Chapter 15
Sarge
What the fuck did you just say?
Throttle’s wide open, engine screaming under me as my tires eat up miles of asphalt. I need to get back to her, to those green eyes that I lose myself in.
I’ve been gone five goddamn days, and every second of it was spent thinking about her.
That kiss.
Her hips grinding into me like she didn’t know what it was doing to my crumbling restraint.
I told myself the job came first, the club had to come first, but it didn’t stop me from checking my phone every chance I got, waiting for a text that never came.
It sure as fuck didn’t stop me from turning the bike toward Rawhide the second I was back in town. I need to see her with my own eyes. Make sure she’s safe.
Word came through my Sergeant at Arms, Grimace, that she’d be at the bar tonight. I told the club that anyone not on a job needed to keep an eye on her. Make sure she’s safe in that filthy fucking bar.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull over long enough to answer. It’s Gizmo, one of our prospects. His voice is frantic, words coming out fast.
“Prez, it’s Hannah. Something’s wrong. She went down hard, like she’d been drugged. One of those piece-of-shit Scorpions—calls himself Diesel—was talking to her, and next thing I know, she’s on the ground.”
My skin goes cold, then prickles hot.
“He’s a dead man. Where is she now?” My grip on the phone was tight enough to crack plastic.
“On the floor still, out cold, man. Ellie and Grimace are with her. I got those Scorpion bastards away from her, and we’re waiting for the doc. I’m sorry, man, I swear I was—”
I don’t let him finish. I gun the throttle so hard that my back tire spits gravel into the dark. My heart pounds. Rage fills me so deeply I see red.
Some motherfucker dared to touch her. If she’s been hurt, I’ll kill him.
Plain and simple.
The road is wide open for me, and I eat it up, headlights carving lines through the night. I don’t think about traffic or legalities. Only one thing matters right now: get there. Get to her.
I see Rawhide before the small sign comes into view. The cluster of bikes out front tells me my guys are all here.
I fly into the lot and barely let the bike stop before I kick the stand down and jump off. Helmet in hand, I march over.
My brothers are there—Wolf, Raydar—eyes like stone. Even Alex is there with them. Gizmo flags me down, voice rough. Ellie paces, phone in hand, with a face so pale she might pass out. I don’t see Hannah, which makes me both scared and furious. Where is my woman?
“Giz, where the fuck is she?” I bit out.
He points towards an SUV. “With the doc. He got here as fast as he could.”
I blow past everyone else once I hear she’s safe. I need to find the low-life piece of shit responsible for this.
By the time I reach the bar door, I’m already halfway to violence. Crossing the threshold, the room snaps into focus: kuttes half-turn, conversations pause.
My guys crowd the room behind me, blocking exits. And there they are, some of the Scorpions sit at the far table. One of them, Fang, wears the smirk of a man who thinks he got away with something.
He didn’t.
I don’t waste words. Pacing the floor, I cut the distance. Fang looks up, eyes sliding from my arm to my face.
“Where the fuck is Diesel?” I clip.
“No hello?” He sounds actually fucking amused.
“What’s your problem, man?” he asks like he’s oblivious.
“My problem is your guys touching what’s mine,” I say. “You touch her, you answer for it.”
He stands, drink forgotten. Maybe he thinks he can talk his way out. Maybe he thinks he’s got numbers behind him. Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter. I see a prospect start to rise—bad idea.
Done using words with these assholes, I move quick as a strike and let my temper do the talking. Two steps and one hard shove, I make sure he knows I’m here to fight.
A sloppy swing comes at me, but I dodge it easily. Let him burn his knuckles on air.
The bar around us erupts. Knuckles to skin, curses. My boys fall in line beside me; prospects and patched men alike make space. This is my fight to fight.
Gizmo yells something to Ellie, not even sure when she came back in here. She’s hysterical but fierce, the kind of rage that Hannah is lucky to have in a friend.
“What did you do to her?! You filthy fucking bikers!” She yells through tears.
He leads her out. Good.
The rest is cleanup.
Fang takes a misstep and gets his mouth rearranged.
Wiping his bloody lip, he straightens and gets ready to throw another punch.
Before he regains his wits, I throw another punch, and his body lands roughly on a nearby table.
I may only have one good hand, but I’m not weak, and I know how to use what I’ve got.
I don’t seek out violence—don’t paint me a man without a conscience—but touch my people, and I will end you. Simple math.
“When I get confirmation on what the fuck you did to my woman, you’re done.”
Walking away before I can’t, I ball my fists in frustration.
I want to kill him. I don’t take pride in ending a life, and before I do, I need to be certain he’s the right man.
That he or Diesel did what we think they did.
I doubt either of them worked alone. I’ll be happy to take two of them out at once if needed.
I catch up with Giz, who is still comforting an upset Ellie, and move to find Hannah in the SUV.
The club doc is always one call away and remains discreet.
When I enter the vehicle, I see he’s checking vitals, whispering medical words to the nurse.
Hannah’s blood has been drawn, and the club has answered as many questions as they can.
I wish I could offer more, but I don’t even know her last name.
Makes me feel guilty as fuck for not getting her number and learning more about her, like she deserves.
We make sure she’s stable before deciding to move her. The lab tech will be able to tell us later what they gave her. For now, she can go home with supervision.
My bike follows closely behind the medical SUV, and I watch its bumper the whole way like it’s a tether to her life. Once we’re safely at her house, I don’t give anyone else the chance; I demand to carry her myself.
Her body feels both weightless and heavy all at once as I bring her up the stairs to her room.
Ellie gives me a look I don’t need to decode. She’s spent, shaken, and pissed off. Gizmo stands beside her, his hands steadying her as she starts to crumble.
“This is my fault,” she sniffles through the quiet of the house, her voice breaking.
Gizmo places a hand on each of her shoulders, forcing her to look him in the eyes. “There is no way this is your fault, babe. What those assholes did to her is not your burden to carry.”
Ellie shakes her head, tears spilling over. “No, you don’t understand. She suggested staying in and having a girls’ night...” She sniffles, catching her breath, “instead of going to Rawhide. But I convinced her to go so she could see you.”
She spits out that last word like it’s poison, her head snapping toward me as her eyes shoot daggers in my direction.
My shoulders sag under the weight of it. The guilt hits me harder than any punch ever could. “This isn’t your fault, Ellie,” I say, my voice rough. “If anything, it’s mine. I’m so fucking sorry this happened.”
Ellie sighs and changes the subject, offering to get Hannah changed and situated for the night. I’m thankful for that, not trying to overstep where I haven’t been given permission.
Hannah was most likely just drugged, and who knows what else would have happened to her if Gizmo and the other guys weren’t there. I’m not about to be the asshole who changes her clothes while she’s unconscious.
Gizmo and I wait downstairs while Ellie tends to Hannah. That girl is a damn good friend, and I’m thankful my Butterfly has someone like that by her side. Blood isn’t always thicker than water, and family that’s built stands stronger than the ones you’re given sometimes.
The doc says she’s stable. He lets me know he’s here if anything changes. I don’t know that I’ve ever been as thankful for him as I am right now. He’s damn good at what he does and knows when to keep his mouth shut.
He says they sent the blood work out, and we’ll have results soon. Then he tells me she needs to sleep and to hydrate, and that I should leave the worrying to people who know what they’re doing.
I don’t know if I can do that, but I can give her water and make sure she rests. I know I’ll be with her all night and longer if I have to. Whatever she needs.
After everyone heads their separate ways, I sit closely and watch over Hannah.
I don’t move from her side except to use the restroom, grab another blanket, or obsessively check every lock on the doors and windows. I couldn’t leave her if I tried. Not after what happened. Not after knowing the kind of cowardice someone tried to use against her.
Every creak of the house has me on edge. My hand instinctively reaches for the weight of my piece before I remember where I am.
I want to protect her with all that I am. It isn’t just because I feel guilty for what happened. It’s because I get the feeling no one protects her but herself, and I want to change that. She deserves better from life, and she sure as fuck deserves a lot better from me than what I gave her tonight.
I keep my eyes on her, watching the rise and fall of her chest as if my gaze alone is enough to keep her safe. Needing to feel useful, I stroke her hair until her breathing finally evens out. I stay like that for hours, trying to soothe her nightmares away. Maybe even my own.
I don’t know when I finally drift off, but I must, because the next thing I know, the sun is up. And so is Hannah.