Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
RYDER
By morning, Grant Holloway has rewritten the story.
Knuckles plays the news clip on his laptop while I stand behind Elena’s chair, every muscle in my body locked tight.
Grant’s face fills the screen. Perfect hair.
Split lip from where one of his own men probably got sloppy.
Concerned eyes for the cameras. A performance.
“My fiancée is vulnerable,” he says, voice cracking in all the right places. “She’s been manipulated by dangerous people. I only want Elena home safe.”
Elena goes pale. I reach past her and shut the laptop.
“Don’t watch that.”
Her voice is small. “People will believe him.”
“Some will.”
She looks up at me. I won’t lie to her. Not even to make it easier.
“But we only need the right people not to,” I add.
Knuckles swivels in his chair. “Good news is, he’s sloppy when angry. I’ve got footage of him following you out of the bridal suite. Also got emails between his lawyer and some asset manager discussing post-marriage transfers.”
Elena blinks. “You found that overnight?”
Knuckles grins. “I’m adorable and criminally gifted.”
Bishop walks in with two mugs of coffee.
“Lawyer’s coming later. Until then, Elena stays inside.”
She stiffens. I feel it before I see it.
“Elena,” I say.
Her shoulders rise. “I know it’s for safety.”
“But?”
She turns to face us. “I spent years being told where I could go.”
The room goes quiet. Bishop’s expression shifts. Fair.
He nods. “Then let’s say this differently. We advise you not to leave until we know what he’s planning. But nobody here owns your feet.”
Her eyes shine. “Okay.”
I look at Bishop. Respect settles between us. That’s why he’s president. He knows when to command and when not to.
The next two days turn into a strange kind of waiting. Knuckles digs. Bishop meets the lawyer. Beast and the boys patrol. And Elena tries to breathe.
She spends time with Ivy in the common room, sometimes laughing softly at something one of the old ladies says. She sits near windows but not too close. She eats better when people don’t watch her.
I notice everything. That’s the problem.
I know how she takes her tea now, how she flinches at slammed doors but not motorcycle engines, I also see how she hides pain in her feet until she thinks nobody’s looking.
I know she likes wildflowers because Ivy brought in a bunch from the roadside and Elena touched them like they were precious.
Knowing things is dangerous, it leads to wanting and wanting leads to staying. I don’t stay.
Third night, I find her behind the clubhouse near the makeshift range. She’s standing beneath a yellow porch light, staring at the targets.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” I say.
She doesn’t jump. Progress.
“I’m not alone now.”
I stop beside her. She glances at the gun holstered at my side.
“Will you teach me?”
The question hits me harder than expected.
“You want to learn to shoot?”
“I want to stop feeling helpless.”
There’s no answer to that except yes. I set up cans along the fence and place a small handgun in her hands. Her fingers tremble.
“First rule,” I say. “This isn’t power. It’s responsibility.”
She nods seriously. I step behind her, careful not to crowd.
“Feet apart. Shoulders loose.”
Her breath catches when my hand adjusts her grip. I stop instantly.
“You okay?”
“Yes.” Her voice is quiet. “I just… I’m not used to being touched without being afraid first.”
My jaw tightens. “Want me to step back?”
She shakes her head. “No. Stay.”
So I stay. She fires. Misses the can completely. Her cheeks flush. I reload calmly.
“Again.”
By the fifth shot, she clips the edge of one. Her face lights up. Real pride. It nearly puts me on my knees.
“I did it.”
“Yeah, sweetheart. You did.”
That smile. Fuck. I turn away to reset the cans because I need a second.
Behind me, she says, “Ryder?”
“Yeah?”
“Why do they call you that?”
“My road name?”
“Yes.”
I shrug. “Because I never stopped moving.”
“Do you want to?”
The question lands too close to the bone. I look back at her. Under the porch light, with bruises fading and my jacket around her shoulders, she looks like something I could want in a life I don’t know how to have.
“No,” I lie.
Her face falls just slightly. I hate myself for noticing. Before I can fix it, Knuckles comes out the back door.
“Ryder. Bishop needs you.”
His expression tells me it’s bad. Inside, Bishop stands over printed screenshots. Grant’s men. Three confirmed. Two ex-cops. One private security contractor. And a new message sent from Grant’s burner to Elena’s phone.
You made your point. Come back before I start punishing people for helping you.
Elena reads it from behind me. Her voice is barely a whisper.
“He’ll hurt someone because of me.”
I turn to her. “No. He’ll try because of him.”
She doesn’t look convinced. That night, I sit outside her door again. Not because she asks. Because Grant Holloway just threatened my family. And when a man threatens the club, the club answers. But when he threatens Elena? I answer first.