7. Stone
After I show her to her room, I wait until her door is shut before I move.
Not because I don’t trust her, but because I don’t trust myself.
The hallway outside the rooms is quiet, the kind of quiet that settles deep in your bones late at night. The clubhouse has its own rhythm, and this is the hour where it exhales. Music low. Engines cooling. Brothers drifting into their routines.
I stand there for a second longer than necessary, staring at the door that separates me from Alexandra. Lex. The way she’d said it, like a choice. Like she was letting people decide which version of her they were allowed to know.
She’s safe. That’s what matters.
I turn and head back toward the common area.
Ella is still up when I find her, sitting at the bar with a mug of something that smells like chamomile and stubbornness. Ink leans against the counter beside her, arms crossed, his usual sharp edge dulled just a fraction.
“Well?” Ella asks, the second she sees me.
“She’s settled,” I say.
Ella nods, satisfied. “Good. She needs somewhere she can breathe.”
Ink studies my face, eyes too perceptive for his own good. “You staying close?”
I don’t answer directly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
That seems to be enough.
Ella reaches across the bar and squeezes my wrist, her grip firm. “She’s strong,” she says. “But she’s shaken. Whatever she’s carrying—it’s heavy.”
“I know.”
Ink shifts. “Riot’s back.”
That gets my attention.
He appears from the hallway a moment later, expression serious, jaw tight. “Prez. Got eyes on Whitmore like you asked.”
“Talk to me.”
“He went straight home,” Riot says. “Didn’t stop anywhere. But once he was inside, things got interesting. Threw a fit. Broke some stuff. Made a few calls.”
“To who?”
Riot shakes his head. “Couldn’t tell. He wasn’t subtle, though. He sounded pissed.”
That settles something cold and heavy in my gut.
“Alright,” I say. “Call Church. Fifteen minutes.”
Ink straightens immediately. Ella’s mouth tightens, she knows what that means.
By the time I head toward the main room, the clubhouse is already shifting gears.
Church isn’t something we call lightly. It’s not a meeting or a discussion. It’s where the club decides things.
Only patched-in brothers sit in church. Prospects don’t hover. Old ladies don’t linger. Once those doors close, what’s said inside stays inside. Period.
The room itself is simple. Circular. Each brother has his own chair, worn in just enough to fit him like a second skin. No hierarchy in the setup—except mine.
I take my seat at the head, Bruiser dropping into the chair to my right. He doesn’t sprawl or settle — just sits, solid and contained, like a coiled spring that never fully relaxes. His gaze sweeps the room once, slow and assessing, before locking forward.
Riot takes the seat to my left.
Around us, the brothers settle in: Ink, Neon, Engine, Doc, Cyber.. Some lean back. Some forward.
All alert.
This is family. Complicated. Violent. Loyal.
My responsibility.
I rest my forearms on my thighs and look around the table.
“We had an incident tonight,” I begin. “Woman came to us looking for help.”
I don’t give them names. No details that aren’t necessary.
“She was chased. Scared enough to run blind. Whatever happened before she hit our doorstep—it wasn’t nothing.”
A murmur of low acknowledgment moves through the room.
“She’s under our protection,” I continue. “That’s not up for debate.”
It never is.
“Man involved is a professor at Seaview University. Riot had some prospects follow him after he left.”
I nod to Riot.
“He went home,” Riot confirms. “Lost his temper. Made calls. We don’t know who yet.”
My gaze flicks to Cyber.
“Find out.”
Cyber looks up from his laptop, dark eyes sharp despite his age. He’s one of the youngest in the club — barely old enough to be taken seriously at first glance — until you see what he can do with a keyboard. Systems, firewalls, identities… if it exists online, he can get to it. If it doesn’t, he knows how to make it appear.
A faint smile touches his mouth as his fingers hover over the keys, already moving.
“Already on it,” he says.
Good.
“This stays clean,” I say. “No one touches him unless I say so. No intimidation unless we know who else is in play. We protect what’s ours, but we don’t get sloppy.”
I don’t linger.
By the time I make it back to the hallway, the clubhouse had shifted into night mode—the frantic, high-octane energy of the bar had bled away, replaced by a low-voltage hum. The overhead lights were dimmed to a dull amber, casting long, overlapping shadows against the wood-paneled walls.
“Stone.”
I stop.
Bruiser stands a few feet back with his arms crossed and expression unreadable. He waits until the hallway clears before speaking again.
“She’s still here.”
It’s not a question.
“Yes,” I say.
Bruiser’s jaw shifts slightly. “I thought you were going to hand her off. Get her through the night. Figure out the next move in the morning.”
Something in my chest tightens. “I am figuring it out.”
“Are you?” he asks quietly. “Because you didn’t make calls. You didn’t look for options. You brought her inside.”
Anger sparks, sharp and immediate. “Because she wasn’t safe.”
“And now?” Bruiser asks. “She is?”
“She’s shaken,” I say. “She needs somewhere solid to land.”
Bruiser studies me, eyes sharp, already thinking past the moment.
“Solid turns into permanent,” he says. “Fast.”
My jaw tightens. “You’re getting ahead of yourself.”
“Am I?” His gaze doesn’t waver. “You made a choice tonight. That’s all I’m saying.”
I exhale slowly. “I’m protecting her.”
Bruiser nods once, like he expected that answer. “You’re changing the shape of the problem.”
Silence stretches between us.
“Women like her,” he says finally, measured, “don’t stay in places like this.”
Something cold coils low in my gut. “You don’t know her.”
“I know the world she comes from,” he replies. “And I know how it reacts when it touches ours.”
I step back, decision settling in my bones. “This conversation’s over.”
Bruiser holds my gaze for another beat, then nods — not necessarily in agreement, but in acknowledgment.
“Just don’t forget where the line is,” he says. “Because once she steps over it, there’s no pretending this was temporary.”
He turns and walks away, boots quiet against the floor.
I stand there longer than I mean to, the clubhouse too silent around me.
Then I move.
I’m steps from my door when I hear it.
A sound. Muffled. Broken.
“No—please—”
I don’t think, I move.
Her door is open by the time the second word leaves her mouth.
Alexandra wasn't just having a bad dream; she was fighting for her life in her sleep. She was buried in the sheets, her body coiled and twisting like she was trying to crawl out of her own skin. Her fingernails dug into the mattress, dragging against the fabric with a sound that made my skin crawl.
"Hey," I said, my voice cutting through the dark. I didn't wait. I was across the room in two strides. "Lex. Wake up."
She didn't even flinch at my voice.
Her chest was heaving, those sharp, jagged gasps sounding like she was suffocating on dry land. Tears had turned her temples into slick, salt-stained tracks. Suddenly, her leg snapped out—a violent, instinctive kick that sent the headboard slamming against the wall with a crack that echoed like a gunshot.
I catch her wrists, firm but careful. “Lex. Look at me.”
Nothing.
“Baby,” I say, without thinking. “You’re safe. Wake up.”
Her eyes fly open.
For a split second, she doesn’t know where she is. Then she sees me.
She breaks.
She slams into my chest like gravity itself shifted, fingers fisting in my shirt as sobs tear out of her. I wrap my arms around her automatically, holding her upright as her body shakes.
“I didn’t get away,” she chokes. “This time I didn’t—”
“He will never touch you again,” I say and I mean it. “I promise.”
She clings to me like she’s afraid I’ll vanish if she loosens her grip.
When she asks me to stay, it doesn’t feel like a choice.
It feels inevitable.
Bruiser’s voice flickers at the edge of my thoughts — You made a choice tonight. I ignore it.
I lie beside her only after she shifts closer, only after she closes the space herself. I keep my arm around her, her head tucked against my chest, her breath slowly evening out against my skin.
Everything feels… right.
That should worry me.
Instead, I close my eyes.
And for the first time in a long time, sleep takes me without a fight — with the weight of her in my arms and no understanding at all of how this became my world.