Chapter 4 - Sarah
I can't see the road through my tears.
The emotions I've been holding back for weeks come flooding out now that I'm alone, great heaving sobs that make my whole body shake. I pull over onto the shoulder, unable to drive safely in this state.
He's going to be there for the baby. He promised.
But what does that even mean? What kind of father will a man like Ryan be? A man who gets into bar fights and carries a gun? A man who wears the Outlaw Order patch that has been whispered about in Pine Haven since they arrived a year ago.
I rest my forehead against the steering wheel, trying to calm my breathing. This still went better than I expected, so much better. He didn't accuse me of lying. Didn't tell me to get rid of it. Didn't shrug and walk away.
Yet doubt creeps in like a cold draft. It's easy to make promises now, when the baby is just an idea. But what happens in seven months when there's a screaming infant who needs diaper changes at 3 AM? Will Ryan still want to be involved then?
A sharp rap on my window makes me jump. My head snaps up to see a man in a leather cut standing beside my car. My first instinct is fear. Did they follow me? Do they want something? But then I realize I don't recognize him from the clubhouse.
I crack the window an inch, just enough to hear him.
"You just came from the clubhouse?" he asks, his voice hard and commanding. His dark eyes are cold and calculating as they scan the road behind me.
"Yes," I manage to say, my voice small.
"I'm Wilder." He doesn't look afraid. He looks dangerous, like a predator sensing a threat. "Turn around right now and go back. Tell them Vultures MC are coming. Six bikes, heavily armed."
"What? I don't—"
"NOW!" he barks, his hand slapping the hood of my car. There's no fear in his expression, only deadly determination. "Tell Reaper and Ghost. No one else. Go!"
In my rearview mirror, I catch sight of what has him so alert—a line of motorcycles appearing around the bend in the road, moving fast.
Without another question, I start the engine with shaking hands and pull a U-turn on the empty road, my tires squealing in protest. In my mirror, I see Wilder straddling his bike, facing the approaching riders like some avenging angel.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
The road back to the clubhouse seems longer now, each curve taking an eternity to navigate. My knuckles are white on the steering wheel as I push my sensible Honda faster than it's ever gone.
"It's okay," I whisper to my still-flat stomach. "We're okay."
But are we? I have no idea what's happening, who those men on motorcycles are, or why Wilder looked ready to kill. All I know is that something dangerous is unfolding, and I'm somehow caught in the middle of it.
The clubhouse comes into view, and I slam on the brakes, skidding into the dirt parking area. I don't bother to park properly, just leave the car running as I leap out and run toward the building.
"Help!" I call out, seeing men turn toward me with confused expressions. "Someone's coming! Wilder said—"
The front door of the clubhouse bursts open and Ryan appears, followed by several others. His face goes from surprise to alarm in an instant.
"Sarah? What are you doing back here?" He crosses the distance between us in long strides, gripping my upper arms. "What's wrong?"
I'm breathing too hard to form complete sentences, the adrenaline making my words come out in gasps. "Man on the road—Wilder—said to tell you—Vultures MC coming—six bikes—"
"Breathe, Sarah," Ryan says, his voice suddenly calm even as his eyes squint. "Slowly. Tell me exactly what happened."
I force myself to take a deep breath. "I pulled over a few miles down the road. A man who said his name was Wilder stopped and told me to come back here immediately. He said to tell Reaper and Ghost that Vultures MC are coming. Six motorcycles, heavily armed."
Viper, standing nearby, curses colorfully. "Vultures MC. Goddamn it."
"Who's this?" asks a tall, bearded man, stepping forward with an air of authority.
Ryan straightens. "I’ll explain everything later, Reaper. We've got bigger problems."
So, this is Reaper, the president Wilder mentioned. His eyes hang over me for a moment before shifting to another man.
"Ghost!" he calls over his shoulder. "We've got company coming!"
A man with cold, haunted eyes steps out of the clubhouse. "How many?" he asks, his voice unnervingly quiet.
"Six, according to Wilder," Ryan answers. "He sent Sarah back to warn us."
Ghost's eyes flick to me briefly before he starts issuing orders. "Blade, Viper, get the heavy artillery. Ace, secure the perimeter. Everyone else, positions."
The calm, almost gentle man I was talking to just twenty minutes ago has disappeared, replaced by someone hard and focused. The transformation is jarring. Ryan is gone. This is Ace, the outlaw biker.
All around me, men spring into action. They move with efficiency, pulling hidden weapons from beneath floorboards, behind framed pictures, inside cabinets. Handguns, shotguns, and what look like military-grade automatic weapons appear as if by magic.
"Get inside," Ryan—no, Ace—says to me, already backing away. "All the way to the back room. Lock the door."
"Ryan—" I start, but he cuts me off.
"It's Ace in here," he says sharply. "And you need to move now. Find Evelyn. Dark hair, young. She'll know where to go."
Before I can respond, he's gone, grabbing a shotgun from Viper and moving toward the front windows.
I stand frozen for a moment, watching these men transform into soldiers before my eyes. The clubhouse, which seemed merely rough-around-the-edges before, now reveals itself as the fortress it truly is.
"You must be Sarah."
I turn to find a young woman—younger than me, maybe twenty or twenty-one—standing in the doorway to the back of the clubhouse. She's beautiful in a delicate way, with long dark hair and knowing eyes that seem too old for her face.
"How did you—"
"Viper mentioned you." She glances past me at the men preparing for battle. "I'm Evelyn. You should come with me."
Something in her calm demeanor grounds me. I follow her through the main room, past the bar and pool tables, down a hallway lined with doors.
"In here," she says, opening the last door on the left. Inside is what appears to be a storeroom, but reinforced. Steel door, no windows, concrete walls. "It's the safest place if shooting starts."
I step inside, noticing the supplies stacked against one wall—water, non-perishable food, first aid kits. "This happens often?" I ask, my voice shaking slightly.
Evelyn's smile is grim. "Often enough that we're prepared." She sits on a stack of boxes, gesturing for me to take the only chair. "So, you're Ace's girl?"
"I'm not—" I begin, then stop. What am I to Ryan—to Ace? The mother of his child, yes, but beyond that? "We're not together."
She nods, seemingly unsurprised. "But you came to see him today. Must be important."
I place a hand over my stomach without thinking. Evelyn's eyes follow the movement, and understanding dawns on her face.
"Oh," she says softly. "That is important."
"Does everyone here call him Ace?" I ask, desperate to change the subject.
"It's his road name. His club name." She shrugs. "Out there, in the real world, they use birth names. In here, they use road names. It helps separate the two lives."
Two lives. The idea that Ryan has been living a double life. One as the charming, green-eyed man who made me feel beautiful for a night, and another as this hardened outlaw preparing for battle makes my head spin.
"How did you get involved with all this?" I can't help but ask.
Evelyn's eyes darken. "That's a long story for another time. Let's just say Reaper saved me when no one else would or could."
Before I can press further, the distant sound of motorcycles reaches us, followed by shouting from the front of the clubhouse.
"They're here," Evelyn says, rising to shut the heavy door. "Don't worry. Our men know what they're doing."
Our men. As if these dangerous outlaws with their guns and their violence are something to be claimed, to be proud of. The door closes with a definitive click, and Evelyn turns the lock. We're sealed in now, safe from whatever battle is about to unfold outside.
In the sudden silence, I can hear my own heartbeat, rapid and frightened. I place both hands over my stomach now, no longer caring if Evelyn notices.
"What have I done?" I whisper. "What kind of world am I bringing you into?"
The baby can't answer, of course. But as I sit in this concrete room, surrounded by emergency supplies and the distant sounds of men preparing for war, I make a silent promise to my unborn child.
No matter what happens with Ryan—with Ace—no matter what danger we face, I will protect you. Even if it means protecting you from your own father's world.
The first muffled crack of gunfire makes me flinch.
Evelyn's hand finds mine in the dimness, squeezing gently.
"First time is always the scariest," she says, her voice steady. "Breathe through it. That's what I do."
I focus on my breathing, on the tiny life inside me that needs me to stay calm. But all I can think about is Ryan out there, with his bandaged shoulder and his guns, facing men who want to kill him.
The father of my child, fighting a war I never knew existed until today.