Chapter Eleven
The afternoon sun drenched the ranch in soft, honeyed light.
Festival tents dotted the open pasture, a bright patchwork of pumpkin, sienna, and forest-green awnings rippling in the warm afternoon breeze.
Hand-painted wooden signs gleamed in metallic gold and silver, catching the light as people drifted past. T-shirts swayed on display racks, knitted scarves fluttered like ribbons, and silver rings shaped like skulls and serpents glinted in the sun.
Jars of mountain honey glowed amber beside handmade soaps and candles arranged on weathered tables.
Farther down, Black Hollow Moon’s booth stood draped in soft black fabric, prisms hanging from its frame, scattering tiny sparks of rainbows across jars of herbs and stacked tarot decks.
Smoke rolled steadily from the barbecue pit near the old split-rail fence, drifting into the sweetness of funnel cakes and the buttery scent of popcorn.
Kids darted through the crowd with sticky fingers and cotton-candy smiles, their laughter cutting through the growl of a revving Harley.
Insurgent members stood sentry near the gates, at the beer tents, and around the custom motorcycle display where rows of polished Harleys gleamed like gemstones under the bright sky.
The crowd was a mix: families in flannel and denim, couples sharing trays of nachos, and women in tight jeans and low-cut tops drifting close to the custom bikes, hoping to catch the eye of an outlaw leaning against chrome.
From the stage near the concessions, a local band ripped into a gritty cover of “Crazy Train,” the guitars loud enough to rattle the drink cups.
The beat pulsed through the grounds, rolling across the ranch and echoing against the high mountain peaks.
Casey and Zoe wove through the crowd with Ryan, Zoe’s date from Blue’s Belly, trailing a few steps behind, his pressed khakis and button-down making him look like he’d wandered into the wrong festival.
Even though the Fall Festival welcomed everyone, the thrum of leather and chrome made it obvious whose world they were in.
“There are so many booths here, I don’t know where to start,” Zoe said, practically bouncing beside Casey.
“I want to check out the soaps and candles,” Casey said, letting the warm scent of vanilla and sandalwood drift over her.
Zoe glanced back at Ryan. “I hope he’s okay. I told him this probably wasn’t his scene, but he insisted.”
“How’s it going with him?” Casey asked. “I’ve been too slammed to catch up.”
“It’s going… fine.” Zoe sighed. “He takes me out every night. Nice restaurants, and he pays for everything.”
“It sounds like you’re saving some money.” Casey chuckled. “Do you actually like him?” she said.
“I mean… kind of? He’s sweet. It’s nice not having to split the bill all the time.”
“And…?”
“He’s fine, but a bit… odd.”
“What do you mean?”
Zoe walked closer to her. “He’s weird about the sex stuff, you know?” she whispered.
“Weird how?”
Zoe leaned closer. “He gets really focused on what he’s doing. Like I disappear. It’s… I don’t know. I feel like a prop.”
“That’s not great.” Casey winced. “Are you going to keep seeing him?”
“For now. He’s nice enough. Has a good job, and he likes the same shows I do.” Zoe shrugged. “I’m giving it a chance.”
“See how it goes,” Casey said. “But don’t ignore your gut.”
Zoe didn’t reply. Instead, she guided Casey toward a booth strung with beaded bracelets and Celtic-knot pendants. Ryan hovered nearby, frowning at a group of women posing beside a row of Harleys like they were trying out for a calendar.
The path through the booths was jammed with families juggling corn dogs, couples lingering over T-shirts, the bass from the stage thrumming through the dirt beneath their boots.
Zoe paused at nearly every jewelry table, searching for the perfect bracelet, but Casey’s gaze kept drifting toward the T-shirts, the bike display, the food tents… and the clusters of Insurgent members.
She told herself she was just taking in the festival. But deep down, she knew exactly who she was looking for.
“I love this type of jewelry,” Zoe said, trying on a ring with a Celtic cross design.
Casey picked up a pair of earrings, admiring the craftsmanship, but her eyes continued skimming the crowd, the bikes, the tents.
“This skull bracelet is perfect,” Zoe said, slipping one onto her wrist. “What do you think?”
Snapping her attention back, Casey looked at Zoe’s wrist: skulls with red crystal eyes encrusted a sterling silver bangle.
“I like it,” she said.
Ryan moved closer to them and wrinkled his nose. “Why would you want skulls on your wrist?”
“Because they look cool.” Zoe held up her arm, the red crystal eyes gleamed wickedly in the sunlight. “Wrap it up, please,” she said, handing the bracelet to the vendor.
Minutes later, Zoe looped her arm through Casey’s and pulled her toward the funnel-cake line, as Ryan started off in search of drinks for them.
“I need sugar.” She grinned.
They joined the queue, the warm smell of vanilla and frying batter wrapping around them. Kids darted under elbows, shrieking with laughter. Someone nearby let out a deep, rolling laugh so close to his that Casey’s head jolted up before she could stop herself.
Her gaze swept the crowd.
And then she saw him.
Rags stood near the custom motorcycle display, one hand resting easy on the handlebar of a black Harley, talking to another Insurgent.
That slow, amused half-smile curved at the corner of his mouth—the same one that had messed with her head for days.
The sight of him hit like a jolt straight to her chest.
Zoe elbowed her. “Your sexy biker showed up.”
“Don’t start,” Casey muttered.
“You’re the one staring, girl.”
“Not anymore,” she said, yanking her attention toward the funnel cake stand.
But she could still feel Rags—like heat against her skin from across the festival. She hated that he could do that to her. Hated it… and wanted more.
Ryan returned, oblivious, holding out two paper cups. “Warm apple cider okay?”
“Thanks,” Casey said, steadying her voice even as her fingers trembled. She took a sip, then let her gaze drift back toward the bikes.
Rags was looking straight at her. A lazy, knowing smirk curved his mouth, like he’d been waiting for her to meet his eyes.
Casey tore her gaze away, pulse thudding hard in her throat.
Zoe handed her a torn corner of funnel cake, powdered sugar falling in soft clouds around them. “You good?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Casey lied, taking a bite. “Just hot.”
But it wasn’t the heat.
It was him.
Even from across the grounds she could feel the pull—dangerous, stupid, magnetic. Every instinct told her to keep her distance. Every burned part of her warned her what men like him were capable of.
But her body didn’t seem to care.
Casey wasn’t the type to chase men. Watching her mother fall in and out of love had taught her exactly how that story ended: the waiting, the disappointment, the quiet ache of wanting someone who never stayed.
She’d built armor early: distance, self-reliance, a vow not to let anyone close enough to hurt her.
And then she’d married an outlaw biker.
For a while she’d believed his soft lies wrapped in leather and swagger, believed the canyon rides and tangled nights meant forever. Until the lies piled up: the perfume that wasn’t hers, the late nights, the phone calls that ended the second she answered.
The day she found him in bed with another woman had burned a scar into her she couldn’t pretend wasn’t still there.
So seeing Rags now—feeling that familiar, dangerous pull—set every alarm in her body blaring. He looked like every red flag she’d sworn she’d learned from.
But there was something else too, something bruised and unspoken behind his eyes that tugged at her in ways she didn’t want to admit.
She told herself to stop looking.
But she didn’t.
“Why don’t you just go talk to him?” Zoe said, breaking into Casey’s thoughts.
“I have nothing to say.” Casey nodded toward the Black Hollow Moon booth. “Come on. I want to see if Raven’s helping Curtis.”
“Okay.” Zoe brushed powdered sugar from her lips. “You can pretend all you like, but I know you want to talk to him. I don’t get why you’re playing such a tug of war with yourself.”
“I know the type, that’s all,” Casey said.
Zoe blinked. “What does that mean? Did you used to date a biker?”
“Not just date.” Casey exhaled. “I married one.”
Zoe stopped dead. “You were married? To a biker?” Hurt flickered in her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to dig it all back up,” Casey murmured. “I’ve spent a lot of time and therapy trying to forget.”
“But you haven’t,” Zoe said softly. “You’re comparing—” she snapped her fingers and looked toward the bikes—“what’s his name?”
“Rags.” Her throat tightened around the word.
“That’s it. Rags. You’re comparing him to your ex. But they’re not the same person.”
Casey stared at the ground. “They’re all the same. Outlaw bikers? They all cheat.”
Zoe crossed her arms. “You know that for a fact? You don’t know one guy in a club who was loyal?”
Gunner’s face flashed through Casey’s mind. He was the Rebel Souls MC vice president—a man who was tough, fearless, and wild as sin. But he was also hopelessly devoted to his ol’ lady, Sadie, and their three kids. How had she forgotten him?
“Hello?” Zoe tapped her arm. “Are you listening?”
“I’m listening. And yeah… I know a few good ones. But—”
“There it is,” Zoe said. “So it’s not all of them.”
“More than the majority were like JT,” Casey said. “Liars. Cheaters. Masters at pretending to love you until they don’t.”
Zoe softened. “You’re describing a lot of guys, not just bikers. Look, you can’t judge Rags for JT’s bullshit. I saw how he looked at you at the bar. And how he ignored all those girls who were practically crawling into his lap after you left.”
Casey’s stomach fluttered unwantedly.