12. Rowan
12
ROWAN
I can’t believe it’s only been twelve days in Wolf Pike. Feels like forever, and also like no time at all. Working at Black Dog Bites has been better than I expected—almost like a real job, not just a cover or a way to pay off my debt.
I step out of the cab, paying the driver with some of my tips from today. Fridays are always good for tips. People actually seem to like my baking, which still surprises me. In Dad’s world, my skills were just useful, not appreciated.
Working with Ryder isn’t as awkward as I thought it’d be. His silence gives me space to think, to breathe—to just do my job without constantly watching what I say. However, it doesn’t stop my mind from wandering to places it shouldn’t, especially that day last week when the AC broke, and he had to strip his shirt off while we cleaned up.
Jesus, those tattoos. Those muscles. The way sweat made his skin gleam under the kitchen lights…
I shake my head, climbing the familiar creaking stairs to my apartment. Thinking about Ryder while Maddox is picking me up in an hour makes me feel like I’m losing my mind.
“Hey there, stranger!” Tom’s coming down as I’m heading up, tool belt slung over his shoulder. “We were starting to wonder if you still lived here.”
“Work’s been crazy.” I manage a smile.
“Well, do take it easy on yourself. Annie misses having someone to share her casseroles with.”
“I miss having them too. How’s Annie?”
“Taking a nap—caught a summer cold.” He shifts the toolbox to his other hand.
“Oh. Tell her I said hello.”
“Will do.”
It strikes me as I watch him continue down the stairs—how ordinary they are. How simple their lives seem. Just a married couple living their perfectly normal lives.
Inside my apartment, I strip off my work clothes immediately, my skin still carrying the scent of the diner. And something else—the lingering spice of Maddox’s cologne from when he pressed against me in the kitchen. My body tingles at the memory of the way his hardness pushed against my body, making me want things I’ve denied myself for too long.
My knee to his groin was pure self-preservation. I couldn’t let him know how my body reacted, how long it’s been since I felt a man’s touch that wasn’t just casual or professional.
The shower can’t get hot enough to burn away the memory. The water pounds against my skin, and I notice the changes in my body since arriving in Wolf Pike. I’m not as gaunt as I was. My skin has a healthier color—an olive tone emerging now that I’m not living on fear and gas station coffee.
After drying off, I stand in my closet, staring at my pathetic collection of clothes. I need to go shopping soon. I know exactly what the underground racing track Maddox mentioned will be like. Just like the ones Dad ran outside San Francisco. The smell of gasoline and burnt rubber, the roar of engines, money changing hands.
I pull out my favorite racing gear, running my fingers over the familiar leather. It’s been so long since I raced, and I miss it a little. No matter how much I try to run from Dad’s MC, I know I can’t completely escape the MC life—the things that ignite joy in my soul. I grew up with these pleasures. They’re the only things I’ve ever known.
But fuck, I’m tired of being afraid and hiding. And I miss it—the energy, the adrenaline, the raw power of machines pushed to their limits.
I pull on my leather pants, zipping them up with practiced movements. They still fit perfectly, hugging every curve. I pair them with my racing boots, a low-cut black top that shows just enough cleavage to be interesting, and my favorite jacket. In my closet, tucked behind everything else, is my helmet with the Viper insignia gleaming on the side.
Dad’s gift for my seventeenth birthday—the one time he seemed genuinely proud of me. I touch it briefly, then turn away. Can’t risk bringing out that symbol here. Wolf Pike has more MC connections than I anticipated, and the last thing I need is someone recognizing our club’s mark.
The doorbell rings at precisely eight o’clock, just as I’m applying some light makeup. I check myself in the mirror—subtle eyeliner, mascara, a hint of something on my lips. I’m not trying too hard, but definitely not looking like I just left a kitchen.
When I open the door, my breath actually catches. Maddox is dressed for the event in ways that make my mouth water. Leather pants hug his muscular legs, and motorcycle boots add to his already impressive height.
His black T-shirt stretches across a chest that’s clearly seen its share of workouts. A short leather jacket with silver details completes the look. A heavy silver chain hangs around his neck, drawing attention to the column of his throat and the tattoos peeking from his collar.
“Did you just cut your hair?” I blurt out, immediately wanting to kick myself.
He runs a hand through the freshly trimmed black strands. “Yeah, saw an empty barber shop on the way here and figured I’d patronize him.”
“I thought men were loyal to one barber,” I say, still staring.
“This one couldn’t afford to mess up.” He grins wolfishly. “Not with a gun to his head.”
My eyes widen. “You threatened a man with a gun so you could get a nice haircut?”
He bursts out laughing, pushing past me into my apartment. “You’re too easy to wind up, princess.” He holds up a plastic bag. “Your cleaning supplies, as requested.”
He pushes past me into the apartment before I can invite him in, looking around with obvious curiosity. I haven’t decorated much—just a few books and a plant Mae gave me that I’m trying not to kill.
Maddox sprawls on my couch like he’s done it a hundred times, spreading his arms across the back, his boots landing on my coffee table. His eyes move over me, taking in the leather pants and low-cut top with obvious appreciation.
“You look good, princess,” he says, voice dropping lower. “Real good.”
Heat crawls up my neck. “I’ll put this away,” I mutter, taking the bathroom cleaner to the bathroom.
When I come back, he’s flipping through one of my books—a dog-eared copy of The Great Gatsby . Something about Gatsby’s reinvention of himself felt too relatable when I found it at a thrift store.
“Ready?” he asks, standing in one smooth movement that draws my attention to his height.
“Let’s get this over with,” I reply, grabbing my jacket.
The ride to the track isn’t long, but having my arms wrapped around Maddox’s waist, feeling the muscles shift beneath my hands with each turn, is a special kind of torture. His body radiates heat that seeps through my clothes, warming parts of me that have been cold for too long.
We pull into what looks like an abandoned quarry transformed into a racing arena. Cars and motorcycles are parked around the perimeter, their headlights cutting through the growing darkness. Music pumps from speakers somewhere, and the smell—god, the smell hits me like a physical blow. Gasoline. Rubber. Sweat. Anticipation.
Childhood memories flood back so fast I almost can’t breathe.
I climb off the bike on shaky legs. Maddox’s hand settles at the small of my back, guiding me through the crowd. People nod at him, call out greetings, and slap his shoulder as we pass. He’s clearly respected here. Maybe even liked.
I spot Brick and Ryder near what appears to be a betting table. Brick notices us first, eyebrows rising in surprise. “Did you kidnap her, or did she come willingly?”
“She couldn’t resist my charm.” Maddox grins, arm still at my back.
But I’m distracted by Ryder, whose dark eyes are fixed on me with unsettling intensity. His gaze travels slowly down my body, taking in the racing outfit, a slight furrow appearing between his brows.
He knows these aren’t just random clothes. Shit.
“Nice outfit,” Brick comments. “You ride?”
“Learned a few years ago,” I lie. “Nothing serious.”
Ryder doesn’t speak, but I can feel him watching me, seeing too much. It doesn’t matter. I’m not here to ride, just to observe. To remember what it feels like to not be running.
The underground setup gives me two separate kinds of feelings. It’s what I’m used to and not, all at the same time. The track itself is similar to what Dad ran—a quarter mile, good surface, decent lighting. But the vibe is completely different. There are families here, kids running around, and women laughing openly, not huddled in wary groups. No one looks like they’re one wrong word away from violence.
“Come meet some people,” Maddox says, tugging me toward a group gathered near the starting line.
Over the next hour, I’m introduced to more Wolf Pike residents than I’ve met in the past twelve days combined. Jamie, who Maddox introduces as “Tank’s widow,” hugs me like we’re already friends. The Cross brothers nod in recognition, and their wife Evie gives me a knowing smile that makes me wonder exactly what she knows.
“So you’re the one who destroyed the Kane boys’ precious bikes,” a man named Clay says with a grin. “Nice entrance.”
“Trust me, it wasn’t on purpose,” I reply, which earns a round of laughter.
When the races begin, I gravitate toward the edge of the track, muscle memory taking me to the spot with the best view. Maddox leaves to prepare for his heat, and I’m left standing between Brick and Ryder.
“He’s good,” Brick says, nodding toward where Maddox is checking his bike. “Won most of the races here lately.”
“Until tonight,” a woman interrupts, stepping up beside us. “I’m taking that record.”
“Ayla,” Brick introduces her. “Rowan, our new baker.”
“Another newcomer.” She grins. “I caused a scene when I got here too, though with less property damage.”
Maddox’s race begins, and despite myself, I’m captivated. He rides with a confidence that borders on recklessness, taking corners at speeds that make my breath catch. His body moves with the machine like they’re extensions of each other. It’s beautiful to watch—the kind of riding that comes from natural talent honed by years of practice.
When he crosses the finish line first, the crowd erupts, and I find myself cheering along with them, caught up in the moment.
I feel Ryder’s presence before I see him, suddenly close beside me. He doesn’t touch me, not like his handsy brother, but his proximity affects me just as strongly.
“You know more than you let on,” he says quietly.
My heart skips, but I keep my face neutral. “About what?”
“Racing.” His eyes shift to me. “Among other things.”
I don’t answer. Don’t know what to say that isn’t another lie.
Maddox returns, flushed with victory and adrenaline. “Did you see that shit? Left Williams eating my dust!”
“Nice riding,” I say, relieved by the interruption.
“Want to go for a spin?” He gestures toward his bike. “I can take you around a few laps.”
“No.” I shake my head quickly. “I’m good just watching.”
“Come on, princess.” He nudges my shoulder. “Loosen up. Live dangerously.”
If only he knew. Danger has been my lifelong companion, whether I wanted it or not. But tonight, surrounded by the familiar yet different atmosphere of the track, the smell of gasoline and burnt rubber filling my lungs, I feel something like yearning.
“Maybe next time,” I say, and his grin widens.
“I’ll hold you to that.”
As the night continues, I find myself relaxing despite Ryder’s cryptic observations. The Kane brothers move through the crowd with an easy authority that’s nothing like Dad’s brutal command. The races are competitive but fair. No one pulls weapons when disputes arise. No one disappears behind the garage for “private conversations” that end with blood on the ground.
It’s still an MC world, but it’s nothing like the one I fled. For the first time since arriving in Wolf Pike, I allow myself to hope that maybe, just maybe, I’ve found a place where I can stay.
If only the past would stay buried where I left it.