quietly, her fingers tighten in mine.
That’s all I need. I pull her close, my hands settling on her hips, just enough pressure to feel the heat of her through her jeans.
Her arms wind around my neck, pulling me closer, and I let myself be pulled. I kiss her like I need air. Like she’s the only clean thing left in a world full of rot. My mouth moves slowly over hers, unhurried and deep. No rush, no hunger, just something raw and honest between us.
I pull back just enough to rest my forehead against hers. We’re both breathing hard, hearts pounding in the quiet.