Chapter 2
Blade
The clubhouse isn’t loud like a bar.
It’s loud like something with a pulse.
Engines outside. Music inside. Pool balls cracking. Laughter bouncing off brick and steel. Leather, whiskey, smoke soaked deep into the walls.
I sit where I can see the doors.
I always sit where I can see the doors.
Havoc’s at the head of the table, steady as stone, listening more than he talks.
Sin is two seats down, a glass in his hand, eyes sharp, mind running numbers even while he pretends he’s just another guy in a cut.
Tank’s leaned back, big and calm, watching everything without looking like he’s watching anything.
Ghost is off to the side, half in shadow, silent the way a loaded gun is silent.
Someone cracks a joke. Viper laughs too loud. Tank snorts. Sin shakes his head like we’re all idiots and he’s the only adult in the room.
I’m not in the mood for any of it.
That’s normal.
“Blade,” Viper says, dragging my name out like he’s trying to annoy me on purpose. “You’re real talkative tonight.”
I don’t look at him.
“Eat dirt,” I say.
Viper grins. “There he is. Thought maybe you got replaced by a nicer version.”
“The only nice thing in this room would be your silence,” I tell him.
Havoc’s mouth shifts. Not a smile. Close enough.
“Enough,” Havoc says.
“Too late,” Viper shoots back.
Ghost doesn’t laugh. He rarely laughs. But his eyes shift to the door and back, like he’s tracking threat patterns in his head. Like the room is a map.
The way I like it.
Sin tips his glass toward me. “You riding tonight?”
I nod.
“Alone?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
Viper leans back. “There it is. Blade’s getting restless.”
“I’m always restless,” I say.
“That’s because you sit facing the door,” Tank mutters.
“Someone has to,” I answer.
Sin watches me. “You hunting something?”
“Not tonight.”
Havoc lifts his glass slightly. “Keep it quiet.”
“I always do.”
I take a swallow of my drink. It burns. Good.
My phone vibrates in my pocket.
I set my glass down and pull it out.
A number I’ve had saved for a while, but never used.
Violet Hoover.
Derek’s sister.
Asking for help.
Everything in me goes still.
Cold.
The kind that comes before violence.
I text back for her location.
Three seconds later, it comes through.
I’m on my feet before my brain catches up, chair scraping back. Conversation at the table falters.
Havoc looks up, eyes narrowing. “Problem?”
I don’t waste breath.
“Her.”
That’s all it takes.
Havoc’s expression shifts. Ghost’s too. They know who I mean. One late night. Too much whiskey. I’d said enough.
“Go,” Havoc says.
Sin frowns slightly. “Need cash? Wheels? Backup?”
“No.”
Ghost’s voice cuts in, steady. “Location?”
“Silverbrook Valley,” I say, already moving. “New club. VIP.”
Tank rises with me out of instinct, but Havoc lifts a hand.
“Let him handle it,” Havoc says. Then, to me, quieter, “Call if it multiplies.”
I nod.
Viper squints at me. “Her? Since when are you hiding a her?”
“Since never,” I say.
That doesn’t stop them.
Tank steps aside. “Bring her back breathing. We want to meet her.”
Sin gives a short nod. “Text if it turns ugly.”
Viper whistles. “Look at that. Blade’s got secrets.”
“Shut up,” I tell him, already walking.
He grins. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t torch the place. It’s bad for our rep.”
I don’t answer.
I’m already out the doors.
Cold hits my face like a slap, and it helps. It sharpens. Clears everything but one thing.
Her.
I swing my leg over the bike. The engine comes alive under me, low and steady. The vibration climbs my spine like a warning.
The road out of Lovestone Ridge cuts through dark and trees, no streetlights, no mercy. Headlights don’t reach far enough out here. You ride by instinct or you don’t ride long.
My breath fogs inside the visor. The cold claws through my gloves.
I don’t feel it.
All I feel is the weight of a promise.
Derek made me swear.
He handed me the last thing he had left and expected me to bleed before I dropped it.
We served together. Same dirt. Same heat. Same nights where sleep got you killed.
He walked point like he was born for it. Checked every man twice. Never missed a detail.
Then he’d talk about her.
Twelve years younger.
Raised her himself.
Didn’t trust the world with her. Didn’t trust that he’d always be around to stop it from taking something.
I understood that.
Before he rotated out, he looked me in the eye and said, “If she ever texts you, you go.”
I didn’t ask why me.
I didn’t ask why he trusted me with that.
I just nodded.
Because I knew what it meant to have nobody.
Because I knew what it meant to want one person safe in a world that eats the soft.
And then I saw her.
Months ago.
Curiosity isn’t my thing. I don’t follow it. I don’t chase it.
But Derek had given me her name. Her town. The job. Supermarket.
That’s all it took.
I tracked her down without trying too hard. Not because I couldn’t help myself.
Because I’d made a promise.
The first time I saw her, she was stocking shelves in a sweater too big for her, hair tied back, cheeks pink from the cold. Younger than I expected. She looked untouched by the kind of things I’d seen.
Then she looked up, and something in my chest tightened so fast it pissed me off.
Not lust.
Recognition.
Like my body knew her before my mind did.
Soft hazel eyes. Guarded mouth. A kind of quiet that wasn’t shyness. It was caution. The kind you learn young.
She didn’t see me.
Of course she didn’t.
I watched from the end of the aisle, hands in my pockets, blending into the regular world like I belonged there.
I didn’t.
But I watched.
I watched her check the door every time it opened.
I watched her flinch when a man got too close.
I watched her force a smile when someone spoke too loud.
I watched her leave at the end of her shift and walk to her car like she’d been taught how to survive.
My job wasn’t to step into her life.
My job was to make sure she kept it.
And I told myself that was enough.
Until tonight.
Because tonight she didn’t just need a shadow.
She needed protection.
The club in Silverbrook Valley comes into view like a bruise against the dark, neon and headlights and bodies clustered outside. Music thumps through the walls. Lines at the door. Laughing girls. Men with too much confidence.
I kill the engine near the curb and swing off the bike.
The cut does half my work before I say a word. People look. Step back. Recalculate.
Good.
I walk toward the doors.
A bouncer starts to block me, then sees the patch and hesitates.
I don’t slow down.
The doors open. Heat and noise hit hard.
I sweep once.
Bar. Dance floor. Rope. Suits that cost more than sense.
And her.
Near the rope. A man’s hand locked around her wrist.
Our eyes meet.
Everything else falls away.
Black dress. Boots planted like she’s bracing. Hair loose over her shoulders, catching the light. The fabric curves to her body in ways that make my pulse kick hard and low.
Something deep and territorial locks into place.
Her face is pale. Eyes too wide. Fear riding just under her skin.
His grip is easy. Familiar. Like he believes he owns what he’s holding.
Something inside me goes still.
I move.
Heads turn. Noise dips.
They clock the patch and step aside.
Men in black peel off toward me.
One plants himself in front of me.
“Sir, you can’t—”
I don’t slow down.
He reaches for my shoulder.
I twist his wrist until something pops and shove him aside.
A second one grabs for my cut.
Big mistake.
I catch him by the throat and slam him into the railing hard enough to make him rethink his job.
He drops.
I keep moving.
The room gasps.
Good.
My eyes stay on Violet.
The man holding her looks up.
Old money.
Entitled. Untouched.
Used to getting what he reaches for. The kind who thinks consequences are for other people.
He tightens his grip on Violet like she’s leverage.
Like she’s property.
Like he’s about to find out what happens when you touch what’s mine.
I stop in front of him, close enough to feel Violet’s shaking.
Close enough to see the way her dress rides up slightly where his hand forced her against the railing. Close enough to see her trying to make herself smaller inside her own skin.
She looks up at me like she’s afraid to hope.
I don’t give her softness yet. Not here. Not in front of predators.
I speak, voice low, rough, final.
“Get your hands off my woman.”
His mouth curls. “Your woman?”
I don’t blink.
“Now,” I say.
He stands, smugness trying to hold. “You don’t know who you’re—”
I hit him.
One clean punch to the jaw.
His head snaps to the side. He stumbles back into the table, glass rattling.
Violet makes a small sound, breath catching. Her knees dip like her body can’t decide if it should fall apart now that help is here.
I don’t let her.
The guards rush again. More than two this time.
I move.
This is what I’m for.
Elbow. Fist. Shoulder. I put one down with a knee to the gut. Another with a punch that ends his interest in standing. Someone grabs at my cut and I turn, furious, and slam him into the wall hard enough to rattle the framed photos behind him.
No one touches my cut.
No one touches her.
The old money bastard tries to recover, wiping blood from his mouth, eyes wild now.
“You’re dead,” he spits. “You hear me? You’re—”
I step toward him, and he flinches.
Good.
I don’t finish it. Not here. Not in front of Violet.
I lean in close enough for only him to hear.
“You ever put your hands on her again,” I say quietly, “and I’ll chop them off.”
His eyes go wide.
I turn away from him like he’s nothing.
Because he is.
Violet sways, her breath coming too fast, her face turned toward me like I’m the only solid thing left in the room.
Her knees tremble.
That’s all it takes.
I scoop her up.
Bridal style, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like she belongs in my arms.
She gasps, fingers curling into my cut like she doesn’t know where else to hold on. Her body is warm against mine, trembling. Her scent hits me, clean and sweet under club smoke, and it makes my grip tighten.
Mine.
I carry her through the room.
People stare. Step out of the way. Whisper.
Let them.
The cold air outside hits her and she shivers hard, face tucking instinctively toward my chest.
I keep walking until we’re at my bike.
I set her down carefully, hands steady. She wobbles, and I catch her again without thinking.
“Easy,” I murmur.
Her eyes lift to mine. Hazel, wide, shining.
“Are you…” Her voice breaks. “Are you the one Derek—”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m the one.”
She swallows, throat working. “Thank you.”
I don’t answer that.
Because I didn’t come for thanks.
I pull my helmet off the bike and hold it out.
“Put it on,” I tell her.
Her hands shake as she lifts the helmet. I step in and fasten the strap, my fingers brushing the line of her jaw. She stills at the contact, then exhales.
I shrug out of my cut.
Her eyes flick to the patch before she can stop herself.
I settle the leather over her shoulders. It hangs heavy on her, swallowing the dress, hiding more than it shows.
“What are you doing?” she whispers.
“Making sure nobody looks at you like that again,” I say.
I swing onto the bike and steady it with both boots planted.
“Get on.”
She hesitates a second.
I turn slightly, reach back, and find her waist. “Foot on the peg. Swing over.”
She does, careful and unsure. Her thigh brushes my back as she climbs on and settles behind me.
“Hold on.”
Her hands hover before sliding around my waist, light at first.
She presses closer.
Careful.
Then tighter.
Good girl.
I grip the handlebars and glance back once, just enough to meet her eyes.
“My name’s Denzel,” I say. “They call me Blade.”
Her lips part slightly.
“Blade,” she repeats, like the word tastes dangerous.
“I’m Tail Gunner,” I add, because she needs to know what I am. “Damned Saints.”
She nods, swallowing again, eyes flicking down to the patch on my cut now hanging off her shoulders.
“Okay,” she whispers.
I start the engine.
The rumble vibrates through both of us, and she clings tighter.
“Where are we going?” she asks.
“Somewhere safe,” I tell her.
We pull away from the club, neon shrinking behind us, the night swallowing everything except the road and the cold and the warmth of her pressed to me.
I don’t ask questions yet.
I don’t talk about what happened.
Right now, she needs one thing.
Distance.
Safety.
And the truth I’ve been holding back for months, years, since Derek made me promise and Violet became more than a name.
I watched her.
And tonight, I’m done watching from afar.
Tonight, I take her home.
The cabin is waiting.
So am I.