Chapter 4 - Canvas
She's completely insane.
She has to be. There's no other explanation for why Eden Cross—trauma nurse, fantasy reader, owner of the most perfect curves I've ever had the privilege of tattooing—just volunteered to come to an MC clubhouse in the middle of a war with the Vipers.
"No," I say again, more firmly this time despite the way Saint's stitches are pulling every time I move. "Absolutely not. You're not coming to the clubhouse."
Eden crosses her arms, and even exhausted and tear-streaked and covered in my blood, she looks determined. Stubborn. Like she's made up her mind and nothing I say will change it.
God, she's beautiful.
Also insane. Definitely insane.
"You don't get to decide what I do," she says, her voice steadier now that she's stopped shaking. "Saint's right. If they saw me here, if they were watching, then I'm already involved. Going home alone makes me an easy target."
"We can post someone outside your place," Ranger offers, but he doesn't sound convinced. "Keep watch, make sure no one gets close."
"For how long? A day? A week?" Eden shakes her head. "I can't live like that. And you can't spare the manpower to babysit me indefinitely."
She's not wrong. We've got nine members total, and we're already stretched thin with the Vipers breathing down our necks. Phoenix has everyone on rotation: watching the clubhouse, watching known Viper hangouts. We don't have bodies to spare for around-the-clock civilian protection.
But the alternative, bringing her to the clubhouse, putting her right in the middle of everything, feels wrong on every level.
"This isn't your world," I tell her, repeating what I said earlier. "You don't know what you're walking into."
"Then explain it to me." She moves closer, crouching down so we're at eye level. Those bright blue eyes are locked on mine, unflinching. "Tell me what I'm getting into. Give me the information and let me make an informed choice."
Saint glances at Ranger. Ranger looks at me. Nobody says anything for a long moment.
"The Iron Phoenix is at war with another MC," I finally say, keeping my voice low.
"The Vipers. They're bigger, meaner, and they don't play by any rules. Three years ago, Phoenix left that club because they were trafficking women, running drugs, killing anyone who objected. He barely got out alive. That’s the kind of men we’re fighting against."
Eden doesn't flinch. Just listens.
"They've been looking for an excuse to come at us ever since.
Last week, they even beat the shit out of our VP because he protected a woman and her kid.
Now they shot up my studio." I pause, making sure she's hearing this.
"These aren't good people, Eden. They hurt civilians.
They use women as leverage. And if they saw you here, if they think you matter to me—"
"Do I?" she interrupts. "Matter to you?"
The question catches me completely off guard.
Saint suddenly finds his medical supplies incredibly interesting. Ranger is very focused on examining the destroyed front room. Neither of them is looking at us.
"I just met you three hours ago," I say, which isn't an answer.
"You took a bullet for someone you just met three hours ago." Eden's hand finds mine, her fingers threading through mine like it's the most natural thing in the world. "That seems like mattering."
She's right. I know she's right. The moment those shots started, I didn't think, I just moved. Covered her. Protected her. Would have taken ten bullets if it meant she stayed safe.
That's not normal. That's not how I react to clients, strangers or women I've known for three hours.
That's how I'd react to someone who matters.
"The clubhouse is locked down," I tell her, changing the subject because I can't deal with this right now.
"We've got three people there already. Ivy, Nora and her daughter.
All under protection because the Vipers are using them as leverage against Phoenix and Judge.
It's not pleasant. It's not comfortable.
You'd be stuck there until we sort this mess out. "
"How long?"
I don't know. None of us know. The war with the Vipers could go on for weeks, months. Until one side breaks or someone dies.
"However long it takes," I say instead.
Eden considers this, her thumb stroking the back of my hand. The touch is distracting as hell, especially combined with the pain medication Saint pumped into me that's making everything feel slightly fuzzy.
"Okay," she finally says. "I'll go to the clubhouse."
"Eden—"
"I'm not arguing about this anymore, Davis.
" She uses my real name, and it hits different hearing it from her.
"I'm safer there than I am alone. You know it, I know it, they know it.
" She nods toward Saint and Ranger. "So, unless you plan to physically restrain me, which would be difficult given your current condition, I'm coming with you. "
Saint coughs to cover what might be a laugh. Ranger is definitely smirking.
I glare at both of them. "You're supposed to be on my side."
"I am on your side," Saint says, taping down the final bandage on my shoulder. "That's why I'm agreeing with her. She's not safe alone, and we both know it."
He's right. I hate that he's right, but he is.
The Vipers don't care about collateral damage. If they think Eden matters to me, if they saw her entering here, saw me protecting her, they'll use her. Hunt her down, hurt her, kill her if it serves their purpose.
At least at the clubhouse, she'll be behind walls, surrounded by armed bikers who'd die before letting anyone hurt the people under our protection.
"Fine," I mutter, feeling the fight drain out of me along with the adrenaline. "But you follow every rule. You stay where we tell you to stay. You don't leave without an escort. And if Phoenix says you have to go, you go. No arguments."
"I can live with that." Eden squeezes my hand. "Now how are we getting you to this clubhouse? Because you look like you're about to pass out, and I don't think either of you brought a car." She looks at Saint and Ranger pointedly.
"Bikes," Ranger confirms. "We rode over as soon as Phoenix called."
"Perfect. I have a car." Eden stands, brushing off her jeans. "Parked right outside. I can drive him while you two ride escort."
"You're not driving me anywhere." Even as I say it, I know it's a losing battle. I can barely stand, let alone ride my bike. And there's no way Saint or Ranger can ride with me as a passenger, not with my shoulder torn up like this.
"Would you prefer I call an ambulance?" Eden's voice is sweet, but there's steel underneath. "Because those are your options. Let me drive you or go to the hospital where they'll call the police and start asking questions about the gunshot wound."
Saint is definitely laughing now, trying to cover it with a cough again.
"I hate you," I tell him.
"No, you don't." He helps me to my feet, and the room tilts dangerously. His hand on my good shoulder is the only thing keeping me upright. "You hate that she's right. There's a difference."
Eden is already grabbing her purse, checking her phone. "My car's the blue Honda Civic out front. Ranger, can you make sure it's clear before we go out there? I'd rather not get shot at twice in one day."
"On it." Ranger heads to the front, stepping over the broken glass and debris.
I look around my studio, or what's left of it. The front windows are completely gone, just jagged edges and empty frames. The display case I built myself is destroyed, prints scattered and torn across the floor. My equipment is trashed, thousands of dollars in machines and ink bottles ruined.
Three years of work. Gone in less than sixty seconds.
"We'll rebuild," Saint says, following my gaze. "Better security, reinforced glass, the works. Phoenix won't let this stand."
I know he won't. Phoenix takes care of his people, always has. But looking at the destruction, all I can think is that Eden was here. She could have been hit. Could have been killed.
All because she wanted a dragon tattoo.
"Stop it," Eden says, reading my expression. "I can see you blaming yourself. Don't."
"You almost died in my studio."
"You almost died protecting me. There's a difference." She moves to my other side, helping Saint support me. "Now come on. Let's get you to safety before you actually pass out and I have to drag your tattooed ass to my car."
"You couldn't drag me anywhere."
"Want to bet? I've moved three-hundred-pound patients by myself. You're tall, but you're lean. I could absolutely drag you." She's smiling now, and despite everything, all the pain, the destruction, the danger, I find myself smiling back.
She's insane. Completely, utterly insane, and I'm pretty sure I'm falling even harder for her.
Ranger appears in the doorway. "Clear. No bikes, no cars, nothing suspicious. But we should move fast in case they're watching from a distance."
"Let's go." Saint and Eden guide me through the destroyed front room, glass crunching under our feet. My legs are working, barely, but every step sends fresh pain through my shoulder despite the medication.
Eden's blue Civic is parked right where she said, pristine and normal in contrast to the chaos around it. She unlocks it with her key fob, and Saint helps me into the passenger seat. The movement makes me almost pass out, black spots dancing at the edges of my vision.
"Stay conscious," Eden orders, sliding into the driver's seat. "I know Saint gave you pain meds, but you need to stay awake until we get to the clubhouse. Can you do that?"
"Yeah." Probably. Maybe.
Saint leans down to the passenger window. "Straight to the clubhouse, no stops. We'll ride ahead and behind you. Anything looks wrong, you lay on the horn and we'll handle it."
"Got it." Eden's hands are steady on the wheel, her expression calm, like this is normal, like she drives wounded bikers to secret clubhouses every single day.
Ranger's already on his bike, engine rumbling. Saint jogs to his, and within seconds they're ready to move.