Chapter 5
NIGHT RIDE
Three days at the clubhouse, and I was starting to forget what normal felt like.
My shifts at St. Mary's had been covered—Axel had made a call, and suddenly I had two weeks of "family emergency" leave I'd never requested.
I should have been angry about the manipulation.
Instead, I was grateful. The thought of walking into that parking garage, of standing in the same spot where Slash had threatened me, made my chest tight in ways I didn't want to examine.
So I stayed. Helped Maria in the kitchen. Spotted Tank in the gym. Let Jake drag me into endless games of pool that I lost spectacularly. And waited for Axel to come back from whatever emergency had pulled him away.
He'd been gone since that interrupted moment in his room.
Phone calls, brief texts— handling it, be back soon, thinking about you—but no return.
The club was dealing with something, that much was clear from the tension that rippled through the common room whenever Hawk emerged from Church. But no one would tell me what.
"Need to know basis," Irish had said with an apologetic shrug. "And you don't need to know. Yet."
The yet felt like a promise. Or maybe a threat.
On the third night, I was sitting on the clubhouse roof, watching the city lights flicker in the distance, when I heard the bikes.
Not one engine—several. The distinctive Harley rumble that I was learning to distinguish from lesser machines. I stood, crossed to the edge of the roof, and watched the convoy roll through the gates below.
Four bikes. Tank in front, Irish flanking. And in the center, unmistakable even from three stories up—Axel.
My heart did something complicated in my chest.
I found him in the garage, still straddling his Road King, helmet dangling from his fingers.
The other riders had dispersed, leaving him alone in the industrial space with its smell of oil and metal.
He looked exhausted. Dark circles under his eyes, stubble shadowing his jaw, shoulders carrying a weight I could see from across the room.
"Hey."
His head snapped up. For a moment, he just stared—like he'd forgotten I existed, like seeing me was a surprise and a relief all at once. Then something in his expression cracked open.
"Kai."
One syllable. My name. But the way he said it—rough, desperate, hungry—made my skin flush hot.
I crossed to him. He reached for me before I was close enough to touch, hands finding my hips, pulling me into the V of his spread thighs. His forehead dropped to my chest, and I felt the shudder run through him. "Bad run?" I asked, fingers finding his hair.
"The worst." His voice was muffled against my shirt. "Lost a shipment. Almost lost Danny."
My hand stilled. "The prospect? Jake's friend?"
"Ambush on the highway. Devil's Dust knew exactly where we'd be." His arms tightened around me. "Someone's feeding them information."
A chill traced down my spine. "A traitor?"
"Maybe. Or maybe they've got better intel than we thought." He pulled back, looked up at me with those storm-grey eyes. "Either way, this war just got a lot more complicated."
I cupped his face, thumbs tracing the exhaustion lines. "Is Danny okay?"
"He will be. Tank got him out." A ghost of a smile. "Kid's tougher than he looks."
"And you?"
"I'm—" He stopped. Exhaled. "I'm tired, Kai. Tired of the politics, the violence, the constant looking over my shoulder." His hands slid up my back, pulling me closer. "I just want one night where I don't have to think about any of it."
"So don't think."
His eyes darkened. "What did you have in mind?"
I glanced at his bike, then back at him. "Take me somewhere. Anywhere. Just... ride."
Something sparked in his expression—interest, desire, a flicker of the reckless energy I'd glimpsed in the parking garage.
"You sure? It's late. Cold."
"I'm sure."
He studied me for a long moment. Then that slow, dangerous smile spread across his face.
"Get your helmet, violet. We're going for a ride."
The city at midnight was a different world.
Streetlights blurred into ribbons of gold as we wove through empty streets, Axel's Harley growling beneath us. I pressed against his back, arms wrapped around his waist, thighs gripping his hips. The engine's vibration hummed through my whole body, settling into my bones.
He rode differently with me behind him. Still fast, still aggressive, but with a carefulness underneath—taking turns smoother, braking earlier, always aware of the extra heartbeat pressed against his spine. It should have felt protective. Instead, it felt like worship.
We left the city behind. The roads opened up—winding mountain highways with no traffic, no lights, nothing but starlight and the endless rush of wind. Axel opened the throttle, and suddenly we were flying.
I'd ridden fast before. Hell, I'd ridden reckless before, pushing my Kawasaki to her limits on empty backroads when the loneliness got too heavy. But this was different. This wasn't running from something—it was running toward.
Axel leaned into a curve, and I leaned with him, our bodies moving in perfect sync. The road dropped away on one side, a sheer cliff overlooking the valley below. On the other, rock faces loomed, ancient and indifferent. We were tiny against all that darkness. Tiny and infinite at the same time.
He slowed as we approached a viewpoint—a wide gravel turnout overlooking the city lights. Killed the engine. The sudden silence was deafening. For a moment, neither of us moved.
"I used to come here," he said quietly. "After Afghanistan. When the nightmares got too loud."
I rested my chin on his shoulder. Below us, the city sparkled like scattered diamonds.
"Does it help?"
"Sometimes. The speed, the focus—it makes everything else quiet down." He turned his head, his breath warm against my cheek. "Tonight's the first time I've brought anyone."
The weight of that admission settled over me. "Why me?"
"Because you get it." He shifted, swinging off the bike but keeping hold of my hand, pulling me with him. "The way you ride—it's not about showing off. It's about feeling alive."
We stood at the edge of the overlook, the city sprawled beneath us like a circuit board. His arm came around my shoulders, tucking me against his side.
"Tell me something," he said. "Something real. Something nobody else knows."
I thought about deflecting. Making a joke, changing the subject. But the darkness felt like a confessional, and his arm felt like safety.
"I almost quit nursing. After my first year."
"What happened?"
"Lost a kid." The memory surfaced—pink sneakers, gap-toothed smile, the flat line on the monitor that no amount of compressions could fix. "Car accident. She was seven. I did everything right, and it didn't matter."
His arm tightened.
"I went home that night and stared at the wall for six hours. Couldn't move, couldn't think. Just kept seeing her face." I exhaled. "The next morning, I got on my bike and rode until I ran out of gas in the middle of nowhere. Sat on the side of the road and cried for the first time in years."
"What made you go back?"
"I called Tyler." The name still ached. "He answered on the first ring, even though it was three in the morning. He said—" I smiled despite the pain. "He said, 'You don't quit because it hurts. You quit when it stops hurting. Because that's when you know you've lost yourself.'"
"Smart man."
"He was. Is." I shook my head. "I don't know anymore. I haven't heard from him in months."
Axel was quiet for a moment. Then: "You'll find him. Or he'll find you."
"You sound certain."
"Family has a way of coming back around." He turned me to face him, hands framing my jaw. "Even the family we lose track of."
Under the starlight, his grey eyes looked almost silver. I could see the shadows there—the things he carried, the things he'd lost. But I could also see something else. Something that looked like hope. "Your turn," I said. "Something real."
"Daniels wasn't the first."
I waited. He didn't look away.
"There was a guy, in high school. Before I enlisted. We were—" He swallowed. "We were each other's firsts. Everything. My dad found out, and..."
"What happened?"
"He beat me so bad I couldn't stand for a week. Told me I was disgusting, unnatural, a disappointment." The words came out flat, recited like a report. "Then he shipped me off to military school. I learned to bury it. Became the soldier he wanted me to be."
My chest ached for the boy he'd been. "And Daniels?"
"Daniels made me remember." A flicker of something—grief, love, guilt—crossed his face. "Made me realize I'd been lying to myself for years. And then he died, and I buried it again. Told myself it was just a war thing. Just proximity and adrenaline."
"Until me."
"Until you." His thumb traced my cheekbone. "You walked into that parking lot with your purple hair and your steady hands, and I felt something I'd spent twenty years trying to kill."
"What did you feel?"
"Terrified." He breathed a laugh. "Alive. Wanting."
I kissed him.
Not desperate like before, not hungry. Slow. Deep. A conversation without words. His hands slid into my hair, tilting my head exactly where he wanted it. I gripped his cut, anchoring myself, drowning in the taste of him.
When we broke apart, we were both breathing hard.
"Take me back," I said against his lips.
"To the clubhouse?"
"To your room." I pulled back enough to meet his eyes. "I'm done waiting, Axel. I want you."
Something wild flared in his expression—desire and fear and need all tangled together.
"Kai, I don't—I haven't—"
"I know." I kissed him again, softer. "We go at your pace. Whatever you're comfortable with."
"And if I don't know what I'm comfortable with?"
"Then we figure it out together."
He stared at me for a long moment. The city glittered below us, indifferent to the seismic shift happening on this cliff edge.
Then he grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the bike.
The ride back was faster. More urgent. His body was tense against mine—not with fear, but with anticipation. I could feel his heart pounding through his leather jacket, could feel the way his breath came shorter when my hands splayed across his abs.
By the time we pulled into the clubhouse garage, I was half-hard and aching.
He killed the engine. Neither of us moved.
"Last chance to back out," he said.
"Not a chance in hell."
He was off the bike and pulling me toward the stairs before I could draw another breath.
We stumbled through the clubhouse, past the few members still awake—Irish wolf-whistled, Tank just smiled—and up the stairs to his room. The door slammed behind us.
And then his mouth was on mine, and there was nothing else.
He kissed like he was trying to memorize me. Deep, thorough, consuming. His hands found the hem of my shirt, pulled it over my head, and I heard his breath catch as his palms slid over my bare chest.
"You're—" He traced the lines of my abs, the definition I'd earned through years of swimming and gym work. "You're beautiful."
"Your turn."
I tugged at his cut, and he shrugged it off. Then his shirt, revealing the landscape of muscle and scar tissue I'd glimpsed that first night. I let myself look. Let myself want.
He was magnificent. Broad shoulders, thick chest, abs that could have been carved from stone. The bandage from his stab wound was gone now, replaced by a pink scar I wanted to trace with my tongue.
"Kai." His voice was strained. "The way you're looking at me—"
"How am I looking at you?"
"Like you want to devour me."
"Maybe I do."
I pushed him toward the bed. He went—sat on the edge, looking up at me with an expression I'd never seen on him before. Vulnerable. Open. Waiting.
I straddled his lap, knees bracketing his hips, and felt the hard evidence of his desire pressing against me. His hands gripped my thighs, fingers digging in.
"Tell me what you want," I murmured against his mouth.
"I want—" He groaned as I rolled my hips. "I want to touch you. All of you. I want to taste—" He broke off, cheeks flushing.
"Say it."
"I want to taste you." The words came out rough, almost angry. "I want to put my mouth on you and make you come apart."
The image hit me like a freight train.
"Then do it."
His eyes went dark. His hands moved to my belt.
And then—
His phone rang.
We both froze. That same urgent ringtone. That same terrible timing.
"Don't," I pleaded. "Just this once—"
But he was already reaching for it, and the expression that crossed his face when he saw the screen made my blood run cold.
"What is it?"
"Jake." His voice was flat. "He's in trouble."
The hunger drained out of me, replaced by dread. "What kind of trouble?"
"Devil's Dust." Axel was already moving, pulling on his shirt, his cut. "They grabbed him. Ten minutes ago."
I was off the bed, reaching for my own clothes. "I'm coming with you."
"Like hell you are—"
"Jake is my friend." I grabbed his arm, made him look at me. "And I'm a trauma nurse. If they hurt him, you're going to need me."
The war in his eyes lasted only a moment.
"Stay behind me," he growled. "And if I tell you to run, you run."
"Deal."
We were out the door in thirty seconds. Whatever was coming, we'd face it together. I just didn't know how soon it would arrive.