Samuel
Most of the club is already seated and eating when I walk in. Warm light spills across worn wood and leather, voices low, the air thick with the smell of roasted chicken and cinnamon drifts out of the kitchen. It should feel familiar, comforting. But tonight, it feels like a damn trap.
“Wolf,” Jenna calls from the kitchen. Mouse’s girl doesn’t even look up from the stove. “Grab a seat and get some food into you.”
“Sure thing,” I reply, trying not to wince as my ribs protest every step.
The main room is already crowded when I walk in.
The guys have shoved several tables together near the fireplace, claiming their usual territory.
Plates sit half-empty in front of them, beer bottles scattered between baskets of fries and crumpled napkins, while the conversation bounces from one end of the group to the other.
From the snippets I catch, they're still dissecting last night's fallout.
I should've been here twenty minutes ago, but finishing Raven's car slowed me down.
Knox’s dad, Jon, sits at the head of the table, the old leather of his cut worn thin at the shoulders.
He’s the founder and now retired president of the Blackwater MC, but no one at these tables forgets who taught them how to survive.
Right now, he’s listening more than talking, shoulders tense and eyes narrowed.
I walk in just in time to catch the tail end of Bishop’s sentence.
“…should’ve seen it earlier,” he mutters, leaning back with a bottle in hand, voice low.
“We did,” Knox answers, clipped. “Just didn’t matter once they got twitchy.”
A few heads turn when I approach the table. Everyone’s still trying to figure out how things went sideways last night and how close we came to real trouble.
“It’s about time,” Knox says, sliding his chair a little to make room. “We thought you bailed.”
“Didn’t bail,” I mumble. “Had things to finish.”
His gaze drops to my wrapped knuckles, then lower to the way I’m holding my side. “You ought to have someone look at that.”
I shake my head. “It’s fine.”
“You’re breathing like it’s not.”
“It’ll heal,” I say, keeping my voice even. “It always does.”
After a beat, he nods toward my hand.
“That from last night, too? Or something you ran into on your way here?”
“Last night,” I say. “All of it.”
A couple of the guys voice their agreement.
“Could’ve been worse,” Red adds. “Damn near was.”
Knox lifts his beer. “Lower your voices. The girls are right across the room, and I'd like to keep them from hearing about last night's bullshit.”
The table quiets for half a beat.
Mouse leans forward. “The charity ride’s still on for next month, yeah?”
The question gets everyone talking again. Someone mentions the route. Someone else complains about the cold. Knox’s dad starts arguing that they should switch the start time because last year half the club showed up late and blamed it on “traffic” in a town with one damn stoplight.
The guys laugh. Plates scrape. Bottles clink.
It’s normal.
Safe.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot her.
Raven walks into the room, and just like that, every other conversation fades into background noise. Her hair's down now, loose waves spilling over her shoulders. She looks warm. Soft. Like every piece of winter light in the place bends toward her without trying.
Before she can make it to the table, her dad catches sight of her.
“There's my baby girl,” he calls.
A smile spreads across her face. “Dad…”
She bends to kiss his cheek before slipping into the seat beside him.
He just beams, handing her a plate like she'll stop being his little girl if he lets her serve herself. “Eat. You're too thin.”
She rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t argue. Daddy’s girl, through and through.
Her eyes lift, just once, and meet mine. She looks away quickly, cheeks flushing, but that’s enough to remind me exactly how she sounds when I’ve got my hand over her mouth, trying to keep her quiet.
It hits fast and low and hard. The kind of want that doesn’t give a damn about time or place or who’s sitting between us.
My jaw locks. My hands go still. Sitting here suddenly feels like trying to hold back a tide with my bare damn spine.
The conversation rolls on around me. The charity ride, the weather, and someone griping about a blown gasket, but it’s all background noise.
My focus keeps drifting to her.
The way she tucks her hair behind her ear.
The way she leans into her dad, softening in a way she never does for anyone else.
The way her breath catches like she feels my eyes on her.
I shouldn’t look again. But I do anyway.
Then, she glances at the door like she’s waiting for a chance to slip away. She gives me the tiniest nod. Blink, and you'd miss it. But I don’t miss it.
A minute later, she stands. “Gonna run to the restroom,” she says lightly, grabbing her coat.
Knox doesn’t even look up. “Take your time.”
Raven walks out, unnoticed.
I give her a head start, then push my chair back too.
“Smoke break,” I say.
Knox raises a brow. “Since when do you smoke?”
“Since right now.”
The words are out before I can stop them.
I've known Knox for damn near half my life. The man knows what I drink, what I eat, and how many cups of coffee I need before I'm fit for human interaction. Telling him I suddenly picked up smoking is about as convincing as telling him I joined a knitting club.
Before he can call me on my bullshit, Mouse leans across the table. “You still want me posting someone outside the garage this week?”
Knox's attention shifts.
I take the opening and run with it.
A second later, I'm shoving through the clubhouse door.
The cold hits me first, then the sight of her waiting in the narrow space between the building and the treeline, breath clouding the air, coat wrapped tight around her.
“You took long enough,” she murmurs.
“Your brother was watching,” I say.
“He’s always watching.”
I step closer. She retreats until her shoulders hit the wall. Snowflakes cling to her hair, her lashes, her coat.
“You shouldn’t have looked at me like that inside,” I mutter.
“You looked first.”
I crowd into her space, my hands braced on either side of her head. “You’re making this harder.”
“Good,” she whispers.
That’s all it takes.
My mouth crashes into hers—hungry, rough, weeks of restraint snapping at once. She gasps against my lips, grabbing my jacket with both fists and pulling me closer.
I lift her thigh and drag it along my hip until she’s pressed flush against me. Her breath stutters. My control shatters.
“Raven,” I growl into her neck. “You’re gonna get us caught.”
“Then stop kissing me like this.”
I bite lightly at her pulse. “Can’t.”
Her head falls back against the wall, and I drag my hand under her coat, my fingers slipping beneath her waistband just enough to make her gasp.
“We shouldn’t do this here,” I say between breaths.
“Then stop.”
I pull back enough to meet her eyes. “Ask me to.”
She doesn’t. Of course she doesn’t.
I kiss her again, slower, deeper. Her body arches into me like she’s been waiting all night.
A door slams inside the restaurant. We freeze.
She swallows hard. “Who is it?”
I tilt my head, listening. Years of runs, fights, and close calls train a man to pick out footsteps in a storm.
Heavy boots. Slow. A familiar cadence.
“Knox,” I say, voice low.
Her eyes go wide. She looks like she'd climb inside the wall if it were possible, her chest rising and falling too fast.
“Shit,” she breathes.
“Stay still,” I whisper, bracing a hand beside her head. “He won’t come around back unless—”
The boots pause near the doorway, and we both hold our breath. Raven’s fingers curl into my jacket. Her pulse is hammering against her neck. Hell, mine’s not much better.
A beat.
Two.
Then the boots move again, heading back toward the front.
She releases a shaky breath. “He almost caught us.”
“Yeah.” I drag my thumb across her lower lip, wiping the kiss-smudge I put there. “And you didn’t exactly help the situation.”
She glares, whispering, “Me? You’re the one who—”
“I’m the one who what?” I murmur, leaning in, letting my breath scrape her jaw. “Kissed you like I missed you? Or kissed you like I know exactly how you fall apart when I touch you?”
Her knees go soft for half a second. I catch her hip, steadying her.
“Wolf,” she warns, but she’s already leaning into me again.
I shake my head. “Not here. Not tonight.”
Her breath catches. “Then why’d you follow me out here?”
I press my forehead to hers, voice rough. “Because I always follow you.”
She closes her eyes like that somehow makes this easier.
It doesn't. Not for her, and definitely not for me.
“I have to go,” she whispers.
“I know.”
She fixes her coat, smooths her hair, then touches my bandaged hand for half a second.
“It’ll be fine in a few days,” I assure her. “You go inside first. I’ll follow you in a few minutes.”
For the longest moment, neither of us moves. Then, finally, she slips away from me and disappears around the corner.
I stay against the wall for a long second, breathing her in, and trying like hell to pull myself together.
Then I head back inside.
Like I didn’t just cross another line I can’t uncross.