Chapter Five
Willa
I wanted to prove that I was still the woman who’d walked away at dawn, who’d made her choices and lived with the consequences, who hadn’t needed anyone -- but here I was, standing in Nitro’s kitchen with his handwriting on the refrigerator and my bag still half-unpacked in the bedroom.
The morning had blown up exactly as I’d expected -- rules I didn’t want, the word “protection” thrown at me like a weapon, his face set in the same unreadable lines that had made me follow him down that hallway four months ago.
Now the house was quiet, Nitro gone to wherever he went when he wasn’t watching me, and my shoulders ached from the careful, contained way I’d been holding myself since I’d walked through the gate two days ago.
I’d changed into the cleanest of my limited options -- jeans with a stretched-out waistband, a T-shirt that hung loose around the middle -- and was halfway through making a cup of tea when someone knocked at the front door. Not the tentative tap of someone uncertain, but three firm, measured raps.
My shoulders went up automatically, tension returning to my neck. I wasn’t expecting anyone. The club knew I was here, but none of them had made a move to cross the threshold.
The knock came again -- not faster, not more insistent, but definitely not going away.
I set the mug down and went to the door, one hand automatically going to my stomach.
Not in protection -- though God knew I’d learned to be careful -- but because it was becoming a habit, the awareness of my body I’d carried since the first positive test. I opened the door without looking through the peephole first, a mistake I’d have made a point not to make anywhere but here.
Three women stood on the threshold, arranged in a loose half-circle with the confidence of people who’d done this exact thing more times than they could count.
The one in front was slender, her dark hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, her expression calm and unhurried.
Behind her, a shorter woman with black hair and striking blue eyes cocked one hip and took me in with a single, efficient glance, a thermos tucked under her arm and a look that suggested she was already three steps into whatever conversation we were about to have.
The third woman held a paper bag that smelled like cinnamon and sugar, her smile immediate and genuine, like she’d been looking forward to this moment all day.
None of them waited to be invited in.
The slender woman stepped forward first. “We wanted to come before the rest of the women descended on you all at once.”
I stood, my back to the open door, as the second woman brushed past me and went straight to the kitchen. She moved with the confidence of someone who knew exactly where she was going, setting the thermos on the counter and opening cabinets until she found the mugs.
“We’ve been waiting on you, girl,” she said, her voice pitched to carry over the sound of running water as she rinsed one of Nitro’s coffee cups. “Figured you’d had enough of Nitro for one morning.”
The third woman followed. She looked up at me with a grin that was completely without agenda, genuine in a way that made something in my chest tighten. “We’re not here to overwhelm you. We just didn’t want you to think you were doing this alone.”
I watched wordlessly, my jaw slightly loose, and watched these three women rearrange my kitchen with the easy familiarity of people who’d done this exact thing a hundred times.
They moved around each other without speaking, passing the thermos between them, talking about grocery runs and doctor visits and whether the curtains let in enough light without once acknowledging that I was standing two feet away with an entire argument dying on my tongue.
My shoulders felt different -- lighter somehow.
“Your name’s Willa, right?” The woman held out a mug of what smelled like tea -- not the bag I’d been about to use but something stronger, with honey and lemon cutting the edge.
“I’m Lyssa. That’s Whisper.” She nodded toward the slender woman, who was now washing the dish that had been in the sink since yesterday. “And Cheri.”
“Nitro mentioned --” I stopped, suddenly aware of how that sounded. Like I’d asked about them. Like I’d been curious. Like I’d wanted to know who I might be dealing with if I stayed.
Cheri grinned. “I’d be disappointed if he hadn’t. We’re kind of a package deal. The men run the club. We run everything else.”
Whisper turned from the sink, wiping her hands on a dish towel I hadn’t known existed. “Nitro’s at the garage. He’ll be there until dinner.” She paused, her gaze meeting mine with directness. “He told us to give you space. We decided space was the last thing you needed.”
I surveyed in my borrowed living room with my borrowed life and felt something inside me give way just a little.
These women -- these strangers -- had walked into a house that wasn’t mine, had brought food I hadn’t asked for, had made tea and opened windows and moved through the space like they belonged there, and somehow, impossibly, had made me feel like I did too.
It was a lot to take in. I watched them move around the kitchen -- Lyssa pouring tea, Cheri setting out cookies, Whisper finding plates in a cabinet I hadn’t opened yet -- and tried to find my footing.
Just the other day, I’d been a woman with a chip on her shoulder and nowhere else to go.
Now I was standing in a kitchen that smelled like cinnamon and the warmth of women who’d decided I was one of them.
The scent of the goodies they brought made my stomach twist with sudden hunger.
“You don’t have to feed me,” I said. “I’m not -- I can make my own lunch.”
Lyssa looked up from the counter, her eyebrow raised. “Honey, that’s not what this is about.”
“It’s about welcome,” Whisper said. “It’s about knowing you’re part of a family.”
“It’s about chocolate chip cookies,” Cheri added, holding up the plate she’d just arranged. “Because sometimes that’s really all it takes.”
I looked at the three of them -- these women who’d walked into a house that wasn’t mine with the absolute certainty that they belonged there -- and felt the careful defenses I’d built begin, just barely, to slip.
They moved to the living room -- Lyssa carrying the thermos, Cheri with the plate of cookies balanced on one palm, Whisper following with a stack of napkins she’d found in a drawer.
I trailed behind them, my tea mug warm between my palms, my body still caught between fight and flight with nowhere to run.
The living room looked different with them in it -- smaller somehow, the distance I’d been keeping between myself and everything in Nitro’s house suddenly impossible to maintain.
Lyssa set the thermos on the coffee table and dropped onto the couch with a fluid grace.
Cheri followed, arranging the cookies in a neat circle before taking the armchair.
Whisper sat at the far end of the couch, leaving the middle cushion empty -- an invitation rather than a command.
I took it. Not because I was ready to -- because the alternative was to stand in the doorway like a stranger in my own borrowed living room, and my pride had already taken enough hits for one day.
“So,” Lyssa said, pouring more tea into her cup without looking at it, “how much did Nitro fuck up the welcome?”
The question landed between us -- direct, unexpected, with an edge of knowing humor that made something in my chest tighten. I blinked at her, the tea mug halfway to my mouth. “What?”
“He has a particular approach,” Whisper said, her voice calm. “Rules. Structure. Control.” She took a sip of her tea, her gaze on mine over the rim of the cup. “It’s how he handles things he cares about.”
I set my mug down carefully, watching the liquid slosh near the edge.
“He made a list. House rules. For my ‘protection.’” I made air quotes with my fingers, the gesture sharper than I’d intended.
“No leaving the compound alone. No skipping meals. No missing doctor appointments. Check in if I go anywhere on the property.” I looked up, meeting three gazes in turn. “Like I’m a child. Or a prisoner.”
Cheri laughed -- not the careful, polite sound people make when they’re trying not to offend, but a genuine burst of amusement that seemed to surprise even her.
“Oh, honey,” she said, wiping at the corner of her eye.
“Men like ours show love through control. It’s annoying as hell, but it’s how they keep the world from falling apart. ”
“Your first week is the worst,” Whisper said, setting her mug down with a soft clink.
“The compound feels like a foreign country with its own language and rules. Everything’s different -- the way people talk, the way they move, the way they look at you when they think you’re not paying attention.
” She looked at me, her gaze steady. “For some it’s worse than others.
In my case, I grew up here. Brick is my dad.
With Lyssa, she came from another MC, so she was used to bikers already. ”
“What stopped any of you from just walking away?” I asked.
Whisper almost smiled -- a quick movement at the corner of her mouth.
“I realized I didn’t want to. The women at the clubhouse made things difficult at first. But I had the support of the old ladies here.
They showed up my second day with food and advice and the brand of honesty that cuts through bullshit.
They didn’t ask if I was staying. They talked to me like I already was. ”
Lyssa snorted, reaching for a cookie. “Don’t let her pretty it up.
My old man, Beast, was the most impossible man I’d ever met.
Stubborn. Controlling. So sure he was right he couldn’t see anything else.
” She took a bite of the cookie, chewed, swallowed.
“I still chose him. That’s the part that matters.
Not that he claimed me. That I chose him back. ”