Chapter Twelve
~ Rooster ~
I gazed at Liam's profile in the fading sunset, still hardly believing he was here beside me, his slight weight leaning against my side. The garden had fallen silent around us, as if respecting this fragile moment of peace we'd carved out together.
His hood was still pulled back, exposing his face to the evening air—a trust so profound it made my chest ache.
I'd waited decades to find my mate, had nearly given up hope of ever experiencing this connection, and now he sat beside me, his golden eyes reflecting the last crimson streaks of daylight.
"We should probably head inside soon," I murmured, though I made no move to disturb our position. "It's getting dark."
Liam didn't respond verbally—he never did—but he shifted slightly closer, his shoulder pressing more firmly against mine.
The simple gesture spoke volumes from someone who normally maintained careful distance from others.
My bear rumbled contentedly inside me, satisfied by this small evidence that our mate bond was slowly, cautiously developing.
The roses around us released their sweet perfume into the cooling night air, their scent intensifying as darkness fell.
Above us, stars were beginning to appear one by one, pinpricks of silver against deepening blue.
It was the kind of perfect moment that seemed suspended in time, where nothing existed outside our small corner of the garden.
Then everything changed.
The plants surrounding us suddenly jerked as if struck by an invisible hand. Rose stems whipped violently back and forth, leaves trembling and twisting. The grass beneath our feet rippled like water disturbed by a thrown stone.
Liam stiffened against me, his body going rigid. He pulled away abruptly, golden eyes wide with alarm as he stared at the thrashing plants.
"What the hell?" I muttered, scanning the garden for whatever had spooked the vegetation. There wasn't a hint of breeze to explain the chaotic movement. "Liam, what's—"
He was already on his knees, palm pressed flat against the soil, head bowed as if listening intently.
His entire body went completely still, a stark contrast to the frenzied motion of the plants around us.
I could see his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths, tension radiating from every line of his slender frame.
When he looked up at me, the contentment that had softened his features just moments ago had been replaced with raw terror. His golden eyes were wide beneath the fringe of his dirty blonde hair, pupils contracted to pinpoints despite the gathering darkness.
"Liam?" I reached for him instinctively, concern flooding through me. "Baby boy, what's wrong?"
Instead of shrinking from my outstretched hand as he typically would, Liam lunged forward and grabbed my wrist. The contact was so unexpected, so contrary to his usual behavior, that I froze in shock.
His fingers wrapped around my forearm with surprising strength, his grip tight enough that I could feel his pulse hammering against my skin—or maybe that was my own.
He tugged urgently, pulling me to my feet with a force I wouldn't have believed his slender frame capable of. His free hand pointed frantically toward the clubhouse, his meaning unmistakable even without words: we needed to go. Now.
"What is it? What did you sense?" I asked as he pulled me forward, nearly stumbling in his haste. "Liam, talk to me—well, not talk, but—you know what I mean."
He didn't pause to write or gesture beyond another urgent tug on my arm. His eyes darted around the darkening yard, scanning the perimeter fence and tree line with the hyper-vigilance of prey sensing a predator's approach.
The notepad Percy had given him remained tucked in his pocket, untouched. Whatever he'd sensed through the plants, there wasn't time to explain it.
I'd never seen him like this before—not even during the warehouse attack. Then, he'd been cautious, calculating. Now, he radiated pure panic, an animal instinct to flee that overrode everything else. This was the raw survival mode that had kept him alive for fifteen years on the streets.
As we crossed the open space between the garden and the clubhouse, I noticed something that sent a chill down my spine.
Liam was heading straight for the back door—the main entrance that led directly into the common room where most of the club would be gathered at this hour.
Not the kitchen's side door where I'd first brought him, not my private entrance that bypassed the crowded areas.
The main door. Where people would be.
Liam, who couldn't bear to be in enclosed spaces with multiple people, who panicked at the prospect of being trapped with nowhere to run, was deliberately charging toward the most populated area of the clubhouse.
"Shit," I muttered, realization dawning. "This is bad, isn't it?"
He nodded frantically without breaking stride, his golden eyes reflecting the security lights that had automatically clicked on around the compound as darkness fell. His hood had fallen back in our rush, exposing his scarred face and fearful expression.
We were halfway across the yard when Liam suddenly yanked me sideways, changing course so abruptly I nearly lost my balance. He dragged me behind a stack of empty oil drums, pressing his back against them and pulling me down into a crouch beside him.
His breathing was quick and shallow, his entire body trembling with tension as he peered around the edge of our makeshift shelter toward the fence line. I followed his gaze, but saw nothing unusual in the darkness beyond our compound.
After a tense moment, he tugged my arm again, indicating we should continue toward the clubhouse, but now on a different, less direct route. Understanding dawned—he was taking us on a path with more cover, avoiding open spaces where we'd be exposed.
"Someone's out there," I whispered, the statement rather than a question. "You're taking us the safest way in."
He nodded once, sharp and certain.
As we crept from shadow to shadow, I marveled at the transformation in my mate.
Gone was the cowering, skittish man who flinched at sudden movements.
In his place was someone focused and determined, moving with the silent grace of a predator—or more accurately, prey that had learned to outsmart predators through years of brutal necessity.
We reached the back door without incident, though Liam hesitated before opening it, his hand hovering over the knob as his head tilted slightly—listening again, but not with his ears. Whatever the plants were telling him caused another flash of alarm to cross his face.
He grabbed my wrist again, his fingers digging in almost painfully this time, and wrenched the door open. The warmth and noise from inside the clubhouse—music playing, voices talking, the familiar sounds of our daily life—spilled out into the night.
Liam didn't hesitate. He pulled me through the doorway into the light and heat of the building, into the space he feared most, proving beyond any doubt that whatever threatened us from outside was far more terrifying than his dread of enclosed spaces and crowds.
As the door slammed shut behind us, I caught a final glimpse of the garden. In the harsh glare of the security lights, the plants had gone completely still, as if holding their breath. Waiting.
Something was coming. And only Liam knew what it was.
I nearly collided with Bug as Liam dragged me through the common room, my mate weaving between startled club members with surprising agility.
Bug's scarred face registered shock as we barreled past him, Liam's golden eyes fixed determinedly on Butch's office door at the far end of the hallway.
The usual evening card games and conversations stuttered to a halt as we passed, confused glances following our frantic progress through the clubhouse.
I'd never seen Liam voluntarily enter a crowded room before, let alone pull me through one with such urgency.
"Rooster? What the hell—" Treat called out from the bar, Butch's mate setting down a glass he'd been drying.
I shook my head, unable to explain what I didn't understand myself. Liam's grip on my wrist remained firm as he pulled me forward, his slender body coiled with tension.
When we reached Butch's office door, he didn't hesitate or knock—another unprecedented breach of his usual caution. He simply shoved it open and pulled me inside.
Butch looked up from behind his desk, irritation flashing across his features at the interruption. Bear and Gunner flanked him, the three of them hunched over what looked like building plans for the warehouse renovation.
The irritation quickly morphed to surprise as he registered Liam's presence—this feral, skittish man who normally avoided enclosed spaces and strangers had just willingly entered the inner sanctum of the club's leadership.
"What's going on?" Butch demanded, straightening up.
Instead of cowering or retreating to a corner as I'd half-expected, Liam released my wrist and lunged for Butch's desk.
Before anyone could react, he'd snatched up a pencil and shoved aside the building plans, flipping them over to expose the blank side.
His hands moved with feverish speed as he began to draw.
Bear took a step forward, his massive frame tensing protectively, but I held up a hand. "Wait," I said, watching Liam work. "Something's wrong. Let him show us."
In under a minute, Liam had sketched a detailed map of the compound and surrounding area.
The accuracy was startling—every building precisely placed, the tree line rendered with perfect spatial awareness, even the hidden security cameras marked in their exact locations.
It was the work of someone who'd spent months observing every inch of our territory.
"How does he know where all the cameras are?" Gunner muttered, moving closer to the desk.