Chapter Six
I don’t need a babysitter. Ivy repeated it silently as she rode into town in Havoc’s truck.
She folded her hands in her lap, her gaze fixed on the familiar stretch of road sliding past the windshield.
The Devil’s Crown compound faded behind them, replaced by cracked asphalt, and weathered storefronts.
“I’m fine,” she said again, turning toward him. “This is literally just paint and brushes.”
Havoc didn’t take his eyes off the road. He rested one hand on the steering wheel while he draped the other casually on the door. Havoc looked relaxed, but she knew him well enough now to recognize the tension threaded through him. Like a coiled wire under leather and muscle.
“King didn’t say babysit,” he replied. “He said keep an eye on you.”
“Same thing,” she shot back.
That earned her a sideways glance. He twitted his mouth, like he was holding back something sharper.
“Town’s not as quiet as it looks,” he pointed out.
She rolled her eyes, though her pulse ticked up anyway. “I’ve been on my own a long time, Havoc.”
“I know.”
The way he said it, low and certain, scraped against her resolve. She hated that part of her liked it.
They parked near the general store and the small art supply shop tucked beside it. Ivy grabbed her bag and opened the door before he could say anything else.
“I’ll be quick,” she said. “You don’t need to hover.”
Havoc sighed, long and heavy. “I need smokes anyway.” He nodded toward the general store. “Five minutes.”
She paused, then nodded. “Fine.”
They split, the space between them feeling larger than it should have.
The art store smelled like paper, wood, and pigment. What a familiar and lovely scent. Ivy let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and stepped inside, the bell over the door chiming softly behind her.
The walls were lined with canvases and sketch pads, shelves crowded with paint tubes and jars of brushes. It felt like stepping into neutral ground. A place untouched by club politics and leather cuts.
She wandered slowly. She let her fingers graze familiar brands, mentally ticking off what she needed. More acrylics. A wider brush for blending. A new pencil set. She was comparing two shades of blue when she felt it.
A prickle between her shoulders. It took her a second to pinpoint the feeling. She was being watched. She took deep breaths. Ivy didn’t react at first. She’d learned long ago not to jump at every flicker of instinct.
Still, when she shifted a step to the side and felt the sensation follow, she straightened her spine. She glanced up, catching her reflection in the small mirror mounted at the end of the aisle.
At first, all she saw was herself with her paint-smudged fingers and focused eyes. A woman trying to decide between brands of charcoal.
Then the mirror gave her more. Behind her, just enough to confirm the uneasy prickle crawling up her spine, stood a man. He had broad shoulders, wore a leather vest and a cut she didn’t recognize. He wasn’t a member of the Devil’s Crown MC.
He wasn’t pretending to browse. There was no distracted wandering, no half-hearted interest in the shelves. His attention was locked on her, eyes dark and assessing, mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile and definitely wasn’t friendly.
Ivy’s stomach tightened. She shifted, stepping into the next aisle as if she’d simply remembered something she needed. Her heart picked up pace, thudding harder with each step. She counted them without meaning to. One. Two. Three. Ground yourself. Don’t panic.
She stopped midway down the aisle and reached for a pack of charcoal sticks she didn’t need, lifting them and studying the label like it held the secrets of the universe. Her pulse roared in her ears.
The faint scrape of boots sounded behind her. He followed but kept his distance, as if he took pains not to brush close enough against her or cause a scene. Still, his intention was unmistakable. He wanted her to know he was there, watching, tracking her movements with slow patience.
The space suddenly felt smaller and the air heavier. She curled her fingers around the phone in her pocket, knuckles tightening until she forced them to relax. She pulled it out, screen lighting up like a tiny lifeline. Havoc’s name sat right there, recent and familiar.
You’re overreacting, a rational voice tried to insist. It’s a store. Public place. Daytime. Another voice, older and sharper, whispered danger. She typed fast, pulse stuttering.
Can you come here? There’s a guy—
Before she could hit send, the bell over the door chimed and the sound cut through the tension like a blade. Heavy footsteps crossed the shop, unhurried and sure. The atmosphere shifted instantly, like pressure dropping before a storm. Ivy’s shoulders loosened before her mind could catch up.
She didn’t need to look. It was Havoc. His presence hit her like gravity, sudden and grounding. Warmth spread through her chest, chased by a rush of relief so strong it made her dizzy. The constant hum of unease snapped, replaced by something steadier, stronger.
She turned just as he stopped beside her, close enough that his arm brushed hers. He felt so solid and real. Havoc angled his body slightly, instinctively placing himself between her and the aisle behind her.
His gaze slid past her, and he narrowed his eyes at the other biker, who froze.
For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to the three of them.
The low hum of fluorescent lights overhead.
The distant murmur of the clerk chatting on the phone near the counter.
Ivy’s pulse pounding hard enough she wondered if they could hear it.
Recognition sparked in the biker’s eyes.
His grin widened, slow and deliberate, like he was enjoying himself far too much. He lifted two fingers in a lazy wave, casual as a man greeting an old friend at a bar.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he drawled. “If it isn’t Havoc, Road Captain of the Devil’s Crown MC.”
Havoc didn’t move and he didn’t speak either.
Still, Ivy felt the shift in him. The way his muscles tightened, coiling beneath skin and leather.
The subtle repositioning of his feet. The way he angled himself closer to her, blocking her from view without making a show of it.
His jaw clenched, a muscle jumping once, twice.
“Get lost,” Havoc said quietly.
The words weren’t loud. They didn’t need to be. The biker chuckled, a low sound that crawled unpleasantly up Ivy’s spine. “Relax. Just doing a little shopping.”
His gaze slid back to her, slow and deliberate, lingering far too long. Something ugly flickered there. Curiosity mixed with appraisal. A calculating interest that made her feel suddenly small, like an insect pinned under glass.
Ivy’s fingers curled into her palm, nails biting in. Havoc took one step forward. That was all it took.
The biker’s grin didn’t disappear, but his body language changed. Hands lifted slowly, palms out, as he backed toward the door. Still smiling and watching Havoc like a predator sizing up another predator.
“No harm, man. No harm.” His eyes never left Havoc’s face. “Tell King I said hi.”
The bell chimed again as he left, the door swinging shut behind him.
The silence that followed was deafening. Ivy realized her hands were shaking. She stared down at them like they belonged to someone else. Havoc noticed immediately. His gaze dropped, then lifted back to her face, his expression carved from something harder now.
“You okay?” he asked. His voice was rougher than before, edged with something she couldn’t quite name.
She swallowed, forcing air into her lungs. “Yeah. I was about to text you.”
“I know,” he said.
That snapped her attention back to him. “You do?”
He exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair, agitation written into the line of his shoulders. “I had a bad feeling.”
Her chest tightened. “He wasn’t Devil’s Crown.”
“No,” Havoc said flatly. “He wasn’t.”
They stood there another moment, the tension slowly bleeding out of the space, leaving behind a shaky calm. Havoc nodded toward the counter. “Get what you need. We’re not lingering.”
She nodded and forced herself to focus, though her awareness stayed tuned to him. To the way he watched the door. To the way he stayed close without crowding her. To the quiet promise in his presence.
Outside, the sun felt harsher than before, too bright, too exposed. Ivy climbed back into the truck, hands trembling as she buckled her seatbelt.
Havoc started the engine but didn’t pull away right away. He turned and looked at her, really looked, concern cutting through his usual guarded expression.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asked again.
She let out a shaky breath. “I thought I was fine. I really did.”
His jaw tightened. “That’s why I don’t like leaving you alone.”
She turned toward him, emotion tangling sharp and sudden in her chest. “I don’t want to need protecting.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “Doesn’t mean you don’t deserve it.”
They drove back in silence, the road stretching long and familiar ahead of them. Ivy watched the landscape blur past, mind replaying the biker’s grin, the way Havoc had stepped in without hesitation.
Her heart fluttered, a sharp, unexpected beat that caught her off guard.
Ivy had never thought of herself as someone who needed protection.
She’d built her life on self-reliance, on trusting her instincts and her ability to walk away when things turned sideways.
Needing a man to step in had never been part of her story, never something she wanted or imagined for herself.
Yet, in that moment, with the echo of the biker’s grin still crawling under her skin, she felt something soften and shift inside her. Gratitude, warm and disarming. Relief so deep it bordered on awe. Havoc hadn’t hesitated. He hadn’t questioned or hovered or demanded an explanation.
He’d simply appeared, solid and sure, placing himself between her and a threat she’d felt but not yet named. Her heart fluttered again, traitorous and undeniable.
She didn’t like how much it affected her. Or maybe she did, just a little. Because for the first time in a long while, she understood that being protected didn’t mean being weak. It meant being seen. It meant someone choosing to stand beside her without trying to cage or control her.
She glanced at Havoc, at the set of his jaw and the tension still riding his shoulders, and felt something settle quietly into place. Just for that moment, she was deeply, achingly grateful he had been there.