Chapter 14
I don’t realize how tightly wound I’ve been the whole drive until Bartsville finally comes into view.
It hits me all at once. Not gradually. Not in some subtle, manageable way.
One second I’m still scanning every mirror, every set of headlights, every stretch of dark highway like the wrong car might materialize out of nowhere if I let my attention slip for half a heartbeat.
The next, the familiar turnoff appears, the road narrows in exactly the way I know it will, and the first distant glow of the clubhouse lights cuts through the trees.
And something inside me loosens so suddenly it almost pisses me off. Because I shouldn’t be this relieved.
It was a job.
A pickup. A favor. A drive.
That’s all it was supposed to be.
But somewhere between Louisiana and Alabama and all the dark road in between, I stopped treating it like cargo and started treating it like something that could be lost if I wasn’t careful enough.
That realization settles under my skin with sharp little teeth.
I don’t like it. I definitely don’t like how immediate the relief is when the gate finally comes into view.
Beside me, Raven notices it too.
She sits a little straighter in the passenger seat, one hand tightening around the strap of her purse for a second before easing again.
My sweatshirt still hangs off her frame, sleeves too long, dark hair loose over the front of it in thick waves that catch every flicker of light from the dash and the property lamps ahead.
She looks exhausted. Not the ordinary kind. Not tired from a long day and a cramped truck ride and too much bad coffee.
No, this is deeper than that. Bone-deep.
The kind of exhaustion that comes from living in fight-or-flight for too long and finally running out of whatever reserve was keeping you upright.
Her face is pale in the low light. Her eyes are heavy.
Her shoulders are still too tight, but I can see the strain in the way she’s holding herself together now.
Lexi is out cold again in the backseat, Bunny mashed under her cheek, one little sneaker half-twisted sideways where she must’ve kicked it off balance sometime in the last stretch of road.
She woke up once about an hour back, asked for water, stared at me like she was still deciding whether I was funny or just weird, then passed out again before I’d even merged back onto the main road.
Kid’s got stamina when she wants to be suspicious and absolutely none when it comes to sleep.
Fair enough.
I slow as I approach the gate and flash the lights once.
The prospect on watch tonight, Mason, steps out of the booth with a flashlight already in hand, looking bored right up until he catches sight of the passenger seat.
Then he freezes. Not in a stupid way. Just long enough to tell me his brain has stopped cooperating.
I lower the window halfway and look at him flat. “Open the damn gate.”
His eyes flick from me to Raven, then to the backseat where Lexi is barely visible in the shadows, then back to me again.
That’s when he notices my expression.
Smartly, he decides not to ask a single question. “Yes, sir.”
The gate starts rolling open immediately.
Good boy.
I ease the truck through, and the second we’re fully inside the property line, the last knot between my shoulder blades starts unwinding. Not all the way. I’m not that stupid. But enough that I can finally feel how hard I’ve been holding everything in place for the last six hours.
The clubhouse is lit up ahead, warm gold spilling from the windows, bikes lined up in the lot, a couple trucks parked off to the side, the usual late-night mix of movement and noise still going because this place never really sleeps.
There are men outside smoking, somebody laughing near the front steps, music drifting faintly from inside.
It looks like what it always looks like.
Home.
Chaotic. Loud. Questionable. Armed.
Home.
I pull around to the side where it’ll be easier to unload without half the county getting a full view of what I brought back, but it doesn’t matter as much as I’d like. The second the truck rolls to a stop, I can already feel attention shifting.
Because the club noticed immediately that I did not, in fact, bring back a package.
I brought back one gorgeous mystery woman, one sleeping little girl, and an atmosphere of don’t ask questions unless you want to die.
Hard combo to miss.
By the time I kill the engine, Blaze is already coming around the side of the building with Shadow not far behind, both of them moving with the kind of casual pace that means they’re trying very hard to look like they’re not nosy bastards.
They fail. Spectacularly.
“Jesus,” Blaze mutters when he gets close enough to see through the windshield.
Shadow stops beside him, takes in the passenger seat, the backseat, then me, and lifts one dark brow. “You brought home a family.”
I unbuckle and open the driver’s side door. “You wanna keep talking, or you wanna keep breathing?”
Blaze holds up both hands. “Hey, no judgment. Just…not what I pictured when Logan said pickup.”
“Not what I pictured either.”
That shuts him up for about two seconds. Then he leans slightly to try to see into the passenger side again and says, “She’s—”
I cut him a look sharp enough to make him stop before he finishes the sentence.
His mouth snaps shut.
Good.
Shadow, to his credit, doesn’t push. He just studies me for one long second, probably noticing more than I want him to, then jerks his chin toward the front entrance. “Logan knows?”
“He will in about thirty seconds.”
“Need help?”
I glance back at the truck.
Raven is unbuckling carefully, moving like every joint in her body hurts. Lexi is still asleep, dead weight and bunny and all. The bags are in the back. The last thing I need is a crowd, but I’m not dumb enough to pretend I can do all of it one-handed while keeping things low-key.
“Get Logan,” I tell Shadow. “And tell everybody else to mind their own damn business.”
Shadow’s mouth twitches. “That should go well.”
“Figure it out.”
He nods once and heads inside.
Blaze lingers.
“Blaze.”
“Right. Minding my business.” He backs off with both hands raised like I’ve drawn a weapon on him, which honestly isn’t far from the truth where my patience is concerned tonight.
I circle the front of the truck and open the passenger door before Raven can manage it herself.
She looks up at me, and for half a second she just stays there like she forgot what comes next. Up close, the exhaustion in her face is even worse. She’s beyond tired. She’s running on fumes and stubbornness and whatever thin thread of adrenaline has been holding her upright since Louisiana.
“Hey,” I say, keeping my voice lower than usual because Lexi’s right there and because she looks like if I speak too sharply, she might crack in a way she’ll hate me for noticing. “You with me?”
She blinks once, then nods. “Yeah.”
I don’t fully believe her, but that’s not a fight I need to pick right now. I step back so she can climb down and reach for the rear door before she can try to do everything herself.
The second she sees what I’m doing, she says, “I’ve got her.”
Of course she does. Or at least she thinks she does.
I open the back door and look at Lexi, then back at Raven. “You’ve barely got yourself.”
Her chin lifts immediately, pride kicking in even half-dead on her feet. “I can carry my daughter.”
“I’m sure you can.”
“I can.”
I lean one forearm against the door frame and look at her flatly. “You look like if you sneeze too hard, you’re going face-first into the gravel.”
That gets me a glare. A weak one, but still. “I’m not dropping her,” she says.
“No,” I agree. “You’ll end up dropping both of you.”
Her mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
I keep going before she can find the energy to argue harder. “You can either let me carry the kid and keep enough balance not to eat shit in the parking lot, or you can fight me about it and lose because I’m not watching you break your face after six hours in a truck.”
For one second she just stares at me. Then something in her expression shifts, the fight draining out under the weight of pure exhaustion.
Not surrender. Just practicality finally winning again. It’s becoming a theme.
She exhales and mutters, “You’re kind of an asshole.”
“Yeah,” I say, already reaching in for Lexi. “But I’m useful.”
That, apparently, she can’t argue with.
Lexi stirs when I slide one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, but she doesn’t wake fully. She only makes a sleepy little sound and curls tighter around Bunny, cheek pressing against my shoulder for half a second before she settles again.
I go still. Not outwardly.
Outwardly, I keep moving like this is normal and not weird as hell.
But internally? That little trusting shift of her body lands harder than it should.
She smells like shampoo and sleep and whatever sticky-sweet kid snack she had earlier. She’s warm and heavier than she looks in that boneless sleeping-child way that makes you realize real fast why parents always look like they need ibuprofen.
I adjust her automatically so her head doesn’t knock against my shoulder.
Raven sees it. I can feel her noticing.
That awareness hums weirdly between us for half a second before I break it by nodding toward the building. “Grab her bag.”
She reaches into the back for Lexi’s little backpack while I snag the duffel with my free hand. The whole thing takes maybe ten seconds, but by the time we turn toward the clubhouse, there are already more eyes on us than I’d like.
Too bad for them.
The front door swings open before we even make it up the side path, and Logan steps out with Mac right behind him, Emma on her heels, both women moving fast enough to tell me Shadow did exactly what I told him to.
Good.
Very good, actually.
Because if there is one thing this place can do when it wants to, it’s absorb chaos like it was built for it.