Chapter 13
Thirteen
Hawk
The clubhouse is loud.
Too damn loud.
Music rattles the speakers in the corner, barely drowning out the roar of laughter and shouting. Bottles slam against the bar. Pool balls crack together across the room. Prospects hustle between tables, grabbing drinks, cleaning spills, trying to stay useful and invisible at the same time.
Club girls circle the room, their laughter too loud, leaning too close to the brothers. A couple hover around the pool table like vultures waiting for attention.
Normally, this is my element.
Chaos.
Noise.
Brotherhood.
The kind of atmosphere I’ve lived in for most of my life.
But tonight?
Tonight it just pisses me off.
The clubhouse doors slam open behind me as I shove my way inside. The heavy sound echoes across the room, and the noise dips just slightly. Heads turn.
They always do.
Not out of curiosity.
Out of respect.
A few brothers glance up from their drinks. One prospect freezes mid-step, like he just realized he might be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Prez walking in pissed never goes unnoticed.
I don’t slow down.
Don’t acknowledge anyone.
I head straight for the bar.
Brothers shift out of my path automatically. One prospect nearly trips over himself trying to move aside fast enough.
Good.
At the bar, I grab a beer straight from the cooler. The cold glass bites into my palm as I pop the cap off against the edge of the counter.
The sharp crack cuts through the noise.
Cold beer hits the back of my throat.
Bitter.
Exactly what I need.
Except it doesn’t help.
Because the second I stop moving…
She’s back in my head.
Emma.
That damn mouthy woman is going to be the death of me.
I lean against the bar, staring across the room while the chaos of the clubhouse rolls on around me. Her voice echoes in my head.
I am not yours.
My jaw tightens.
Jesus Christ.
Most people don’t even look me in the eye when they talk to me. Men twice her size don’t push back the way she does.
But Emma?
She argues like she was born to piss me off.
And the worst part?
I fucking like it.
I take another long drink.
The way she gets loud.
The way she refuses to back down.
The fire in her eyes when she’s angry.
Every detail keeps replaying.
Everyone else walks on eggshells around me.
Emma just keeps kicking the damn hornet’s nest.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath.
I shouldn’t have lost control like that in her kitchen.
Not with her.
Not like that.
But Christ…
The way she fought me.
The way she pushed back instead of melting like the others.
The way she kissed me like she was trying to win.
I drag a hand down my beard and exhale slowly.
Anger and attraction.
That combination usually ends badly.
A pair of hands slides onto my shoulders.
I flinch instantly.
My body reacts before my brain even catches up.
“Rough night, Prez?” a voice purrs.
I don’t even turn around.
“Move.”
The girl giggles behind me.
Ginger.
She’s new.
Been hanging around the club barely two weeks.
Still learning the rules.
Apparently, she hasn’t learned this one yet.
“C’mon, Hawk—”
“I said move.”
The word comes out sharp enough to cut.
Cold.
Final.
She freezes immediately.
The room shifts slightly around us.
Slowly, her hands slide off my shoulders.
That alone tells the room everything it needs to know.
Normally, I don’t bother telling club girls to back off.
If they want attention, they get it.
No strings.
No complications.
But tonight?
The thought of anyone touching me makes my skin crawl.
Ginger backs away quickly now, confusion written across her face.
Behind me, someone mutters quietly,
“Jesus… who pissed him off?”
Nobody answers.
Nobody wants to ask.
Just then, Riot drops onto the stool beside me like he owns the place.
Which he basically does.
“You look like you want to punch something,” he says.
I stare straight ahead.
“Don’t tempt me.”
Riot smirks.
“Emma?”
I turn my head slowly and glare at him.
He lifts both hands in surrender.
“Just guessing.”
Diesel and Knox walk over a second later.
The air shifts when they approach.
A couple of prospects straighten immediately.
Respect runs through the club like a quiet current.
Knox grabs a beer from the cooler.
“Gun run meeting.”
Good.
Business.
Business I can handle.
Business doesn’t crawl into my head and refuse to leave.
Riot leans forward on the bar.
“Same route as last time?”
“Yeah,” I say.
“Idaho line through the canyon. Same drops unless something changes.”
Knox nods slowly.
“Convoy size?”
“Six bikes. Two trucks.”
Diesel crosses his arms.
“With the Reapers pissed about Emma, we should run extra eyes.”
That shuts down the last of the joking energy around us.
The Black Reapers aren’t some small-time crew.
They’re organized.
Mean.
And humiliation like that?
Doesn’t go unanswered.
I take another drink.
“I already thought of that.”
Riot raises an eyebrow.
“Convoy tight?”
“Real tight.”
“No one rides alone.”
Knox nods.
“I’ll double the scouts.”
“Do it.”
Diesel tilts his head slightly.
“And Emma?”
My jaw tightens.
“She’s covered.”
Prospects rotate outside her house twenty-four hours a day.
Two watching the street.
One sitting down the block.
Another following her when she leaves.
Constant rotation.
No gaps.
No chances.
And somehow, it still doesn’t feel like enough.
That alone pisses me off.
I grab another beer and twist the cap off.
My thoughts drift back to her again.
Standing in that kitchen.
Yelling at me like I’m just another guy.
Telling me I don’t get to decide things for her.
Refusing to back down.
Refusing me.
My grip tightens around the bottle.
I don’t obsess over women.
Never have.
They come and go.
Distractions.
Nothing that sticks around longer than a night.
But Emma?
Emma crawled into my head and slammed the damn door behind her.
And I’ve got a feeling she’s not planning on leaving.
Riot nudges my arm.
“You’re doing that thing again.”
I blink.
“What thing?”
“Staring at nothing like you want to murder someone.”
I finish the beer in one long swallow.
“Maybe I do.”
Riot grins.
“Emma?”
I glare at him.
He laughs.
“Yeah. Definitely Emma.”
Knox glances between us.
Then he smirks.
“Prez finally met a woman that doesn’t listen.”
Diesel chuckles.
“About time.”
I shoot them both a look that shuts them up immediately.
But Riot just leans back in his chair, completely entertained.
“Careful, boys,” he says lazily.
“Pretty sure she’s already living in his head rent-free.”
A few brothers nearby laugh quietly.
I grab another beer.
Hard enough that the bottle clinks against the bar.
The laughter dies instantly.
Respect.
Always.
—
The street outside Emma’s house is quiet.
Dark.
Still.
My bike idles low as I stop half a block down.
The house sits exactly where it should.
Lights off.
Porch empty.
Two prospects sit in a parked car across the street.
One standing guard near the corner.
Exactly where I told them to be.
The second they spot me, they straighten immediately.
Respect.
Always.
I nod once.
They nod back.
Everything looks right.
Everything looks secure.
But I sit there another minute anyway.
Just watching the house.
Making sure.
My eyes scan the street.
Windows.
Cars.
Shadows.
Movement.
Nothing.
Good.
Finally, I kill the engine.
The street falls quiet.
For a second, I just sit there in the dark.
And the thought slips in before I can stop it.
Emma has no idea how close she came to starting a war.
Or how many men are watching her now.
My jaw tightens.
Yeah.
She’s definitely going to be the death of me.
My eyes drift back to the dark windows of her house.
Somewhere inside, she’s probably asleep.
Completely unaware of the kind of trouble circling her now.
Completely unaware of the kind of men who don’t forget humiliation.
Or the kind of man who just decided she’s under his protection.
My fingers tighten slightly around the handlebars.
Emma might not belong to me.
She made that real clear.
But that doesn’t change the one thing she hasn’t figured out yet.
No one touches what’s under my protection.
No one.
And if the Reapers think they’re coming anywhere near her again…
They’re going to learn exactly why this club runs this town.