Chapter 6 #2
“Stay close,” Zach murmurs, his hand settling at the small of my back as he guides me toward the entrance. The warmth of his palm seeps through my shirt, grounding me in the moment.
Inside, the contrast is jarring. What looks like a typical bar at first glance reveals itself as something more complex.
A headquarters, a sanctuary, a fortress.
Dark wood paneling lines the walls, adorned with motorcycle memorabilia and framed photographs.
The air smells of leather, whiskey, and something else I can’t quite identify, a blend of gun oil and cigarette smoke that somehow feels both dangerous and oddly comforting.
The room falls into momentary silence as we enter, dozens of eyes turning to assess me. I straighten my spine, refusing to shrink under their scrutiny. These are Zach’s people. This is his world.
“Doc,” Greyson acknowledges with a nod, breaking the silence as he approaches. Up close, the club president is even more intimidating than I remember from the hospital. Tall and solid, with penetrating blue eyes that seem to catalog my every reaction. “Welcome to our home.”
“Thank you for the hospitality,” I reply, keeping my voice steady. “Though I wish it were under better circumstances.”
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “Don’t we all.” He turns to address the room. “For those who haven’t met him, this is Dr. Xavier Blane. He’s under our protection. Treat him accordingly.”
The simple declaration carries weight. I feel something shift in the atmosphere, the assessment in their gazes transforming into something like acceptance. Or, at least, tolerance.
Zach’s hand remains at my back, a subtle reminder of his presence as Greyson continues. “We’re on full lockdown until further notice. No one goes out alone, no one comes in without verification. Families are being brought in as we speak.”
As if on cue, the door opens again. A woman enters with two huge men around the same age as me following behind her. I can tell right off the bat that they’re related.
She’s striking, tall and elegant even in simple jeans and a blouse, with dark hair pulled back in a practical ponytail. The boys flanking her share her coloring but have the solid build of the man who follows them in.
“Myra,” Zach says, his voice warming slightly. “Glad you made it safely.”
The woman, Myra, offers a tired smile. “Ryan insisted on taking the most convoluted route possible. I think we drove through three counties to get here.” Her eyes find mine, curious but not unwelcoming. “You must be Xavier. I’ve heard about you.”
Before I can wonder exactly what she’s heard, she extends her hand. “Dr. Myra. Pediatrics at Mercy General.”
I blink in surprise as we shake hands. “I didn’t realize there were other doctors in the… club.”
“Not in the club,” she corrects gently. “With the club. There’s a difference.” She gestures to the man now speaking with Greyson. “My husband Ryan is patched in. I just come with the territory.”
The two guys hover nearby, their posture a contrast—one lounging with affected casualness against the wall, the other standing alert, eyes constantly scanning the room.
“My sons,” Myra continues, following my gaze. “Cash and Creed, though in here they answer to Havoc and Chaos.” The affectionate eye roll that accompanies this statement suggests a long-standing maternal resignation to club nicknames.
The more relaxed of the two, Cash, I’m guessing, straightens slightly. “So you’re the doctor Slaughter’s been stalking since high school?” His tone is teasing, but there’s genuine curiosity beneath it.
“Cash,” Myra warns, but I find myself smiling despite the situation.
“I wouldn’t call it stalking,” I reply, feeling Zach tense slightly beside me.
“No?” The other brother, Creed, raises an eyebrow. “Because the way Tiana tells it, he’s been following you home for years.”
Heat rises to my face, but before I can respond, Zach cuts in.
“Don’t you two have something better to do? Like patrol duty?” His tone is light, but there’s an edge beneath it.
Cash grins, clearly enjoying Zach’s discomfort. “Nope. Grey’s got us on lockdown, remember? Which means we’re stuck inside. With you. And your doctor.” He emphasizes the last two words with undisguised glee.
“Ignore them,” Myra advises me. “They’ve known Zach since they were in diapers. They think it gives them special tormenting privileges.”
“It absolutely does,” Cash confirms. “Someone’s got to keep Slaughter humble.”
Zach mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like a threat, but there’s no real heat behind it. I realize with a start that this is familiar territory for him, this banter, this brotherhood. A side of him I’m only beginning to glimpse.
“Where’s Mia?” Zach asks, changing the subject.
“Already here,” Myra answers. “She came in with the first wave after the hospital incident. She’s helping set up the sleeping arrangements upstairs.”
The door opens again, admitting more people: women carrying children, and men with duffel bags and grim expressions. The clubhouse is rapidly filling, transforming from a bar into something that feels more like a bunker or a community shelter.
“Come on,” Zach says quietly, his hand moving to my elbow. “Let’s find somewhere quieter to talk.”
I follow him through the crowd, nodding at the occasional familiar face: nurses from the hospital, a paramedic I’ve worked with, even a few patients I recognize. The Devil Souls’ reach extends further into the community than I’d realized.
Zach leads me down a hallway lined with doors, away from the growing noise.
He stops at one, pushing it open to reveal a small but neat bedroom.
A queen-sized bed dominates the space, flanked by simple nightstands.
The walls are bare except for a framed photograph I can’t quite make out from the doorway.
“My room,” he explains, stepping aside to let me enter. “When I stay here.”
I move past him, taking in the sparse furnishings, the military precision of the made bed, the complete lack of personal items except for that single photograph. Curious, I step closer to examine it.
It’s Zach as a teenager, maybe sixteen or seventeen, standing beside a motorcycle with his father’s arm draped across his shoulders. Both are smiling, a rare, unguarded moment captured in time.
“First bike,” Zach says, closing the door behind him. The click of the latch seems unnaturally loud in the quiet room. “Dad helped me rebuild it from scrap.”
I turn to face him, suddenly aware of the intimacy of being alone with him in his space. His expression has softened, the enforcer temporarily set aside.
“So,” I say, perching on the edge of the bed. “Are you going to tell me what’s really happening? Why we’re on lockdown with half the town’s families?”
Zach leans against the door, arms crossed over his chest. The position should be intimidating, but instead, it just emphasizes the breadth of his shoulders, the lean strength of him.
“The Reapers are making a statement,” he says, voice low and controlled. “Testing boundaries, seeing how we’ll respond. They drove by the school, the hospital, even your apartment building.”
My stomach tightens. “Looking for weak spots.”
He nods, eyes never leaving mine. “Looking for leverage. People we care about.”
“People you care about,” I clarify, understanding dawning. “Me.”
“You,” he agrees, pushing off from the door to approach me. “My sister. Grey’s daughter. Anyone connected to the club.” He stops directly in front of me, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. “But especially you.”
“Because of yesterday,” I say. “Because they saw how you reacted when I was threatened.”
His jaw tightens, a muscle jumping beneath the skin. “They saw that you matter to me. That makes you a target.”
The blunt assessment should frighten me, but instead, I feel an odd calm settling over me. This is Zach’s reality, danger and protection inextricably linked.
“So, what happens now?” I ask, reaching for his hand. His fingers twine with mine automatically, his palm warm and slightly rough against my skin.
“Now we wait,” he says, thumb tracing circles on the back of my hand. “Grey’s called in reinforcements from other chapters. The police are on high alert. And we keep everyone safe until this plays out.”
“And how does it play out?” I press, needing to understand.
Something cold and dangerous flickers in his eyes. “One of two ways. Either the Reapers back down and leave town, or…” He trails off, but I can fill in the blank.
“Or there’s a war,” I finish for him.
He doesn’t deny it, just watches me carefully, gauging my reaction. Waiting for fear, perhaps, or rejection.
Instead, I tug him closer, until he’s standing between my knees. “Thank you for bringing me here,” I say, looking up at him. “For not shutting me out.”
Surprise flickers across his face, followed by something warmer. “Didn’t think I had much choice after yesterday,” he admits. “You’ve seen the worst of it now. Figured you deserved to see the rest.”
“The family part,” I clarify, glancing toward the door, beyond which an entire community has gathered for protection. “The part where you take care of your own.”
His hand comes up to cup my face, thumb brushing along my cheekbone. “You’re getting there,” he says softly. “Starting to understand.”
I lean into his touch, the simple contact grounding me amid the chaos of the day. “I want to understand. All of it. Not just the parts you think I can handle.”
Something shifts in his expression, a decision being made. “Okay,” he says finally. “No more filtering. No more protecting you from the truth. But, X…” His voice roughens. “Some of it isn’t pretty.”
He studies me for a long moment, then nods once, decisive.
“All right. Full disclosure from here on out.” His thumb traces my lower lip, sending a shiver down my spine. “Starting with the fact that I’ve wanted to kiss you since you walked through that door.”
Heat pools low in my stomach at the naked desire in his voice. “What’s stopping you?”
His eyes darken, pupils expanding until only a thin ring of brown remains. “The fact that once I start, I might not be able to stop. And we’ve got a clubhouse full of people who could interrupt at any moment.”
I slide my hands up his chest, feeling the solid warmth of him through his shirt. “Lock the door,” I suggest, surprising myself with my boldness.
A slow smile spreads across his face, dangerous and promising in equal measure. “You sure about that, Doc?”
In answer, I rise to my feet, bringing our bodies flush against each other’s. “Completely sure.”
His breath catches, a barely audible hitch that betrays his composure. For a heartbeat, we stand frozen, the air between us charged with possibility.
Then someone pounds on the door, the sound like a gunshot in the quiet room.
“Slaughter!” a voice calls, one of the prospects, I think. “Grey needs you in the chapel. Now.”
Zach closes his eyes briefly, frustration evident in every line of his body. “Be right there,” he calls back, voice remarkably steady.
When he opens his eyes again, the heat remains, but it’s banked beneath the return of the enforcer. “Duty calls,” he says, regret coloring his tone.
“Go,” I tell him, stepping back to create some distance between us. “I’ll be here.”
He catches my hand before I can move too far away. “This isn’t over,” he promises, voice dropping to a register that sends shivers down my spine. “Just postponed.”
“I’m counting on it,” I reply, squeezing his hand before releasing it.
With one last heated look that promises everything, Zach moves to the door, straightening his cut and visibly shifting into the role the club needs from him.
The transformation is fascinating to watch, the way his shoulders square, his expression hardens, his entire demeanor becomes more controlled.
“Stay here,” he says, hand on the doorknob. “I’ll send someone to check on you if the meeting runs long.”
I nod, watching as he slips through the door, closing it firmly behind him. Alone in his room, surrounded by the subtle scent of him, leather and soap and something uniquely Zach, I take a deep breath, trying to process everything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours.