15. Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Thirteen
Bronx
I watched Vegas from the shadows at the back of the clubhouse, my stance deceptively casual as I leaned against the wall. The air was thick with tension, the usual rowdy banter of the brothers replaced with an uneasy silence. My gaze never left Ginger—how she perched on the edge of the leather couch, fingers twisting together in her lap, her delicate frame nearly swallowed by the massive furniture. Behind her tense smile, I could see the fear she was trying to hide, and it made something dark and primitive stir in my chest. Nobody—not Rayburn, not anyone from her past—would ever hurt her again. Not while I drew breath.
Vegas stood now at the center of the room, his scarred knuckles resting on the worn wooden table. The club president didn't raise his voice—he never needed to.
"We're going to keep an eye on Rayburn," Vegas said, his gaze locked on Ginger. "We've got a few different ways of handling him, but you don't need to worry about any of that."
I watched her shoulders, noting the almost imperceptible relaxation. To most, it wouldn't be visible, but I'd memorized every inch of her body, every flutter of expression that crossed her face. I knew her better than she knew herself sometimes. That slight drop of tension told me more than words could—she believed Vegas. She believed in the club's protection. Good. She needed to.
"Rayburn's a problem with a shelf life," Miami muttered from across the room, just loud enough to be heard. He took a pull from his beer, the tattoos on his neck stretching as he swallowed. "Short fuckin' shelf life."
Vegas didn't acknowledge the comment, but I caught the twitch at the corner of his mouth. The president continued, his voice taking on a sharper edge. "You're an old lady now. You've got the protection of the entire club behind you."
Those words sent a ripple through the room. Ginger had only been wearing my patch a short time. Some of the brothers were still getting used to seeing her around, learning her place in our hierarchy. But there wasn't a man there who'd question Vegas’ declaration or my claim on her. They'd die for her now, same as they'd die for any woman under club protection. That was the code.
Vegas’ eyes hardened, dark flint catching the low light. "But you're on lockdown at the clubhouse until this shit's resolved."
There it was—the order wrapped in protection. I watched Ginger's face for rebellion, but she understood what was at stake. Lockdown wasn't a punishment; it was survival.
"How long?" she asked, her voice surprisingly steady.
Vegas shrugged one massive shoulder. "As long as it takes."
I shifted my weight. Part of me wanted to go to her, but I held back, wanting to see if she could at least partially stand on her own. Although, she didn’t really have to. Chances were good if I wasn’t around, Reno would be. She wasn’t just mine. She was his too.
"We're also going to take care of any other issues from your past," Vegas continued, his gaze sweeping over every face in the room before returning to Ginger with laser focus. "Clean slate, you hear me?"
The blood in my veins turned hot, then cold. We all knew what he meant. Rayburn wasn't the only ghost haunting Ginger's past. There was the uncle who'd first taught her to fear men's hands. The men he’d traded her in order to settle debts or sweeten deals. The men who’d seen her here and wanted to play with their favorite toy. Each story she'd whispered to me in the dark had fed a growing rage inside me—a volcano waiting to erupt.
"I don't want anyone getting hurt because of me," Ginger said.
Laughter—dark and dangerous—rumbled through the room. Not mockery, but a shared understanding of violence that was as familiar to us as breathing. Getting hurt was what we did. Dealing hurt was our currency, our language, our birthright.
"Bit late for that concern, darlin'," Detroit said from his perch by the bar. "Blood's already in the water."
I watched Ginger digest this, the slight tremor in her lower lip. She wasn't naive. She knew what we were when she took our patch, when she climbed into my and Reno’s bed, when she whispered our names in the dark. But knowing wasn't the same as seeing. Knowing wasn't the same as being the cause.
Something in my chest twisted, and I couldn't stay back any longer. I pushed off from the wall, feeling every eye in the room track my movement as I crossed to her. The wooden floorboards creaked beneath my boots. I didn't hurry, didn't rush. When I reached her, I dropped to one knee beside the couch, bringing my face level with hers.
Up close, the fear in her eyes was more pronounced—not fear of us, but fear for us. For what might happen. For what we might do in her name. For what we might become. I reached out and took her hand, feeling the delicate bones beneath my callused fingers. Her skin was soft despite everything she'd been through, despite every hardness life had tried to teach her.
Her gaze locked with mine—eyes that had seen too much pain for someone so young. Something primal rose in me every time I looked at her. Protect. Claim. Keep. I'd never felt that before, not with any other woman. But Ginger was different. She'd crawled under my skin and made a home there.
The clubhouse faded away—the brothers, Vegas, the weight of what was coming—until there was just her and me, connected by our joined hands and locked gaze. I could feel her pulse fluttering beneath my fingers, a hummingbird trapped in a cage of bone and flesh.
"Things are going to get violent and bloody, darlin'," I told her, my voice low and intense, meant only for her ears though I knew every man in that silent room could hear me. The truth deserved to be spoken plainly. She deserved that much. "But when it's over, when we've dealt with every last threat..."
I squeezed her hand tightly, feeling her squeeze back with surprising strength. The gesture sent heat through my veins, pride that despite everything, she wasn't broken. Bent, maybe. Scarred, definitely. But never broken.
"You'll be truly free," I promised. "No more looking over your shoulder, no more running. Just you, me, Reno, and the open road ahead."
At the mention of Reno, a ghost of a smile touched her lips. She glanced across the room at him, and he gave her a nod.
"I never wanted this," she whispered, so softly I almost missed it. "Never wanted to bring war to your doorstep."
I reached up with my free hand and touched her cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin against my palm. "War's what we do best, Ginger. And this one? This one's personal."
Her gaze searched mine, looking for something—reassurance, maybe, or doubt. I gave her neither, only the truth as I knew it: that every man in this room was already committed to blood and vengeance on her behalf. That wheels were already in motion that couldn't be stopped. That peace would come, but only after a reckoning.
"Vegas means what he says," I continued, my thumb tracing the curve of her cheekbone. "Clean slate. By the time we're done, there won't be a man alive who remembers your name with anything but fear. Anyone who ever hurt you, anyone who ever threatened you—they're already dead. They just don't know it yet."
A tear slipped down her cheek, catching on my thumb. I wiped it away gently, even as my heart hardened further. Her tears were sacred things, not to be wasted on men who deserved only contempt and suffering.
"I'm scared," she admitted, her voice breaking on the words. "Not for me. For you. For all of you."
Behind me, I heard the shifting of leather and denim as the brothers absorbed her words. This woman—this beautiful, broken, fierce woman—was worried about a room full of killers and outlaws. The irony wasn't lost on any of us.
"Fear's good," I told her. "Fear keeps you sharp. But trust is better. Do you trust me, Ginger?"
The question hung between us, heavier than it had any right to be. We both knew I was asking for more than simple faith. I was asking her to accept what was coming, to let us do what needed doing, to embrace the darkness that lived in all of us.
She swallowed hard, and I watched the movement of her throat, remembering how it felt beneath my lips in quieter moments. "With my life," she finally answered.
I nodded once, feeling something tight in my chest loosen just a fraction. "Then believe me when I tell you that Rayburn, your uncle, those men who came to the clubhouse and wanted you—they're just men. Flesh and bone that breaks like anyone else's. And we—" I glanced around at the brothers, at Vegas’ steady gaze, at the promise of violence in every set of eyes that met mine, "—we're something else entirely."
I felt the weight of what we were about to face, the risk to us all. But it was distant, muted beneath the certainty that her freedom—her peace—was worth every drop of blood we'd shed, every risk we'd take. Some things demanded payment in blood. Some debts could only be settled one way.
And Ginger? She was worth it all.
I rose to my feet, still holding her hand. "Come on," I said gently. "Let's get you settled for the night. Tomorrow's going to come early, and you need rest."
As I led her through the clubhouse toward the back hallway and the staircase, I felt Vegas’ hand on my shoulder, stopping me briefly. His voice was pitched low, for my ears alone.
"Clean slate," he repeated, the words carrying the weight of an order, a blessing, and a promise all at once. "No loose ends."
I nodded once, meeting his gaze. "No loose ends," I agreed.
I caught Ginger watching us, her eyes wide and knowing. She understood what wasn't being said. She knew what price would be paid for her freedom. And in that moment, I saw something shift behind her eyes—acceptance, resolution, and beneath it all, a darkness that matched our own.
She'd be free when this was over. We all would, one way or another. Reno came up, joining us. We went up the stairs together, needing some time to ourselves.
The hallway stretched before us, dim and quiet compared to the charged atmosphere of the main room. The soft yellow light cast shadows that danced against the walls as we moved. Ginger's hand was still in mine, her grip tightening as we approached our suite. I could feel the slight tremble in her fingers, the only outward sign of the storm raging inside her.
Reno moved ahead, his broad shoulders blocking the narrow passage as he unlocked the door. The familiar click of the mechanism echoed in the silence. He pushed it open, stepping inside to flip on the lamp rather than the harsh overhead light. The soft glow spilled into the hallway, golden and inviting.
"Home sweet home," he muttered, his voice gravel-rough but gentle in a way reserved only for us.
I guided Ginger inside, feeling her hesitate at the threshold. "You okay?" I asked, studying her face in the soft light.
"I just..." she started, then stopped, her teeth catching her bottom lip. "I don't want to be the reason anyone gets hurt."
Reno snorted from where he was checking the windows. "Bit late for that, sweetheart."
I shot him a look, but there was no heat behind it. He wasn't wrong. The moment Rayburn had shown his face, the moment we'd learned about her past, blood had become inevitable. It was just a question of whose and how much.
Ginger looked around. “Where’s KiKi?”
“I think she went out for a bit,” Reno said. “Her car is gone from the parking lot.”
"Come here," I said, pulling her fully into the room and shutting the door behind us. The lock engaged with a satisfying thunk. One more barrier between her and the world that wanted to hurt her.
Ginger moved into the bedroom and to the edge of the bed, sinking down onto it. Her fingers worked at the hem of her shirt, twisting the fabric. "What happens now?" she asked, her voice small.
Reno and I exchanged a look over her head. There were things she didn't need to know, details that would only haunt her dreams.
"Now, you stay safe here while we handle business," Reno said, his tone leaving no room for argument. He crossed to her, kneeling down and taking her face in his hands. His thumbs traced her cheekbones, the gesture so tender it made my chest ache. "Let us do what we do best."
I watched them together, feeling that strange twist in my gut that wasn't jealousy—it was something deeper, more primal. Seeing them like this, Reno's dark intensity focused entirely on her, her vulnerability on full display—it did things to me. Made me want to wrap them both in my arms and shelter them from the world.
I moved to the window, watching the night outside, the security lights casting harsh shadows across the lot.
"We've got a brother watching your uncle's place," I said, keeping my back to them. "Another one shadowing Rayburn. By morning, we'll know their routines, their weaknesses."
The bed creaked as Ginger shifted. "My uncle..." Her voice faltered. "He's got connections. People who owe him favors."
I turned then, leaning against the windowsill. "And we've got a MC with chapters in three states. Trust me, darlin', your uncle's connections don't mean shit compared to ours."
Reno had moved to sit beside her, his arm draped protectively across her shoulders. The contrast between them always struck me—her delicate frame against his massive one, her red hair against his dark beard. Like something out of a fucked-up fairy tale.
"I've seen what he can do," she whispered, her eyes taking on that distant look that told me she was back there, trapped in memories that still had power over her.
"And I've seen what we can do," I countered, crossing the room to kneel in front of her. I took her hands in mine, rubbing my thumbs over her knuckles. "There's a reason people fear this club. There's a reason cops look the other way when we roll through town."
Reno's hand moved to the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair. "We're not just some backwoods thugs, Ginger. We're organized. Connected. And we protect our own."
The tension in her shoulders eased slightly under his touch. I watched her face, seeing the conflict there—the hope warring with experience, the desire to believe in fighting against years of learned caution.
"When's the last time you slept?" I asked, changing tactics. "Really slept?"
She gave a hollow laugh. "Before I met you two."
"Bullshit," Reno growled, but there was no heat behind it. "You sleep like the dead when you're between us."
A flush crept up her neck, and something in my chest loosened at the sight. Even now, with danger pressing in from all sides, she could still blush.
"Let's get you into bed," I said, rising to my feet and pulling her up with me. "Tomorrow's going to be a long day."
She stood, swaying slightly with exhaustion. "Will you be here? Both of you?"
"One of us will always be with you," I promised. "Tonight, we both stay."
Relief washed over her face, and she leaned into me, her forehead resting against my chest. “Thank you.”
“No need to thank us, Ginger. You’re ours now. It’s my job, and Reno’s, to keep you safe.”
I kissed her softly, wanting so much more, but knowing now wasn’t the right time. She didn’t need the two of us crawling on top of her tonight. No, what our Ginger needed was to be held, cared for, and reassured. So that’s what she’d get.
I shared a look with Reno and knew he was in agreement.