Chapter Thirteen
Karlyn
The Silver Shadows’ clubhouse was like most clubhouses.
As soon as I crossed the threshold, the familiar smell of leather, grease, and booze assaulted my nose.
The gathering room was massive, with a scattering of sofas, tables, and chairs, a bar off to the left spanning the length of the wall.
Alcohol lined the wall behind it, with stools placed close to the bar.
Brothers milled around, some watching an enormous flat-screen TV hanging on the wall, while others were just talking amongst themselves.
Posters, pictures and the club’s emblem adorned the back wall, drawing my gaze.
Like I said, it was a typical biker clubhouse. A place I swore I’d never set foot in again, a promise I’d clung to like a life raft after... after everything I’d survived.
Yet here I was, the stale air a suffocating reminder of everything I’d tried to outrun. Indigo and Eros, my two stoic anchors in my turbulent existence, stood by my side, their silent presence a shield in the coming storm.
Standing next to them, I looked about the room when my eyes landed on a familiar face.
Someone I hadn’t seen in years, long before my life irrevocably changed for the worst. It had been so long since I’d last seen him, yet he hadn’t changed a bit.
He was still tall and wide as an oak tree, and yet, he was a friendly face I desperately needed.
He was a ghost from a past I’d meticulously buried, a past tied to secrets that could shatter the fragile peace I’d so painstakingly built.
My heart thudded a frantic, unwelcome rhythm against my ribs.
To acknowledge him would be to invite the old darkness back, to risk exposing what I’d become, a person I barely recognized, and a past I desperately wanted to keep hidden.
But the loneliness, the gnawing emptiness that had become my constant companion, clawed at me.
This man, while a warm welcome, was a sliver of light in the suffocating reminder of a life I couldn’t outrun.
My choice felt like stepping off a cliff, unsure if there was ground below or just more empty air. Walking over to him, my feet felt heavy, each step a betrayal of the new me, yet a desperate plea for the old. I stopped before him and whispered, my words barely forming syllables, “Sebastian?”
Looking down at me, his eyes widened as he grinned. “Karlyn Ingalls? What the fuck are you doing here?”
I smirked. “Long story. How much time do ya have?”
He smiled before lifting me off my feet and spinning me around in his comforting embrace. Hugging him for dear life, I let my fears fade away, as the warmth of his arms provided a stark contrast to the icy dread that had been my constant companion.
Sebastian. He was here. Someone who knew me. Someone who wouldn’t flinch at the whispers of my past, someone who could shield me until I was whole again and reunited with Jackson. But even as I clung to him, a sliver of unease pricked at me. This sanctuary, this moment of peace, felt fragile.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” I whispered as he held me close, my words catching in my throat. “It’s been so long.”
Sebastian was about to reply when we both heard someone yell, “Ravage, wait!”
Spinning around, my eyes widened, and for a breathtaking instant, all the carefully constructed walls I’d built around my heart threatened to crumble.
He was here!
Jackson.
But before my surge of relief could fully bloom, it was choked by a different kind of terror.
Sebastian quickly released me and shoved me behind him as the large man standing next to Jackson tried to grab for him.
Jackson, with a ferocity that both thrilled and horrified me, shook him off and punched the man squarely in the face.
The man stumbled back toward the bar, shouting, “MIMIC!”
Then, he was barreling toward me.
No longer Jackson, but Ravage. His face was a mask of unadulterated fury.
My gut clenched. This wasn’t the gentle protector I remembered, the one who could bring a smile to my face with a single glance.
This was the storm, and I was caught in his path.
A young man, surprisingly agile, rushed toward him, tackling Jackson to the ground.
I thought it odd that, with all the brothers in the club, it was a skinny kid that took on my protector.
It was kind of like watching David and Goliath, only I was positive Goliath would win this round.
Eros and Indigo both leaned against the wall grinning, their amusement a cold echo in the suddenly tense room.
Neither one offered to help Jackson as a wave of nausea washed over me.
They knew this side of him. And they found it entertaining.
“Sebastian, do something.”
Sebastian flinched, his gaze darting from the escalating brawl to my face and then back again.
He slowly shook his head, his movement too deliberate, too calculated.
“Like my balls right where they are, Karlyn. Not getting in the middle of that. I already saw what one Golden Skull could do. I do not want to be on the receiving end of another.” His casual dismissal, the self-preservation in his voice, grated on my nerves.
“Chicken,” I muttered.
“No.” Sebastian smirked, a brittle expression that didn’t reach his eyes. “Smart.”
Turning back, I watched as Jackson and the young kid named Mimic both threw punches as if it were nothing to them, both refusing to back down. Then Ravage picked up Mimic and body slammed him to the floor, holding him down as he punched the kid’s face.
My stomach twisted. I grimaced as Jackson’s punch cut the boy’s face, blood smearing everywhere.
The sight was sickening, visceral. Part of me wanted to scream at Jackson to stop, to rein in the savagery that always threatened to consume him.
Another part, the part that understood his blind rage, a rage that could grip him so tightly, remained silent.
“Fucking do something!” someone shouted.
“Eros, Indigo, fucking now!” a brother shouted angrily, stepping up beside me.
Indigo and Eros both groaned before they lazily moved from where they stood and grabbed Jackson as two others reached for the kid, who was still hopping mad.
Jackson fought their hold, his eyes laser sharp on Sebastian as someone stepped in front of him.
“Calm the fuck down!”
“He fucking touched my woman!” Jackson roared.
The possessiveness in his voice, the raw territoriality, sent a jolt through me.
It was a declaration, a claim. And as much as I chafed against being claimed, against the idea that I belonged to anyone, a part of me, a traitorous, ancient part, felt a strange surge of.
.. something. Protection? Ownership? It was a dizzying, unwanted warmth that warred with my fierce independence.
“He didn’t fucking know she was yours!”
Slipping past Sebastian, who remained a statue of studied indifference, I rushed over to Jackson, stepping in front of the man I loved, placing my hands on his face.
The rough stubble, the tension in his jaw, the wildness in his eyes—they were all familiar.
And like every time before, when he had lost control, he stopped and stilled.
But this time, as I met his gaze, I saw more than just blind rage.
I saw a flicker of shame, a deep-seated regret that he couldn’t control himself.
“He’s a friend. From a long time ago. I didn’t know you were here.
” I stepped in closer, the tremor in my hands betraying my carefully constructed calm.
Jackson’s scent—a raw, intoxicating mix of leather and something deeper, something inherently him—filled my senses, a potent reminder of everything I loved and cherished.
My voice, a fragile thing, barely brushed his ear.
“Please, Jackson. I need you.” My admission clawed at my throat, a confession of desire I usually guarded so fiercely just for him and him alone.
He shrugged off Indigo and Eros, a movement surprisingly fluid for a man in pain, and wrapped his arms around me.
The embrace was tight, possessive, a stark contrast to every other time he cradled me, reverently.
He buried his face in my neck, inhaling my scent deeply, and a shiver of desire traced its way down my spine.
I didn’t know how long we stood there, suspended in that charged silence, when I heard Sebastian’s voice, a placid island in the rising tide of tension.
“Hey, man, I didn’t mean any disrespect.”
Jackson growled, a guttural sound that vibrated through my chest. He slowly lifted his head, his eyes hard, glacial, as he glared at my friend.
The raw possessiveness in his gaze ignited a spark of panic.
This wasn’t just a reunion; it was a territorial claim, and Sebastian, bless his oblivious heart, was squarely in the line of fire.
My stomach twisted. I’d always preached loyalty, but now, faced with Jackson’s primitive rage, my own moral compass spun wildly.
Protect Sebastian? Or appease the beast that was Jackson?
“Jackson,” I whispered, curling myself around him, my hand pressing against his chest, attempting to soothe the beast that warred deep within him and, I realized with a sickening lurch, within myself. It felt like trying to tame a wildfire with a whisper.
“Jingles, get the fuck out of here.” The large man standing in front of us, his face a mask of indifference, shoved Sebastian away. Another brother walked forward, his presence not helping Jackson’s growing hostility.
“King, I called Patch. Bane is taking care of Mimic, though he isn’t happy about it.”
“I’m fine,” Jackson grunted, his voice rough, but the slight wince, the subtle clench of his jaw, told a different story.
“You aren’t fucking fine; you probably tore your fucking stitches again.” The large man glared at Jackson, and that’s when I saw his patch.
King. The president of the Silver Shadows.