Chapter Fifteen
Chase
Following Myron, who’d been sent to escort him, Chase stepped through the doorway and into the clubhouse meeting room, immediately feeling the tension crackling in the air like static before a storm.
Mason stood at the head of the long table, arms braced on the wood, his face carved from granite. Bones, Bear, and a handful of other senior members were already there, expressions grim. The usual easy camaraderie was gone. This was club business at its most serious.
“Sit,” Mason said, voice low and clipped.
Chase sat. His father’s eyes—the same stormy gray as his own—locked onto him with an intensity that made his stomach tighten. He’d never seen Mason like this. Not cold. Not just angry. Stone-cold furious. The kind of anger that had weight behind it. The kind that meant someone was going to bleed.
Mason didn’t waste time.
“We’ve got a problem,” he said. “An old enemy surfaced. Someone who knew Carrie. Knew her well enough to hold a grudge that’s lasted years. He’s made it clear Chase is his target. Threats came in through back channels today. Specific. Personal.”
The room went dead silent.
Chase felt the words hit like a punch to the ribs. “Me?”
Mason’s jaw flexed. “You. He’s talking about unfinished business with your mother. Says you’re the loose end.”
Chase’s mind spun. Carrie—the mother who had lied to him his whole life, who had been murdered by her own blood relative. Now someone from that old world was coming after him?
He swallowed hard. “Is anyone else in danger? The club? Willa? Garrett or the baby?”
Mason’s eyes flickered—something raw and protective flashing through the ice. “We’re handling it. The club’s on high alert. No one rides alone. No unnecessary risks.” His voice dropped even lower. “But you...you stay close. You don’t go anywhere without someone on you. Understand?”
Chase nodded slowly, but his thoughts were already racing ahead. Kath. She had no idea what kind of world he came from. No idea that just being close to him might put her in the crosshairs of some ghost from his mother’s past.
And Mason didn’t even know she existed.
For a split second, Chase considered telling him right then—There’s a girl. Her name’s Kath. She rides Bear’s old custom. She writes lyrics that make music show up in my head—but the words died in his throat.
Not now.
Not when his father looked like this. Not when the entire club was shifting into war mode. Introducing Kath right now would only paint a bigger target on her back. Or worse—make Mason shut them down completely out of protectiveness.
Chase kept his mouth shut.
“I understand,” he said quietly. “I’ll be careful.”
Mason studied him for a long moment, like he was searching for something. Then he gave a single, sharp nod.
“Good. We’ll handle this. You focus on staying safe and doing what you do with the band. The rest is club business.”
The meeting broke up shortly after, voices low and serious as plans started forming. Chase lingered until the room cleared, then stepped outside into the cool night air.
He pulled out his phone and stared at Kath’s last text, the one where she’d said she had a good time too.
His thumb hovered over the keyboard. He wanted to tell her everything. Wanted to warn her. Wanted to pull her closer and keep her safe.
But he couldn’t. Not yet.
Not while everything was still in uproar.
Chase slipped the phone back into his pocket and let out a long, unsteady breath.
He’d keep her separate from this for now.
He’d keep her safe the only way he knew how—by not dragging her any deeper into his world until he understood exactly how bad this threat really was. Even if it killed him to do it.
***
Kath
The next morning, Kath woke slowly, sunlight slanting through the blinds in soft gold stripes across her bed. For a brief, hazy moment everything felt almost normal—until the silence hit her.
No texts. No missed calls. No quick *I’m home safe* message from Chase.
She reached for her phone on the nightstand anyway, heart lifting with foolish hope, only to find the screen empty. The last message she’d sent him last night—*Thank you for everything. Please be careful*—still sat with a Read label, but no response.
Kath sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
She told herself it was nothing. They’d all been running on pure adrenaline yesterday.
Chase especially. She’d seen the exhaustion carved into his face, the way his shoulders had sagged once his body caught up to the fact that they weren’t onstage anymore.
He was probably dead to the world in his room at Bear’s, crashed hard after everything.
A stupefying, dreamless sleep—the kind you fall into when your body finally demands payment for hours of fear and fight.
She could picture him face down in the pillows, one arm hanging off the bed, completely oblivious to the world.
Still...the quiet gnawed at her.
Kath swung her legs over the side of the bed and padded to the window, staring out at the quiet street. Part of her wanted to text him again. Another, wiser part whispered that pushing right now might only add to whatever weight he was already carrying.
She pressed her forehead against the cool glass and let out a slow breath.
“He’s okay,” she whispered to the empty room. “They’re all exhausted. That’s all it is.”
The words helped a little. But the worry still lingered in her chest like a shadow she couldn’t quite shake. Last night, he’d talked to her like she was the only solid thing left in his world. This morning, the silence felt louder than it should.
Kath straightened her shoulders and headed for the kitchen. She’d make coffee. She’d wait. And when he finally woke up and reached out, she’d be ready—patient, understanding, and still right here.