5. Shannon #2
“I might lose everything.”
“I know that too.”
“And you’re still here.”
“I’m still here,” I confirm. “The question is, are you?”
He cups my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones. “Yeah, Shannon. I’m here.”
“Then that’s enough for now.”
It has to be. Because this is the closest thing to home I’ve had in years. And I’m not ready to give that up. Not yet.
Three hours into my shift at The Black Crown, I’m wiping down tables when Tank walks through the front door.
I recognize him immediately. The way the other club members straighten, the way conversations pause.
He’s a man used to command, used to being the most dangerous person in any room.
He’s bigger than I expected, broad-shouldered and solid, with a presence that fills space just by existing.
When his gaze sweeps the bar and lands on me, I feel it like a physical weight.
“Shannon.” Red appears at my elbow, her voice carefully neutral. “Tank wants to see you in the back.”
Dread coils in my gut. “Now?”
“Now.”
I glance to the corner booth where Reyes has been nursing the same beer for an hour, supposedly on his phone but really watching every person who walks in. He sees Tank, and his whole body goes rigid.
“Just me?” I ask, though I know the answer from the way Tank is watching us.
“Just you,” Red confirms. “I’ll cover your tables.”
The walk to the back room feels like a death march. Past the pool tables, past the hallway lined with photographs of motorcycles and brotherhood, to the door marked “Private.”
Tank is already seated at the head of a long conference table, a silver coin dancing between his fingers. He doesn’t invite me to sit, just studies me with pale eyes that miss nothing.
“Close the door,” he says. I do, the click of the latch echoing. “Sit.”
I take the chair across from him, hyperaware of how small I feel in this space designed for club business.
“Military police were back in town yesterday,” Tank says. “Asking more questions, showing more pictures. They’re not giving up.”
Ice floods my veins. “Pictures of us?”
“You and the boy. Clear as day, according to Grizz.” He catches the coin, holding it steady. “They’re closing in, Shannon. It’s only a matter of time.”
“What does that mean for him? For the club?”
Tank leans back. “It means we’ve got a problem. Federal heat, questions about harboring fugitives—the kind of attention that gets brothers locked up or worse.”
Each word is a hard truth. This is what I was afraid of—that I would put them all in danger.
“I never meant—”
“Doesn’t matter what you meant. Matters what is.” He starts flipping the coin again, the soft click of metal the only sound. “I’ve called in a favor. An old friend of mine is coming to personally escort you and your boy to safety.”
“Where?”
“Stone’s Throw, Michigan. His name’s Rector—used to roll with the Roarer’s MC back in the day, but now he runs a legitimate business. Tattoo shop called Skin Sins.” Tank’s expression softens slightly. “Good man. He’ll keep you safe.”
Michigan. The word echoes in my head, a thousand miles away.
“There’s a job waiting for you if you want it. The Rector and his wife have a four-year-old daughter—they can help you get set up and get your son enrolled in school. Fresh start, clean slate.”
“When?” The question is a whisper.
“He’ll be here in five days.”
Five days. I grip the edge of the table to keep my hands from shaking.
“That’s generous,” Tank continues, “considering the heat. Most men wouldn’t risk their necks for someone they barely know.”
“Is that what Reyes decided?” The words slip out, full of a hurt I can’t hide.
Tank’s expression doesn’t change. “This is my decision. My call as president.”
“But does he know?”
“He will.”
The non-answer tells me everything. This will blindside him as much as it does me. And just like that, the goal line for a happy, safe life gets moved again.
“There’s no reason for you to stay,” Tank says, watching my face. “Is there?”
The question hangs between us, loaded. Is this Reyes’s way of making the choice easier for both of us?
I don’t answer. I don’t know what the truth is anymore.
“Michigan’s a good place to disappear,” Tank continues. “Clean air, honest work. The kind of life where a woman can raise her son without looking over her shoulder.”
“And the club?”
“The club moves on. Savior gets back to focusing on what matters.” He pockets the coin, the gesture final. “Everyone wins.”
Everyone except me.
“Five days,” he says, standing. “Use them to say your goodbyes.”
When I return to the bar, my hands are shaking so badly I can barely hold my order pad. Reyes looks up from his booth, takes one look at my face, and starts to rise.
I shake my head quickly, focusing on a table I need to clear instead of the questions in his eyes. I can’t deal with this right now. Not while I’m supposed to be working, while my emotions are too raw.
For the rest of my shift, I avoid his corner. When I have to pass his table, I keep my eyes down. When Red asks if I’m okay, I nod and keep moving. When Grizz offers to let me leave early, I tell him I need the hours. Anything to avoid the moment I have to ask Reyes if sending me away was his idea.
The ride home is silent, save for Aiden’s chatter about his day. He made a friend named Tyler who also has a cast. His innocent joy is a thin veil over the tension radiating between me and Reyes.
At the safehouse, I focus on dinner, bath time, bedtime stories—all the domestic routines that help me avoid thinking about Michigan. It’s only after Aiden’s asleep, after the dishes are done and there’s nowhere left to hide, that I finally tell him what happened.
He listens without interrupting as I explain about Rector, about Michigan, about the five-day countdown ticking in my head. When I finish, he goes very still.
“He what ?” His voice is deadly quiet.
“He called someone named Rector. Says he’ll be here in five days—”
“That wasn’t Tank’s choice to make.” The words explode out of him. He paces the kitchen like a caged animal. “I’m not a child who needs the club to make my decisions for me. I don’t need him managing my personal life.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Interesting perspective.”
He stops, the irony in my tone hitting him. Some of the rage leaves his expression, replaced by shame. “That’s different.”
“Is it?”
He sinks into a kitchen chair, head in his hands. “Fuck. This is such a mess.”
I sit across from him, waiting. When he finally looks up, his eyes are tired. “What do you want, Shannon?”
The question I’ve been asking myself all afternoon. “The same thing I wanted last night,” I say simply. “You.”
“But?”
“But I also want you safe. I want you to keep your patch, your brotherhood, your family.” I reach across the table, touching his hand. “You’re a good man, Reyes.”
“No, I’m not.” The denial is automatic, fierce.
“Yes, you are.” I squeeze his fingers. “I’ve been with bad. I know the difference. You’re good all the way through, even when you try to convince yourself otherwise.”
Something shifts in his expression as he understands what I’m really saying.
“You’re going to leave with Rector.” It’s not a question.
“Yes.”
Pain flickers across his face. “Because it’s the right thing to do.”
“Because it’s the unselfish thing to do.” I stand, moving around the table until I’m in front of him. “But I have five days. And I’ll be damned if I waste one of them.”
Before he can respond, I pull him up from the chair and kiss him. Hard, desperate, pouring all the want and the time we don’t have into the press of my lips against his.
This time, he doesn’t resist. His arms crush me against him as he kisses me back with a hunger that makes my knees weak. This isn’t the careful, controlled kiss from this morning. This is raw need, desperation, the acknowledgment that we’re running out of time.
When we break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
“Five days,” I whisper against his mouth.
“Five days,” he agrees, his voice laced with surrender.
And standing there in his arms, with the countdown already started, I know exactly how I want to spend them.