Hawk (IRON KINGS MC #1)

Chapter 1

One

Emma

“Tell me again why we’re driving forty minutes into the middle of nowhere for a cancer benefit at a bar.”

Maya’s voice sliced through the warm evening air as she leaned across the center console, glaring at the directions on her phone like they had personally offended her.

I clicked my seatbelt into place and shut the passenger door. “Because it’s apparently the only place in town big enough to hold this many people.”

“That feels fake.”

I laughed, settling back against the seat as she pulled away from the curb. “Derek said the owner donated the space.”

“Derek also said this would be fun.”

“It could be.”

Maya shot me a look. “Emma, I love you, but your definition of fun is deeply concerning.”

I smiled, turning my face toward the open window. Warm summer air drifted into the car, carrying the scent of cut grass, sun-warmed pavement, and the faint sweetness of somebody’s lilac bushes. The sun was starting to dip lower in the sky, coating everything in soft gold.

It should’ve felt like a nice night.

And it did.

Mostly.

But there was something about events where you only half-knew the people going that always put me a little on edge. Not enough to ruin my mood. Just enough to make me aware of myself.

The outfit. The drive. The fact that this was a bar in the country and not some quiet fundraiser in a church basement where people politely clapped and ate sheet cake.

This felt like the kind of event that could go one of two ways.

Completely harmless.

Or completely unhinged.

Maya adjusted her grip on the wheel. “I’m still saying it’s weird.”

“You think everything outside city limits is weird.”

“Because it usually is.”

I glanced over at her and smiled. Maya looked exactly like she always did—perfect. Glossy blonde hair, flawless makeup, tiny little black tank top that probably cost more than my electric bill. She had a kind of effortless beauty that made people look twice without meaning to.

I used to think women who looked like Maya had easier lives.

I didn’t think that anymore.

Pretty only got you so far. Sometimes all it did was make people expect things from you. Or assume things about you. Or let you get away with being mean because people were too distracted to call it what it was.

Not that Maya was always mean.

But she definitely had moments.

She glanced at me briefly before looking back at the road. “You look nice.”

“Thank you.”

The compliment came easily, but there was a beat too long before she added, “That top is… flattering.”

I turned my head toward her. “Flattering?”

She shrugged one shoulder. “Yeah. You don’t usually wear stuff that fitted.”

There it was.

Not quite rude. Not quite kind.

Just enough of a comment to sit wrong in my stomach.

I looked down at myself. Dark jeans. Black sandals. Black top with a low square neckline and short sleeves. Cute, simple, normal. It fit exactly how it was supposed to fit.

I looked back up. “That’s because most of my wardrobe is work clothes.”

“Mm.” She gave a small nod. “Still. It looks good on you.”

I let that sit for a second.

Then I smiled faintly and said, “You know, when normal people compliment someone, they usually stop after the compliment.”

Her mouth twitched like she was deciding whether to laugh or deny it. “Oh my God. I was being nice.”

“Were you?”

“Yes.”

I snorted softly and looked back out the window. “Debatable.”

She did laugh then, though it sounded a little too sharp around the edges.

The rest of the drive passed in pieces. Work gossip. Complaints about traffic. Maya ranting about one of the women in accounting who kept reheating fish in the office microwave like she had a personal vendetta against the entire building.

I only half listened.

My mind kept drifting back to Derek.

He’d asked me to come three separate times over the last two weeks, and each time he’d looked more tired than the last. Not physically tired. Soul tired. The kind that sat behind his eyes and changed the shape of his smile.

His older sister was sick.

Cancer.

And everyone at work had been trying in their own awkward, fumbling way to help. Derek was the kind of person people wanted to show up for. He was good. Reliable. The kind of man who stayed late to help when systems crashed and brought donuts on Fridays just because.

He’d never said the words I need you there, but I heard them anyway.

So here I was.

In Maya’s car.

Driving toward a biker bar in the middle of nowhere for a benefit I had a feeling was going to be a lot bigger than I’d expected.

I didn’t realize just how right I was until we turned into the parking lot.

“Holy shit,” Maya breathed.

My eyes widened.

The place was packed.

Not just busy. Not just a decent turnout.

Packed.

Cars filled every marked space. More lined the edges of the gravel lot. Trucks sat backed in along the perimeter, chrome gleaming under the fading light. And weaving between all of it, like something pulled from an entirely different world, were rows and rows of motorcycles.

My stomach gave a strange little flip.

There had to be dozens of them.

Maybe more.

The bikes were lined up in neat, intimidating rows—black, chrome, matte paint, polished metal catching the last of the evening sun. They looked expensive. Dangerous. Loud even when they weren’t moving.

Maya slowed the car to a crawl. “Okay. I was not prepared for this.”

“Neither was I,” I admitted.

“No one told me there’d be…” She waved vaguely through the windshield. “All this.”

“What exactly is all this?”

She gave me a deadpan look. “Motorcycles, Emma.”

I laughed. “I can see that.”

“No, I mean…” She lowered her voice even though the windows were down and nobody could hear us. “This feels like biker biker.”

I looked back out at the lot.

She wasn’t wrong.

There was a heaviness to the place. Not bad.

Not yet. But there was definitely a presence.

Men stood in small groups talking beside the bikes, broad shoulders and dark clothes and a kind of confidence that didn’t ask permission to take up space.

Even from the car, they looked like the type of men people noticed and then wisely chose not to stare at for too long.

After circling once, Maya found a spot near the far edge of the lot when an SUV pulled out.

She parked and cut the engine, but for a second neither of us moved.

“Well,” she said finally.

“Well,” I echoed.

“You ready?”

“No.”

“Same.”

I grabbed my small purse from the floorboard and pushed open the door. Gravel crunched beneath my sandals the second I stepped out. The evening air was warmer than I expected, heavy with the smell of dirt, gasoline, cut grass, and something smoky drifting from somewhere nearby.

Music thumped faintly from inside the building.

People laughed near the entrance.

A man in jeans and a black t-shirt walked by carrying a case of beer on one shoulder like it weighed nothing.

Maya stepped up beside me and smoothed a hand over her hair. “If I get murdered, tell my boss I’m not coming in Monday.”

“I’ll do my best.”

We started toward the entrance.

The closer we got, the more obvious it became that this wasn’t just a local bar donating space for a benefit. The place looked like it belonged to the kind of people who handled their own problems and didn’t bother calling anyone for help unless there was blood involved.

A low pulse of unease moved through me.

Not fear.

Just awareness.

The kind you felt when you stepped into a place that had its own rules.

The front door opened before we could reach it, and two men came out laughing hard enough that one of them nearly missed the step. Both wore leather vests over black shirts, tattoos covering their arms, heavy boots striking the wood porch with solid thuds.

My eyes caught on the cuts immediately.

Big back patches.

Rockers above and below.

Something about the design made it obvious those weren’t just decorative.

Maya leaned closer to me as we stepped aside for them to pass. “That’s a no for me.”

“What?”

She kept her smile fixed in place. “Those are real bikers.”

I murmured, “As opposed to fake ones?”

“You know what I mean.”

I did.

The two men barely looked at us as they passed, still talking to each other, but their presence lingered anyway. Big. Loud. Unapologetic.

Maya exhaled under her breath. “I suddenly feel underdressed.”

I glanced at her tiny tank top and fitted jeans. “You are physically incapable of being underdressed.”

“That’s true.”

Inside, the noise hit like a wall.

Conversation.

Laughter.

Music from overhead speakers.

The clink of bottles and glasses.

The entire front bar area was shoulder to shoulder with people.

Not rowdy exactly, but packed enough that the air already felt warm from body heat and spilled alcohol.

Neon beer signs glowed against dark walls.

A long wooden bar ran along one side of the room, three deep with people waiting to order.

I stopped just inside the doorway and took it all in.

There were more people here than I’d expected by a mile.

Office people scattered near the edges. Local families. Men in work boots. Women in denim shorts and sundresses. Kids weaving recklessly between adults like they had no concept of danger.

And then there were them.

The bikers.

They were everywhere.

Not swarming. Not causing trouble. Just there, woven throughout the place like they belonged to the building more than anyone else did. Leather cuts. Broad backs. Heavy tattoos. Thick forearms braced on the bar. Deep voices rolling over the noise.

A few looked rough around the edges.

A few looked beautiful enough to be in magazines if they traded the leather for suits and the danger for a smile.

Most looked like the kind of men a sane woman admired from a distance.

Maya was openly staring now. “Jesus.”

“Yeah.”

“Derek failed to mention this was a whole thing.”

“A pretty big oversight.”