Chapter 7 - Phoenix
What the hell am I doing?
I'm sitting on the floor of a bedroom, talking to a woman I barely know about relationships and possible futures when I don't even know what's happening tomorrow. When the Vipers could show up in an hour or a day and turn everything into chaos and blood and violence.
I shouldn't be here. Shouldn't be alone with Ivy in this small room, talking to her like we're long-lost friends or something more.
Something more.
The thought loops through my mind. She's running from an abusive relationship, traumatized and vulnerable, seeking protection not romance. She's the catalyst for a war that might kill me and everyone I've sworn to protect.
Every rational part of my brain is screaming at me to get up, walk out, and put distance between us before I do something stupid.
But I don't move.
Because sitting here with Ivy, watching the morning light catch in her auburn hair, seeing her eyes brighten when she asks questions, it feels like life. Like living instead of just surviving. Like getting a glimpse of what normal people have, what they take for granted every day.
Connection. Conversation. The simple pleasure of being with someone who makes you forget, even for a moment, about the darkness waiting outside.
I've never had this. Never let myself have it. The string of one-night stands that litter my past were about release, about scratching an itch, nothing more. I'd end things before names were exchanged, before anyone could mistake sex for intimacy.
This is different.
This is dangerous in ways that have nothing to do with bullets and blood.
But it might also be my last chance. My last opportunity to sit with a woman I'm starting to care about, and I am, God help me, I'm already starting to care about her, before the war starts and I'm forced to shut down everything except tactical thinking and survival instinct.
Just for a little while, I want to pretend we're normal people having a normal conversation. Want to imagine there's a world where I could actually pursue this feeling blooming in my chest.
A dream. That's all it is. But for now, before everything goes to hell, I want to hold onto it.
"What would you like to do in the future?" I ask, genuinely curious. "If you could do anything, be anything."
Ivy's expression softens, becomes wistful. "I'd love to be a teacher."
The answer surprises me. I don't know what I expected, something practical, maybe, but the conviction in her voice tells me this is real. A genuine dream, not just a throwaway answer.
"Yeah?" I encourage her to continue.
"My mother was a teacher. Elementary school, second grade.
" Ivy's smile is sad but genuine. "She loved it.
Used to come home every day with stories about her kids, about what they'd learned or said or done.
She'd spend hours preparing lessons, making sure every child felt seen and valued.
I grew up watching her pour her heart into those kids, and I wanted to be exactly like her. "
Her mother is gone, has been for years. But the love in Ivy's voice, the admiration, that's still alive.
"More than just teaching," she continues, "I want to be a positive impact on kids' lives. Want to be the person who makes them feel safe, who encourages their curiosity, who helps them become whoever they're meant to be."
It's a beautiful dream. Pure, selfless, and exactly the kind of thing Ivy would want. She's been hurt, diminished by a man who tried to make her small. Of course she'd want to spend her life making children feel important and valued.
"But now it feels like a dream," she finishes quietly. "Like something that belonged to the person I used to be, not who I am now."
"Our town would love to have a new teacher," I say before I can stop myself. "Millhaven's small. We don't have that many. The elementary school is always looking for good people."
Ivy's smile transforms her face. "Are you telling me you'd like it if I stayed?"
The question catches me off guard. Because yes, that's exactly what I'm saying. I want her to stay. Want her to put down roots here, build a life in this town, become part of the community I've sworn to protect.
Want her close enough that I can see her, talk to her, pretend for stolen moments that there's something between us beyond president and protected.
But I can't say that. Can't confess that I'm already thinking about her in ways that are completely inappropriate given the circumstances.
"I just want what's best for the town," I say instead, keeping my voice neutral. "And you'd be a nice addition."
*Addition.* Like she's a resource, a benefit to the community. Not like she's a woman I'm already half-obsessed with after less than twenty-four hours.
Ivy studies me for a moment, and I wonder if she can see through the deflection. If she knows I'm lying by omission, hiding feelings I have no business having.
"Do you want to sit next to me?" she asks suddenly. "It must suck sitting on that old floor."
Every alarm bell in my head goes off simultaneously.
I should say no. Should keep my distance, maintain appropriate boundaries between us. She's vulnerable, traumatized, looking for safety not whatever this tension crackling between us means.
But right now, I can still be human. Can still want things I shouldn't want, feel things I shouldn't feel. Can still pretend, just for a little while, that I'm a man who gets to sit next to a beautiful woman without the weight of an impending war on his shoulders.
I get up, my body moving before my brain can override the decision. Cross the small distance between the door and the bed.
The bed dips under my weight, and Ivy shifts slightly.
Not away, that's what kills me, that she's not pulling back or putting distance between us.
She's just... there. Present. Comfortable despite everything she's been through, despite having every reason to fear men, to fear closeness, to fear this.
"Are you scared?" I ask her.
"I'm fucking scared," she says, then immediately covers her mouth. "Sorry. I shouldn't… I didn't mean to curse."
I chuckle, the sound surprising me. When was the last time I genuinely laughed?
"I'm a fucking biker, Ivy. I'm used to people saying all kinds of words. You can curse all you want around me."
She relaxes slightly, her hand dropping from her mouth. "Cole hated when I cursed. Said it was unladylike. That I needed to watch my mouth."
Of course he did. Of course Cole tried to control even her language, the words she was allowed to use. Men like him need total dominance, total control over every aspect of their partner's existence.
"Cole was an asshole," I say bluntly. "And you can say whatever the hell you want. You're allowed to have opinions, ask questions, and curse when you're scared. That's called being human."
Ivy's smile is small but genuine. "Thank you."
"I'm scared too," I admit. The confession feels strange in my mouth. I don't usually admit fear. Presidents aren't supposed to be scared, aren't supposed to show weakness. But sitting here with Ivy, I want to be honest. Want her to know she's not alone in this.
"You are?" She sounds surprised.
"Yeah. Not of what might happen to me. I made peace with dying a long time ago. But what might happen to my brothers." I run a hand through my short hair.
I can't finish the sentence. Can't voice the nightmare scenario where I survive and they don't, where I have to bury the men I've sworn to protect.
"They're choosing this," Ivy says. "You said it yourself. They know what's coming, and they're standing anyway. That's not on you."
"They're standing because I'm asking them to. Because they trust me to lead them through this." The weight of it threatens to crush me. "That trust… It's everything. And if I fail them—"
"You won't." Her voice is certain. "I don't know you well, Phoenix, but I know you won't fail them. You'll fight like hell to keep them safe, to keep everyone safe. That's who you are."
I want to believe her. Want to trust that confidence in her voice, that certainty that I'm somehow better than I feel.
"We'll protect each other," I say finally. "That's what brothers do. We stand together, fight together, survive together. It's the only way this works."
"Do you believe there's a world where you'll all survive?" Ivy asks. "Where everyone makes it through this war?"
The question is hard. Honest. The kind of thing most people wouldn't ask because they don't want to hear the answer.
"I have to," I say simply. "Even if the probability is less than one percent. Even if the odds are impossible. I have to believe we'll all walk away from this, because the alternative, imagining my brothers dead, imagining failing them, that's not something I can carry and still function."
Ivy nods slowly, understanding. We're both operating on hope and desperation, both clinging to the belief that somehow, against all logic and probability, things will work out.
We fall quiet, and I can’t help but notice how close we're sitting. Our thighs are almost touching. I can hear her breathing, can see the rise and fall of her chest.
I turn slightly to look at her, and she's already looking at me.
Her green eyes are bright in the morning light, wide and beautiful. I find myself noticing details I shouldn't notice: the smoothness of her pale skin, the way her short auburn hair falls in choppy layers that frame her face perfectly.
Her lips.
God, her lips are plump and pink, slightly parted as she breathes. I watch her tongue dart out, dragging across her bottom lip in a nervous gesture that makes every rational thought evaporate from my brain.
She's not doing it on purpose. I know that. It's just a habit, an unconscious movement. But it looks like an invitation anyway. Looks like pleading to be kissed.
And I want to. God, I want to kiss her so badly that my cock throbs with need. I lean forward slightly, drawn by a force I can't name and don't want to fight.
Ivy doesn't pull away. Doesn't move at all except to tilt her face up slightly, her eyes searching mine.
"Phoenix," she whispers, and my name on her lips destroys the last of my restraint.
I cup her face gently, my thumb brushing across her cheek as I close the distance between us. Her skin is soft under my rough hands, and for a moment I hesitate, aware of every scar on my knuckles, every callus, every mark of violence I carry.
But Ivy leans into my touch, her eyes fluttering closed, and I let myself have this one perfect thing.
When my lips meet hers, the world stops.
It's soft. Gentle. Nothing like the rough, urgent kisses I've had before. This is tender, like I'm holding something precious that might break if I'm not cautious.
Ivy's hand comes up to rest against my chest, right over my heart, and I wonder if she can feel how hard it's pounding.
The kiss lasts only a moment: a breath, a heartbeat, a stolen second of something beautiful in the midst of chaos, before I pull back.
We're both breathing harder, faces still close, and I can see wonder in her green eyes. Like she didn't expect it to feel like that. Like maybe she's been kissed before but never like this, never with passion and the desperate hope that somehow this moment could mean something.
"I shouldn't have—" I start, but she cuts me off.
"Don't." Her voice is soft but firm. "Don't apologize. Don't tell me that was a mistake."
"Ivy—"
"I wanted that," she says. "Have wanted it since you opened the door last night and looked at me like I was a person instead of a problem."
Before I can respond, a knock sounds on the door.
We both pull back, reality crashing in.
"Phoenix?" Judge's voice comes through the wood. "We need you downstairs."
I close my eyes, taking a breath to steady myself. When I open them, Ivy's watching me and expecting me to say something.
"Yeah," I call to Judge. "Be right there."
I stand, putting necessary distance between us. "Stay in the room until I come get you. We don't know when the Vipers might show up, and I need to know you're safe."
She nods. "Okay."
I want to say something else. Want to address what just happened, what that kiss meant. But I don't have the words.
So, I just leave, pulling the door closed behind me. Judge is waiting in the hallway, and the smirk on his face tells me he saw more than I'd like.
"Don't," I warn as we start down the stairs.
"Didn't say anything." But the amusement in his voice is clear.
"Judge—"
"Look, brother, I'm not going to give you shit about it." He stops, turning to face me. "You've spent three years building this club, protecting everyone else, putting yourself last. If you want something good for yourself, there's nothing wrong with that."
"She's too young. Too vulnerable. I'm supposed to be protecting her."
"And you are." Judge's expression is serious now. "But that doesn't mean you can't also care about her. Doesn't mean you have to be alone forever because you think it's what you deserve."
"It's not about what I deserve—"
"Isn't it?" He cuts me off. "You've been punishing yourself for three years for not stopping Demon, for not saving the good men who died. Maybe it's time to stop. Maybe it's time to let yourself have something, even if the timing isn't perfect."
I don't have an answer for that.
"Come on," Judge says, already moving down the stairs. "Brick's waiting. We've got the perimeter secured, cameras up, defensive positions mapped. Time to make sure we're ready for whatever's coming."
I follow him, forcing myself back into president mode. But I can still feel the ghost of that kiss, still see the look in Ivy's eyes.
Judge is right. The timing is terrible. The age gap is real. The circumstances are complicated.
But for that one perfect moment, none of it mattered.
And I'm not sure I can go back to pretending it doesn't exist.