Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
BECK
Rowen was still standing where I left him when I pulled out of the parking lot.
His hands were clenched. Face tight. Like he didn’t know where to go from here.
Men like him always thought the rules would save them. I knew better.
That’s partly why I went along with my little fox’s plan. People like me were often blamed, regardless of who was responsible. But to be honest, I was usually guilty.
I smirked at the thought.
I took several turns around the town, then drove by the school a second time to see whether Taryn’s car was still in the lot. I knew she’d be cheering at the game tonight, but that wasn’t my scene.
Her car was gone to my disappointment. I was hoping to get a glimpse of that ass in those jeans she’d worn to school today.
I had plans for her. And it was all her fault.
Taryn was known to be cold with guys. As far as I knew, she didn’t date. I suspected she intimidated most men our age.
I wasn’t most men, and I loved a challenge.
I hadn’t been interested in pursuing her before because I’d thought she was a ‘good girl’.
I’d known she was manipulative and vindictive, traits I admired.
But I still assumed she was a stuck-up bitch.
Then, when she showed up at the warehouse, threatening me with exposure, and didn’t get the response she was expecting, she adapted.
I was impressed. It showed me that she didn’t mind getting her hands dirty.
Hopefully in more ways than one. My dick grew uncomfortably hard behind my zipper.
Then, when I realized she saw me kill that piece of shit, Arnie, who had been getting too friendly with the neighborhood kids, and had the balls to use it to blackmail me… I was done.
I’d decided, then and there, to keep the evil queen of Ashford High—in any role she’d let me play in her life.
I was impulsive like that.
Last night, when I fell asleep, all I could see were those stormy gray eyes. And I had to rub one out in the shower before school. There were plenty sweetbutts around the clubhouse to do it for me, but I wasn’t interested.
Taryn was in a class all by herself, and I planned to let her school me really soon.
I turned, intending to head back to the clubhouse, when I noticed Taryn’s dad, Ben Calder, driving with intent in the direction of his house. I’m not sure why I decided to follow him. Just a gut feeling, and I’d learned early to trust that feeling. It hadn’t steered me wrong so far.
I followed at a distance. Hoping to stay off his radar.
Everyone in town knew to keep their distance. After his wife died, the man seemed to lose his sanity. He was both a prepper and a conspiracy theorist. My father, who served with him in the military, always called him intense, intelligent, and a ruthless killer.
Coming from my old man, that was quite the compliment since he was the enforcer of our MC, the Steele Reapers.
As we neared the edge of town, the roads grew narrower. Houses grew scarcer, and the trees on both sides became thicker.
I had to fall far enough behind him to stay hidden, so much so that his taillights were barely visible in the dimming evening light. When Ben turned off onto a gravel road, I killed my headlights early and coasted.
The house sat nestled among a dense grove of trees.
It wasn’t dilapidated, but it wasn’t upscale either.
It had dark siding and a matching dark tin roof.
The gravel driveway curved before the house came into view, with sightlines intentionally blocked.
Fencing enclosed the property in clean, unbroken lines—barbed, reinforced, and well-maintained.
I could tell it existed for one reason: Fortification.
Motion lights were mounted high, angled for coverage.
I had hell avoiding them, but I managed just barely.
No yard decorations or rocking chairs on the porch. A place that looked more like an army barracks than a home.
This wasn’t a place built to welcome anyone.
It was built to keep them out.
I parked well short and moved in on foot, sticking to the tree line, counting steps, and avoiding motion lights.
Lights snapped on inside. One. Two. Then off again in sequence.
Five minutes later, the front door opened.
Taryn came out dressed for the game.
Damn, she looked good in that skirt. The uniform she wore made her legs look like they belonged to Friday nights and bright lights, but the muscle beneath told a different story—controlled, conditioned, built for distance and endurance.
Her dark ponytail hung down her back, pointing straight at the ass I’d loved staring at for several years. Even if I hadn’t intended to touch it.
Things were different now.
“Well, that’s unusual,” I murmured to myself when I noticed the pack she was wearing.
The bag was more than just decorative; it definitely wasn’t a cheerleading bag. It appeared well-worn, with straps tailored to her body. When she shifted position, I saw authentic hiking boots on the side—scuffed and broken in, clearly showing signs of heavy use.
Ben was already in the truck.
Taryn climbed in without a word. Her face was a stoic mask.
I stayed hidden until the truck rolled out, then made a beeline for my bike, not worrying about the motion lights this time.
All of this was incredibly strange, and I needed to figure out what kind of shit my Fox was involved in.
I grew up facing my own challenges. Having a dad who was an enforcer for a motorcycle club was uncommon, but I learned to survive.
He taught me early on that violence wasn’t driven by anger; it was about patience and timing.
His training was intense, leaving scars both mental and physical to ensure the lessons stuck.
My loving mother had taught me something else entirely.
That I didn’t matter enough to stay clean for.
By age five, I learned to keep my door locked at all times. By ten, I knew how to throw a punch that quickly ended disputes. Fighting started later—initially for money, then simply because it was the only way to silence my thoughts.
Ben’s truck headed east.
I stayed in my position, keeping two cars behind during heavy traffic and three when it flowed more freely. As the car ahead went around bends and disappeared from view, I didn’t rush to close the gap. Rushing led to mistakes, and I desperately wanted to figure out what the fuck was going on.
We drove for a long time.
Hours.
The trees thickened. Pines crowded the road. Cell towers dropped away.
When Ben finally slowed near a county road cutting through the forest, I pulled over farther back and cut my engine.
Ben got out. He said something I couldn’t hear, but his body language was straight up drill sergeant.
Taryn got out and nodded at his words. Her expression was that of a soldier going on assignment.
He said something else, shook his head in satisfaction, then got back in his truck and drove away.
She didn’t cry or try to follow him.
I watched as she sat in the grass and traded her shoes for the boots tied to her pack. Her outfit should have looked ridiculous. A cheer uniform and hiking boots, but on her, it looked badass.
Taryn adjusted the straps on her bag and started walking like she’d done this a hundred times
I suspected she had.
Something in my chest tightened.
What had my Fox’s life been like to get her to this point?
I stayed where I was, watching her disappear between the trees, then rushed to my bike and grabbed my saddle bags, slinging them over my shoulder.
None of this made sense. Ben Calder made no sense—and Taryn Calder made even less.
Girls didn’t get dropped in the middle of nowhere and treat it like homework unless someone had made sure they could survive it.
And men didn’t raise their kids like that unless they believed the world was coming for them.
I didn’t know what game Ben was playing.
But I knew this—
I wasn’t done watching.
I didn’t follow her into the trees.
Not right away.
I stayed where I was, listening until the forest swallowed the sound of her steps.
Only then did I move.
She hadn’t taken the road as most people would have. Instead, she cut in at an angle, skirting the obvious trail and choosing cover over speed. That told me more than anything else I’d seen tonight.
Taryn wasn’t trying to get home fast.
I followed wide, reading the ground the way my dad taught me—broken twigs, compressed leaves, the faint scuff where a heel corrected mid-step. She traveled light but smart.
This was a girl who knew what she was doing.
I kept my distance, enough that if she stopped suddenly, I wouldn’t be in her peripheral vision. Enough that if she doubled back, I’d hear it before I saw it.
She didn’t.
Every so often, she paused, not to rest, but to orient—checking a compass she’d pulled from her pack. Her movements were steady and economical.
Meant to conserve energy.
No wasted movement.
We moved like that for a couple of hours—her leading without knowing it, me ghosting the space behind her; lavish thoughts about what I wanted to do to her every time I caught a glimpse of what was under that skirt.
The forest closed in, thicker and darker the deeper we went, but Fox never once looked scared.
Tired, maybe. But always focused and controlled.
I had fought men with equal determination. They didn’t waste energy on panic because they understood it was useless—the same ones I lost too early in my career.
I noticed her glancing around as if searching for something. Eventually, she must have found what she was looking for. She shrugged off her pack with practiced efficiency, then pulled out a bottle of water, rationing it carefully. She didn’t sit or relax. She just paused long enough to reset.
I stayed hidden and watched her disappear deeper into the trees after that, choosing her path carefully, leaving as little of herself behind as possible.
I could’ve stepped out then. Said something. Anything.
But instinct told me not to.
Not yet.
You didn’t spook someone this well-trained. I suspected she was armed, but I hadn’t seen any evidence yet.
This girl was something else, and I decided I was going to keep her.
Suddenly, the forest went quiet.
The first streak cut across the sky like a seam ripping open. Silent. Clean. White fire carved a slow arc above the trees.
Taryn stopped, and so did I.
Another followed.
Then dozens of them, fanning out across the horizon, burning bright and impossibly graceful.
No sound.
No impact.
Just light, falling in long, elegant lines.
For a second, the forest felt like it was holding its breath.
“Wow,” Taryn whispered.
The word seemed to slip out of her like she hadn’t meant to speak at all.
I’d been careful up to this point. Keeping my distance, taking cover in the shadows. But, unfortunately, the sky wasn’t helping my cause. It flooded the clearing with silver and gold, lighting everything up, making the shadows disappear.
She sensed my presence before she saw me. Her shoulders stiffened, and she turned slowly.
We locked eyes.
She didn’t scream or panic, probably because she recognized me immediately.
“Beck?” Her face showed confusion. “What in the hell are you doing here?”
Before I could form an answer, the sky flared again overhead, brighter this time, streaks reflecting in her gray eyes. For a heartbeat, neither of us could look away.
She broke our stare and glanced back up. “They’re… beautiful.”
“Yes,” I whispered, never taking my eyes off her.
Another meteor burned across the dark sky, painting her face in firelight. The world suddenly felt too big and too quiet, as if everything had stopped to watch.
I found myself naturally drifting closer, feeling an irrational need to be near her.
She didn’t step back.
We stood there together, shoulder to shoulder, watching the sky fall in silence, the distance between us gone because no one should witness this alone.
Whatever came after—questions, explanations, consequences—could wait.