Chapter 13
The clubhouse lot is lit up before we even pull in.
Not bright enough to draw attention from the road, but bright enough to tell me Logan already has men moving.
Security lights cut hard lines across gravel, chrome, and shadows.
Bikes sit in rows near the front, a few trucks angled near the side like somebody parked in a hurry and didn’t give a fuck about making it neat.
The truck rolls over the gravel with a low crunch beneath the tires.
Olivia doesn’t move in my arms.
That stays at the front of everything. Not the men waiting outside. Not the driver bound in the van. Not the blood drying on my knuckles or the ache in my ribs where the baton caught me.
Her.
Her breathing is still steady, but too shallow for my liking. Her head rests against my chest, and every time the vehicle shifts, I adjust my hold without looking down. She’s tucked close, coat wrapped around her, hair spilling over my forearm. Too still. Too quiet. That drug is still in her.
I don’t like it. I don’t like anything about it.
Joker pulls the cage up near the side entrance closest to the infirmary and cuts the engine. The second the headlights die, the doors of the clubhouse open.
Logan comes out first. President. Control. Fury locked behind his teeth.
Cain is right behind him, eyes already moving past me to the SUV, to the bound men being hauled from the other vehicle by Hammer and the prospects. Shadow is farther back, silent, watching everything with that steady way of his.
Blaze gets off his bike near the front and starts talking before his boots fully hit gravel. “Well, good news,” he says, scanning the lot. “Nobody’s bored anymore.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Logan snaps.
Blaze lifts both hands. “That felt personal.”
I ignore both of them. I open my door and get out carefully, Olivia still in my arms. Moving with another body against mine should slow me down. It doesn’t. I’m aware of her weight, her breathing, the angle of her neck, the position of her arm where it rests limp against my chest.
Nothing else matters the same.
Logan’s eyes land on her. His expression changes. Not soft. Logan doesn’t go soft when trouble arrives. He goes colder. More controlled. “What the fuck, Cobra?”
I step away from the cage and shut the door with my hip. “Doc here?”
“On his way.”
“Then move.”
His jaw tightens. “You brought an unconscious woman to my clubhouse with bodies in tow and heat already breathing down our necks. You don’t get to walk past me..”
I keep moving anyway. I’ll take the punishment for the disrespect later.
Men shift around us. Not toward her. They know better because I make sure they know better.
My hold tightens just enough, and my eyes cut across the lot once.
Tate, Eli, Connor, James, and Parker all stop where they are.
One of them was about to step forward, probably to help with her. They rethink it.
Smart.
“No one touches her,” I say. The words are low, but they carry.
The whole lot hears them.
Logan hears them too. His stare sharpens. “Nobody’s trying to touch her.”
“Good.” I take another step.
Logan moves into my path. Not aggressive. Not stupid. Just president standing in front of a brother who brought a problem through the gate when they’re already sitting under pressure.
I stop because plowing through Logan in front of the club would start something neither of us needs. But I don’t lower her. Don’t shift her away. Don’t make her visible. I keep her tucked against me like the world doesn’t get a vote.
Logan looks from my face to Olivia, then back. “Talk.”
“Van outside Ambrosia. Not tied to the club.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know enough.”
“You know enough?” His voice drops. “That supposed to calm me down?”
“No.”
Blaze mutters behind us, “For the record, it didn’t calm me either, and I’m aggressively optimistic.”
Logan turns his head slightly. “Blaze.”
“Shutting up.”
Hammer hauls one of the men toward the side of the building where the lower rooms and holding space sit. Joker follows behind without a word, hands loose at his sides, eyes too calm. The driver is still conscious enough to groan, which means he’s conscious enough to regret it later.
Good. Let him.
Logan’s attention returns to me. “You said grab attempt.”
“Yeah.”
“Against her?”
“Yes.”
“Random?”
“No.”
His eyes narrow. “You know that how?”
“They had names. Descriptions. Paid grabs. A folder on her.” That lands in the lot like a match dropped into gasoline.
Cain curses under his breath. Shadow’s face doesn’t change, but his attention sharpens. Blaze loses the smartass edge for a second. Even Logan goes still.
“Girls?” Logan asks.
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“Don’t know yet.”
“Who hired them?”
“Driver didn’t say before I knocked him out.”
Logan’s jaw flexes. “Because you lost control?”
“Because she was on the ground unconscious after they injected her.” The words change the air. Not soften it. Darken it.
Logan looks at Olivia again. This time he notices the mark on her neck. His eyes close for half a second, like he’s holding onto the last thread of his temper with his bare hands. “Jesus Christ.”
“I need to get her inside.”
For a second, the whole lot holds.
Then Mac appears in the doorway, hair pulled back, Knox balanced on her hip even though he’s half asleep and fighting it. Her gaze finds Olivia, and every bit of irritation on her face vanishes. “Logan,” she says quietly.
That’s all.
His mouth tightens, but he steps aside.
I move. The clubhouse hits me in layers as soon as I cross inside.
Warmth. Noise. Food. Smoke. Women talking too low because they know something’s wrong.
Kids being shushed, which never works long.
The place smells like family and trouble, the same as it always does, but tonight the sound bends around us. People stop.
I feel eyes. I don’t look at them.
Olivia’s head shifts against my chest, and my arms tighten before thought catches up. Still out. Still breathing.
Emma rises from the couch as I pass the common room, Mason tucked against her side, his small face sleepy and confused. Kya is near the kitchen with Remy half hidden behind her leg. Brooke stands a few feet away from Carter, her expression changing the second she sees what I’m carrying.
Brooke’s eyes don’t go wide. They go old. That’s the only word for it. Something inside them recognizes too much too fast. She takes half a step forward.
I stop. Not because I think she’ll hurt Olivia. Because my body doesn’t care what I think.
Brooke freezes immediately, hands lifting just slightly. “I’m not touching her,” she says, voice soft.
I stare at her.
She holds my gaze without flinching. Not challenging. Understanding.
Carter moves closer behind her, not to stop her, just there. His eyes flick to me, then to Olivia. He doesn’t say a word.
Good.
Emma’s voice comes from the side, calm and low. “Cobra, infirmary’s open. I put clean blankets on the bed.”
I nod once. That’s all I can give.
Mac follows behind Logan now, Knox finally dropping his heavy little head against her shoulder. “I’ll get the everyone out of the hall.”
“Do that,” Logan says. He’s behind me. Close enough that I can feel the argument waiting.
Not now.
He knows it too because he doesn’t push until I reach the infirmary.
The room is already lit. Too bright. White cabinets against the wall, the bed made, metal tray pulled out, supplies stocked in neat rows because Doc is particular and has threatened to skin three different prospects for misplacing gauze. The smell hits sterile compared to the rest of the clubhouse.
I cross to the bed and stop. For the first time since I lifted her from the pavement, I have to set her down. Everything in me rejects it.
I don’t hesitate anyway. Hesitation is weakness when something needs doing.
I lower her carefully, keeping one hand behind her head until it touches the pillow.
Her body settles into the mattress, small against the white sheets, coat still on, cheeks pale from cold and whatever drug is moving through her system.
Her hair fans over the pillow. One hand falls near her side, palm turned up.
I stare at that hand. It should be moving. It isn’t.
My jaw locks.
Emma steps into the doorway with Brooke behind her, both of them stopping just outside the room when I turn my head.
“No one touches her,” I say again.
Emma’s face remains calm, but something sad moves through her eyes. She’s seen enough damaged things to understand the shape of my voice. “We won’t.”
Brooke nods once. “We can wait here if she wakes scared.”
I don’t answer. I don’t know if I want them there or not. I know I don’t want anyone close.
Logan comes in behind them, then looks at Emma and Brooke. “Give us a minute.”
Emma hesitates. Not for me. For Olivia. Then she nods and steps back.
Brooke lingers half a second longer, her gaze moving from Olivia to me. “She’ll need a woman when she wakes,” Brooke says quietly.
I look at her.
She doesn’t back down, but she doesn’t step in either. “Not instead of you. Alongside you.” Those words sit wrong. Not because they’re false. Because they’re right.
I look back at Olivia. “Later,” I say.
Brooke accepts that and leaves.
Logan shuts the infirmary door halfway, not fully. Smart. Closed doors make rooms smaller. Smaller rooms make men like me worse. He stands near the foot of the bed, arms crossed, eyes on me. “Explain.”
“I did.”
“You gave me pieces.”
“That’s what I have.”
“Bullshit.” His voice sharpens. “You saw a van, called me, then ten minutes later you’ve got four men down and an unconscious woman in your arms. I want every fucking second between.”
I don’t move from Olivia’s side. “Van was outside Ambrosia. Engine running. No lights. Door cracked. I circled.”
“I told you to stay put.”
“You told me not to freelance.”
“And?”
“I called.”
Logan stares at me like he’s trying to decide whether to hit me or keep asking questions.
Blaze would call that emotional growth.
I’d call it inconvenient timing.
“You circled,” Logan says.
“Yeah.”
“Then what?”