Chapter 10
LOGAN
The vibration of the phone in my hand feels like a distant echo compared to the rage thrumming through my veins for the last twenty-four hours. I stand on the porch, the icy mountain air biting at my bare chest, staring out into the dense wall of pines separating my world from the town below.
"Talk to me," I growl into the receiver.
"It's handled," Austin’s voice comes through, calm and lethal. "Just a hired hand. Some punk from out of state thought he could earn a quick buck scaring the 'bikers.' He didn't know who he was dealing with."
"Who paid him?"
Austin pauses, followed by the cold click of a lighter.
"The punk gave up the name of the firm. They aren't just looking for land; they’re looking for a fight.
Tristan and Chase didn't just put him on a bus—they sent him back with a delivery for the board members. A box containing the brick he threw, soaked in the blood he lost for throwing it. They’ll know exactly whose mountain they stepped on. "
My jaw tightens, bone grinding on bone. "Not enough. If they want this block, they can find it in the middle of a graveyard. I want their construction permits tied up in so much red tape they’ll have to sell the company to pay the legal fees.
They threatened my heart, Austin. Now I’m going to take theirs. "
"Consider it done. We'll bleed them dry," Austin replies, his tone shifting back to the tactical. "And the shop? You want me to send a crew to watch the glass?"
"Blake’s already there fixing the window. Glass is swept. We’re operational," I grunt, my grip on the phone loosening a fraction. "Good."
"And how’s Savannah?" Austin asks, his voice dropping, sensing the change in my energy.
I turn, looking through the glass pane of the cabin door.
Savannah sits on the rug in front of the fire, wearing one of my oversized hoodies.
Her legs are bare, her hair a chaotic halo of curls catching the firelight.
She looks soft. Breakable. And yet, she remains.
She didn't run when the brick came through the window.
She didn't run when I told her what I am.
"She’s exactly where she belongs," I say, my voice dropping an octave.
"The corporate suits got the message—they're pulling their bid for the block. And Sterling? He actually called the clubhouse. Said his security cameras caught the whole thing and he’s already handed the footage over to Brandon to make sure the firm can’t dispute the charges.
He’s stayin' in his lane, Logan. He told me to tell you the 'Queen of the Peak' deserves better neighbors than corporate sharks. He’s a businessman, but he’s not a fool—he knows this mountain belongs to you. "
"Good. He’s smart to stay on our side. But I want the message sent further than Pine Valley.
I want every corporate predator and city-suit out there to understand that the next time someone even thinks about targeting Savannah, they aren't just looking at a woman—they’re looking at the end of their world. "
"Understood, Pres," Austin says, a dark solemnity in his voice that mirrors my own. "We’ll make sure that’s the last thing they hear before the lights go out. Stay with her."
The line goes dead with a definitive click. I slide the phone into my pocket and step back inside, the mountain air still clinging to my bare skin as I lock the heavy deadbolt behind me.
The sound makes Savannah look up. Her whiskey-colored eyes used to dart with panic, but now they lock onto mine, heavy with a darkened heat that hits me straight in the gut.
"Is everything okay?" she asks, her voice steady.
I walk over to her, my boots heavy on the floorboards. I tower over her, letting my shadow consume her, needing to see that acceptance in her face. "It's done. The threat is gone."
She releases the breath she’s been holding since yesterday. "Nobody... nobody was hurt?"
"Not on our side," I answer. I reach down, my hand large enough to encompass her entire skull, and thread my fingers into her hair. I tilt her head back, forcing her to look at me. "I told you. I handle the monsters. You just have to live in the castle."
"This is a cabin in the middle of nowhere, Logan," she whispers, a small smile touching her lips as she leans into my touch.
I watch her scan the heavy timber walls. She realizes this structure serves as a seat of power, not a hideout. I spent years building walls to keep the world out, but I hadn't built a fortress for a biker—I had built a palace for a Queen. And I would slaughter an army to keep her on that throne.
I pull my hand back, but the need to touch her, to reassert my claim now that the external noise has been silenced, burns like a physical ache. "Get dressed. Put on something warm. And wear the boots I gave you."
Her brow furrows. "Where are we going? The roads are still icy."
"We aren't taking the truck." I turn toward the door where my leather cut hangs on the hook—the President patch staring back at me. "We're taking the bike."
The Harley roars beneath us, a beast of chrome and steel tearing up the switchbacks.
The snow has stopped, leaving the world painted in blinding white and deep, forest greens.
The air bites crisp and cold enough to freeze breath in the lungs, but the heat coming off the engine and the woman pressed against my back keeps the chill at bay.
Savannah’s arms wrap tight around my waist, her gloved hands locked together over my stomach.
I feel her breasts pressed against my spine through the layers of leather and denim.
Every time I lean into a curve, she moves with me.
She’s learning. She stopped fighting the lean; she trusts the gravity, trusts me to keep the rubber on the asphalt.
She shouldn't give me that trust. I’m a dangerous man. I lead a club of outlaws, outcasts, and violent men. But up here, where the air is thin and the law is whatever I say it is, she’s safe.
I downshift, the engine growling as we turn off the main road onto a narrow gravel track winding toward the summit of Grizzly Peak. This isn't a public trail. It’s MC land. The Gunnars have owned these ridges since before the town of Pine Valley had a name.
We climb higher, the trees thinning out until we break through the canopy. I pull the bike to a stop at the edge of the overlook—the highest drivable point in the district.
I kill the engine. The silence rushing in feels absolute. No birds, no wind, just the ticking of the cooling metal and the sound of our breathing.
"Logan," she breathes, sliding off the back of the bike. Her boots crunch on the gravel as she walks to the edge.
Below us, Pine Valley resembles a toy town.
I see the grid of Main Street, the tiny speck of Peak Wilderness Outfitters, the sprawling luxury of the Grand Pine Lodge where she was supposed to stay.
It all looks insignificant from up here.
The mountains surrounding the valley rise like jagged teeth, a fortress of stone keeping the world out.
I swing my leg over the bike and kick the stand down, stalking toward her.
I come up behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her back against my chest. I bury my face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the scent of her—jasmine with hint of honey, cold air, and the underlying musk of a woman thoroughly claimed.
"Look at it," I murmur against her skin, my vibration rumbling through her. "That’s the world down there. Rules. Laws. Expectations. People who think they know what’s best for you."
A tremor runs through her, but the cold has nothing to do with it. I feel her heart hammering against my forearm where it lays across her chest. "It looks so small."
"It is small," I tell her, tightening my grip. "Up here, there’s nothing but the sky and the dirt. This is where I breathe, Savannah. This is where the club was born. We don't bring outsiders here."
She turns in my arms, facing me. The wind whips a strand of hair across her face, and I tuck it behind her ear with a gloved thumb. Her cheeks flush pink from the ride.
"Why did you bring me?" she asks, searching my eyes.
"Because you aren't an outsider anymore.
" I stare at her, letting the weight of the words settle.
"You aren't the travel blogger whose car broke down.
You aren't a guest. You’re mine. I claimed you in the cabin, but I wanted to claim you here.
On my mountain. Where the ancestors of this club can see it. "
Her eyes widen, the irises bright with unshed tears. "Logan..."
"I’m not a gentle man, Savannah. I don't do dates.
I don't do flowers. I break things. I protect what’s mine with violence if I have to.
You saw that brick. You saw what my life brings to your doorstep.
" I lean down, my forehead resting against hers. "If you want to walk away, I’ll take you down that mountain right now. I’ll put you in a car and let you go. "
A lie. The biggest lie I’ve ever told. If she tried to leave, I’d follow her. I’d haunt her. But I need her to say it.
She reaches up, her hands cupping my jaw, her thumbs tracing the rough stubble. "I don't want to go down," she whispers fiercely. "I’ve spent my whole life traveling, Logan. Looking for... something. I didn't know what it was until you pulled me out of the snow. I don't want to be anywhere else."
The beast inside me, pacing the cage of my ribs since I saw her, roars in triumph.
I kiss her. A collision, not a request. I devour her mouth, my tongue sweeping in to taste her, demanding everything she has. She tastes like whiskey and surrender. She opens for me instantly, her moan swallowed by my mouth as I crush her against the hard wall of my body.
I walk her backward until her hips hit the side of the Harley. She gasps as I lift her, settling her onto the leather seat. It’s still warm from the ride, the engine ticking beneath her. I step between her thighs, spreading them wide, needing access. Needing to be closer than skin.