Chapter Five
Havoc hated babysitting. Irritated, he leaned against the rail overlooking the south wall of the compound, with his arms crossed, and his jaw tight.
King could’ve assigned this to anyone. Any prospect or any brother with more time than sense.
Hell, Roach had been the one to flag Ivy’s work in the first place. Let him keep an eye on her.
Unfortunately, King had looked straight at Havoc and said it like it wasn’t a discussion. Keep an eye on her, King had said.
As Road Captain, Havoc had a dozen other things pulling at him.
He had routes to scout and bikes to check.
There was a run planned in two days that needed eyes on every mile of asphalt.
The road was where his head went quiet. Where the ghosts loosened their grip.
Standing still was not his strength, and yet here he was.
Ivy’s car rolled through the open gate and crunched to a stop near the wall King had marked out for her first mural.
She climbed out with a canvas bag slung over one shoulder and a crate of supplies in the other hand, moving with the same unhurried confidence he’d clocked the first time she’d stood her ground in front of his bike.
Havoc straightened without meaning to. She wore paint-spattered jeans and a fitted tank, hair twisted up and already threatening to come loose. Anyone else would’ve been nervous about working in an MC compound but not Ivy.
She glanced around the compound, taking in the buildings, the bikes, the men moving about their business. Her gaze met his and their eyes caught. Something low and restless rolled through him.
She gave a small nod, as if she was acknowledging him like an equal presence in the space. It annoyed him and it also did things to his pulse he didn’t appreciate. He pushed off the rail and walked over, boots heavy on gravel.
“You’re early,” Havoc remarked by way of greeting.
She glanced at her watch. “On time. I like to get settled before I start,” Ivy explained.
“Mm,” he grunted, pointing to a nearby wall. “King wants this wall first.”
Her eyes lit, just a fraction. “Good choice. The light hits it clean in the afternoon,” Ivy said.
He hadn’t thought about the light. Hadn’t thought about much beyond making sure no one got too close. Havoc nodded anyway, stepping back as she set her crate down and started laying out supplies with quick, efficient movements.
She worked like someone who knew her tools the way he knew his bike. She lined her brushes up by size. Ivy had tucked a chalk behind her ear. She pulled her gloves off, then put them on, then off again. She paced the wall, head tilted, eyes narrowed, already seeing something he couldn’t.
Havoc stayed where he was supposed to, a few feet back, watching.
At first, the restlessness chewed at him. The urge to move. To mount up and burn rubber until the world blurred at the edges. He rolled his shoulders, flexed his fingers, scanned the perimeter out of habit.
Then Ivy lifted a piece of charcoal and touched it to the wall.
The change was immediate. Her movements were loose but deliberate, lines flowing out of her like breath. She stepped back, adjusted, stepped in again. Ivy scraped the chalk against brick, soft and steady, sketching the bones of something large and alive.
Havoc found himself still. The irritation ebbed, replaced by something quieter.
Something like focus. Watching her was hypnotic.
The way she furrowed her brows when she concentrated.
Hell, he was even captivated by the way she leaned into the wall with her hip cocked and her arm stretched high without hesitation.
She wasn’t tentative. Ivy trusted herself.
He realized he’d been holding his breath when he finally exhaled.
This was what King had seen. Not just talent, but presence. Ivy didn’t fill space loudly. She anchored it. The wall changed under her hands, stopped being just another boundary and started becoming a story.
A couple of brothers wandered over, drawn by curiosity and boredom in equal measure.
“Hey,” one of them called. “What’re you painting, sweetheart?”
Havoc’s spine went rigid.
Ivy didn’t look back right away. She finished the line she was working on, stepped back, then turned with a polite smile. “A mural.”
“No shit,” the other brother laughed. “What kinda mural?”
Before she could answer, Havoc stepped forward. “Move along.”
Both men blinked, surprise flashing across their faces.
“We’re just looking,” the first said, sounding a tad defensive.
“You’re in the way,” Havoc replied flatly. “You got duties. Go do them.”
The air shifted. Not hostile, but final. Havoc had pulled rank without thinking. The brothers exchanged a look, shrugged, and peeled off without another word. Havoc didn’t realize his fists were clenched until Ivy spoke.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said mildly.
He turned to her, irritation flaring again, though he wasn’t sure at what.
“They were bothering you,” Havoc pointed out reasonably.
“I can handle myself,” she answered.
“I know,” he said. The admission came out rougher than he meant. “Doesn’t mean they get to distract you.”
She studied him for a moment, something curious flickering in her eyes. Ivy didn’t look offended or grateful, which she ought to be. She simply gave him an assessing look, as if she was filing the moment away for later.
“Okay,” she said simply, and turned back to her wall.
That was it. There was no argument or probing. Huh. It unsettled him more than if she’d called him out.
Time passed differently after that. The sun climbed, shadows shifting across the compound. Engines came and went. Men laughed, argued, lived their lives. Through it all, Ivy worked.
She replaced charcoal with paint and color bloomed against brick. There were deep blacks and burnished reds, steel grays and flashes of bone white. The image took shape, a rider emerging from shadow, his posture loose and powerful, eyes hidden beneath the brim of a helmet.
Havoc recognized the stance. The subtle angle of the shoulders. The way the bike leaned like an extension of the body riding it. It hit him in the chest, sudden and unguarded.
She wasn’t painting a fantasy. She was painting them. The temptation of the road. The way it got into your blood and never left.
“You ride?” he asked without thinking.
She glanced back at him, brush paused midair. “No.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” he said.
A corner of her mouth curved. “I watch.”
That tracked. She noticed things, felt them, and translated them into something permanent.
His restlessness was gone now, replaced by a strange calm that settled into his bones. Watching her work scratched an itch he hadn’t known how to name. It reminded him that not everything worth guarding was fragile. Some things just needed space to exist.
Another brother wandered close, slower this time, eyes respectful.
The others must’ve warned him. He stopped short when Havoc cut him a look.
Havoc wasn’t even sure what possessed him to be all growly and possessive.
It was certainly out of character for him.
Then again, his reaction to this particular woman was odd.
“Looks good,” the guy said to Ivy, then wisely backed off.
She laughed softly once he was gone. “You don’t have to scare everyone away,” she pointed out.
“I do if they’re in your space,” Havoc said gruffly.
She paused, turned, really looked at him. “Why?”
The question landed between them, quiet and sharp. Havoc opened his mouth, then closed it. He didn’t have an answer that made sense, not one he wanted to say out loud.
“Because it’s my job,” he said finally.
Her gaze lingered a beat longer, then she nodded and went back to painting. Still, it felt like something had shifted. A thread pulled tight.
As the morning waned, the mural deepened. Shadows layered and highlights sharpened. The rider’s presence grew undeniable, like he might roll right off the wall and into the compound.
Havoc realized something then, watching Ivy step back and smile faintly at her progress.
He didn’t want to be on the road, certainly not right now.
Right now, this was where he needed to be, standing guard and watching creation happen instead of destruction. Feeling something other than the ache of absence.
Ivy wiped her hands on a rag and glanced his way. “You’ve been staring,” she pointed out.
He didn’t bother denying it. “You do good work,” he admitted.
Her smile was small but genuine. “Thanks for watching my back,” she said. Was she humoring him? It wasn’t as if she would come to harm here. This was probably the safest place in town for her. Could it be she was maybe flirting with him? Havoc found he didn’t mind.
He met her eyes, the tension between them humming low and steady. “Anytime.”
****
Ivy lost track of time the way she always did when the world narrowed down to color and motion.
The wall had stopped being brick and mortar hours ago.
It was a living thing now, breathing beneath her hands, demanding attention.
She chased shadows with deeper blacks, softened edges with a dry brush, stepped back, leaned in again.
Her shoulders ached and her fingers were stiff. Still, she barely noticed.
What she did notice was the quiet weight of Havoc nearby.
He hadn’t left, not once. He shifted positions occasionally, leaned against a post or stood with his arms crossed, scanning the compound, but he never wandered far.
The awareness of him sat between her shoulder blades, steady and grounding.
Protective, if she was honest. It did strange things to her focus, sharpened it instead of distracting her.
Her stomach growled loudly. Heck, the sound ripped through the quiet afternoon like a bad punchline.
Ivy froze, brush hovering midstroke, heat crawling up her neck.
“Oh, my God,” she muttered, mortified.
Havoc’s head snapped toward her, and he lifted one dark eyebrow. “You eat today?” Havoc asked.
She grimaced. “I had coffee.”