Chapter Five #4
Oaks mutters, “Unless he’s actively punching Vale. Then give him a second.”
Sophie glares at him.
“What?” Oaks says. “Timing matters.”
Amelia lets out another shaky laugh, wiping at her cheek.
That laugh is going to be a problem.
A serious one.
It keeps making me feel like I fixed something when I haven’t fixed a damn thing.
She looks at me. “You understand I’m still married.”
I don’t like that.
Not the fact. The way she says it like it’s a stain on her.
“I heard.”
“I’m not looking for a man.”
“Good, because I’m not housebroken.”
Sophie sighs. “Derby.”
“What? That’s important information.”
Amelia’s mouth curves. “You’re really not.”
“No.”
“You’re rude.”
“Frequently.”
“You swear in front of children.”
“Trying to improve.”
“You threatened my husband through a gate.”
“That was restraint.”
This time, the smile reaches her eyes for half a second.
Half a second is enough to knock me stupid.
I recover by crossing my arms and looking meaner. “I’ve also seen your drawers.”
“You also called my underwear attempted-murder panties,” she says.
“Attempted murder granny panties. And they attacked me first.”
“Not on purpose.”
“You don’t know their intentions.” I lick my lips. “They tried to gag me. I can still taste ‘em.”
Amelia’s cheeks turn red as she explains to the room. “Since we are talking about my undies. I don’t wear granny panties. Those are reserved for my time of the month.”
I wipe my mouth.
Oaks loses the fight and laughs out loud.
Sophie presses her fingers to her lips.
Legend looks at the ceiling like he is asking Mike Welles why his possible daughter had to show up with me attached to the mess.
Good question.
The answer is probably because the universe hates all of us.
Amelia’s smile fades, but not all the way. “Okay.”
My body stills. “Okay?”
She nods. “I’ll do it. For now. If it keeps Jeremy uncertain. If it helps me keep August safe. But I’m not trading one man’s control for another man’s protection.”
“No,” I say.
“I mean it.”
“I heard you.”
“If you start ordering me around, I’ll pepper-spray you.”
“That pink thing won’t work on me.”
“I’ll buy a bigger one.”
Whiskey lifts his pen. “Add pepper spray to the morning list.”
Lottie calls from the kitchen, “Already did.”
Amelia startles. “How many people are listening?”
Everyone suddenly looks busy.
I shrug. “Welcome to Hell.”
Sophie pats Amelia’s arm. “Privacy is more of a goal than a guarantee here.”
Amelia looks horrified.
Then tired.
Then almost amused.
Good.
Amused is better than terrified.
Legend steps toward her. “This is temporary. We sort Vale. We sort the blood question. We sort Oregon if it needs sorting. Until then, Derby is on you.”
Her brows lift.
I grin. “Prez, phrasing.”
Legend points at me. “Don’t start.”
“Too late,” Royal murmurs.
Amelia blushes again.
I like it.
I should not.
I do anyway.
Sophie notices because of course she does.
I avoid looking at her.
Amelia folds her arms, mimicking me without realizing it. “If we are pretending, what does that mean tonight?”
“Tonight?” I ask.
“Yes. Jeremy knows I’m here. He may come back with police. Or somebody else. Do I go back upstairs? Do you stand outside? Do we have to…” She swallows. “Perform?”
That word lands wrong.
Perform.
Like marriage was already theater for a man who reviewed her badly every night.
I shake my head. “Tonight, you go upstairs and sleep beside your kid. I sit in the hall. If someone comes, I handle it.”
“I thought we just agreed you don’t order me around.”
“That wasn’t an order. That was a dream I have where you use common sense.”
Her eyes narrow. “You are very annoying.”
“I’ve been told.”
“By women?”
“Mostly by law enforcement.”
Her mouth twitches again.
Sophie says, “Tonight, you rest. Tomorrow, we plan how public this needs to look. The Fire Pit, maybe. Somewhere controlled. Somewhere Jeremy will hear about it.”
Amelia’s smile dies completely. “Public?”
Whiskey nods. “If Vale thinks it’s only something Derby said at the gate, he may dismiss it. If half the town sees you with Derby, it becomes harder for him to claim you are being held against your will.”
“Half the town,” she repeats.
Panic creeps back in.
I hate that I can see it so clearly now.
Maybe I’ve always been able to see fear and just chose not to give a damn unless it came at me with fists.
“You don’t have to make out with me on Main Street,” I say.
Her eyes snap to mine. “I wasn’t worried about that.”
“Liar.”
“I was worried about people staring.”
“They’ll stare.”
“That ain’t comforting.”
“Wasn’t meant to be. It’s just true.”
Sophie steps in, smoother than me because she is better at this. “People in Paradise and Hell stare because they are nosy, bored, and allergic to minding their own business. But they also talk. We can use that.”
Amelia presses a hand to her stomach. “I don’t want August dragged through gossip.”
“He won’t be,” Legend says.
“How can you promise that?”
“Because anyone who gossips about the kid answers to me.”
She studies him.
He means it.
Everyone in the room knows he means it.
Maybe she starts to.
Her shoulders lower a little.
“Okay,” she says again, quieter.
The word feels heavier this time.
Like a contract.
Like a first step over a line none of us can see yet.
August calls from upstairs.
“Mama?”
Amelia turns so fast she nearly trips.
I catch her elbow before I think.
She freezes.
My hand drops immediately.
“Sorry,” I say.
She looks at my hand, then my face.
“No,” she says, breath unsteady. “It’s okay. You startled me.”
“Won’t happen again.”
Something in her eyes softens.
Then August calls again, more frightened. “Mama!”
She rushes for the stairs.
Sophie follows, but Amelia looks back at me from the first step.
Not at Legend.
Not at the room.
At me.
“You’re still sitting in the hall?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Not because he ordered you?”
I glance at Legend, then back at her.
“No,” I say. “Because I said I would.”
She holds my gaze for one second.
Then she nods and runs upstairs to her son.
The room stays quiet after she disappears.
Too quiet.
I turn back around and find every brother looking at me.
“What?”
Oaks grins like a man watching a friend step into quicksand. “Nothing.”
“Say it.”
“Nope.”
Whiskey picks up his glass. “I enjoy living.”
Royal’s smile is the worst of all. “The dinosaur was the first vow.”
“I hate you people,” I say.
Legend steps close enough that only I can hear him. “You sure?”
I look toward the stairs.
No.
Not even close.
“I got it,” I say.
His eyes stay on mine. President to brother. Brother to man he is suddenly trusting with a woman who might be blood.
“You hurt her, I break you.”
I smile without humor. “Fair.”
“You scare her, Sophie breaks you first.”
“That scares me more.”
“As it should.”
He steps back.
That is blessing enough in this place.
I head upstairs. The hallway is dim, the air cooler up here, the noise of the clubhouse dulled by old walls. Amelia’s door is closed. Light glows beneath it. I hear her murmuring to August, soft words I can’t make out.
I set the chair against the wall where I can see the stairs and the door without crowding either. Then I sit.
My jeans are damp. My boots are wet. My mood is worse.
Downstairs, the club starts moving around the new plan. Phones. Watches. Patrols. Whiskey digging. Legend thinking. Sophie probably making another list that will end with me buying a stuffed dinosaur like a damn fool.
Behind the door, August’s crying fades.
Amelia’s voice keeps going a little longer.
Then quiet.
I lean back against the wall and stare at the ceiling.
I’m not her man.
I’m not that kid’s anything.
I’m not trading my Harley for a minivan, not learning school schedules, not playing house with a woman whose life is on fire and whose maybe-brother is my president.
I’m only here because I said I would be.
That is all.
The door opens a crack.
I sit up.
Amelia looks out, hair loose around her face, eyes tired and still too bright.
“He’s asleep,” she whispers.
I nod.
She stays there.
I wait.
She looks down the hall, then at me. “Thank you.”
“You already said that.”
“I’m saying it again.”
“Careful. I’ll get spoiled.”
Her mouth curves, but the smile doesn’t last. “Jeremy won’t stop.”
“I know.”
“He gets worse when he’s embarrassed.”
“I figured.”
“He will try to make me look crazy.”
“Let him try.”
“He’s good at it.”
“I’m better at looking mean.”
That gets a breath of almost-laughter.
Then she looks at the chair. “You really are going to sit there all night?”
“Unless I fall asleep and fall out of it. Then I’ll sit on the floor with less dignity.”
“Does that happen often?”
“Only when shot, drunk, or deeply bored.”
“Are you deeply bored?”
I look at her.
The hallway is quiet. Her son sleeps behind her.
Her husband is somewhere out in the dark making plans.
Legend’s father’s photograph sits downstairs changing the shape of half the club’s future.
And this woman stands in a borrowed shirt, looking at me like she can’t decide whether I’m a threat, a shield, or another mistake waiting to happen.
“No,” I say. “I ain’t bored.”
Her fingers tighten on the edge of the door.
“You meant what you said downstairs?” she asks.
“Which part?”
“The rules.”
I hold her gaze. “Yeah.”
“No touching unless I say.”
“Yeah.”
“No kissing unless I say.”
My body reacts to that sentence like I’m a worse man than I want to be.
I keep still.
“Yeah.”
Her cheeks color, but she doesn’t look away. That is either brave or reckless. Maybe both.
“And if we have to pretend in public?”
“Then you tell me what you can handle before we walk in. Hand-holding. Arm around you. Standing close. Whatever. You say the line, I don’t cross it.”
She studies me for a long second.
“Why are you being decent?” she asks.
“Don’t spread that around.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. I got a reputation.”
Her mouth twitches. “Your reputation survived the granny panties.”
“Barely.”
This time, the smile stays a little longer.
Then she whispers, “I’m scared.”
The words are so quiet I almost don’t catch them.
The honesty hits me harder than any flirtation could.
I lean forward, elbows on my knees, keeping my voice low. “I know.”
“I hate that.”
“I know that too.”
“He always made me feel stupid for being scared.”
“He’s a weak man. Weak men need women scared so they feel big.”
Her eyes shine.
“That sounds like something Sophie would say.”
“Don’t insult me.”
“It was a compliment.”
“Still.”
She laughs softly, then looks back into the room at August. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Good.”
Her head turns back. “Good?”
“Means you ain’t pretending you got it all figured out. People who think they do are dangerous.”
“You think you have it figured out.”
“No. I think everybody else is stupid. Different thing.”
She looks at me like she wants to laugh and cry and sleep for a week.
“Good night, Derby,” she says.
“Night, Amelia No.”
Her mouth softens at the nickname, and I feel that look somewhere I have no business feeling it. Not only in my jeans.
Then she closes the door.
The lock clicks.
I sit there in the dim hallway, listening to the old jail breathe around us, and for the first time in years, I remember being a kid on the other side of a locked door, hoping the man outside would leave before my mother started crying again.
Only now I’m the man outside the door.
And God help me, I plan to stay.