Chapter 9
NINE
ROOK
I’m still sitting on my bike at the end of the driveway long after Scarlett goes inside. The house lights are warm behind the curtains. I can just make out movement in the living room, probably her parents on the couch like they always are at the end of the night.
Piston and Jenny. I remember the first time I saw them together.
I was seventeen, soaked, starving, and terrified in the passenger seat of Piston’s truck.
He’d just saved my ass from getting arrested for stealing food.
I was waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for him to demand something ugly in return.
Instead he took me home. Jenny had been at the stove making chili. The second she saw me, dirty, bruised, eyes full of suspicion, she didn’t flinch. She just smiled like half-drowned street kids showed up for dinner all the time and said, “Bathroom’s down the hall if you want to clean up.”
And then Scarlett came running in. That little girl with wild hair and Piston’s sharp eyes launched herself at her dad like he hung the moon.
He caught her, hugged her tight, kissed the top of her head, and called her “princess.” I stood there in their living room feeling like an intruder in someone else’s fairytale.
That night I learned what real family looked like.
Piston didn’t just give me a place to sleep.
He gave me structure. Discipline. A cut.
A purpose. He taught me how to be a man instead of the angry, broken kid I was.
He stood between me and my piece-of-shit father when the old man tried to crawl back into my life. He vouched for me when I patched in.
He trusted me with his club. With his brothers. With his daughter.
And tonight I had my hands on her. My mouth on hers. I wanted things I have no right wanting.
I rub a hand down my face, guilt burning like acid in my gut.
Piston didn’t have an easy life either. He’s told me pieces over the years, grew up rough, lost people he loved before the club became his family. Jenny was the one who steadied him. Scarlett was the one who made him soft in a way nothing else could.
He’d die for that girl. He’d kill for her. And I just crossed a line I can never uncross.
I finally start my bike, the rumble low in the quiet night. As I pull away I glance back at the house one last time. Scarlett’s silhouette moves past a window upstairs.
I force myself to look away. She’s off-limits, asshole. Remember that. But even as I ride off into the dark, I already know I’m lying to myself. I’m so fucking screwed.
The sun is barely up when I pull into the fairgrounds, but Scarlett is already there.
She stands in the middle of the growing chaos like she has been running events her whole life. A clipboard rests in one hand, a radio is clipped to her belt, and her ponytail swings as she directs a group of prospects carrying heavy tables.
“Stage area first!” she calls out, voice carrying across the lot. “Then the kids’ zone. If the bounce houses go up before the fencing, I’m going to lose my mind.”
One of the prospects mutters something under his breath. Scarlett plants her hands on her hips and tilts her head.
“You got a problem?” she asks, her voice sweet but sharp.
“No, ma’am,” he replies quickly.
“Good.” She rolls her eyes and walks off to handle something else.
I kill my engine and swing off my bike, trying not to stare.
Fuck, why does she have to look like that?
She is wearing jeans, boots, and an old Iron Reapers tee that clings to her just enough to remind me exactly how she felt pressed against me two weeks ago.
The fabric is slightly damp with early-morning sweat, and every time she moves, I remember the heat of that kiss.
The way her fingers twisted in my shirt.
The little sound she made when I kissed her back.
I am supposed to be on security detail and helping with the bike show area. Instead, I find myself walking toward the main hub like a damn moth to a flame. Keep your distance, asshole. You already crossed one line. Don’t cross another.
Tessa appears at my side a few minutes later, grinning like she already knows every secret I have ever tried to hide.
“Staring again?” she asks.
“Security,” I mutter.
“Uh-huh. Sure.”
Across the field, Scarlett is arguing with a food truck driver. The smell of grilling meat and fried dough drifts on the warm breeze.
“Ten feet to the left,” she says firmly. “If you stay there you’ll block the main walkway. Families with strollers need that space.”
The driver grumbles. Scarlett tilts her head, giving him a sweet but dangerous smile.
“Or I can put you next to the porta-potties,” she adds. “Your choice.”
The guy moves the truck without another word.
I can’t help the small smirk that tugs at my mouth. She’s good at this. Really good. The girl I thought ran away from all of this is standing in the middle of it like she never left. It does dangerous things to my chest.
Later, while I am helping move a heavy speaker, she walks by carrying a box of raffle tickets. We nearly collide near the stage. The scent of her shampoo cuts through the smell of dust and barbecue.
“Sorry,” she says quickly, stepping back.
Our eyes meet. The air between us goes thick and electric.
“You need a hand with that?” I ask, nodding at the box.
“I’ve got it.”
But I reach out anyway. Our fingers brush as I take the box from her. We both freeze. Her skin is warm. My pulse kicks up hard. One touch and I’m right back in that room with her. This is going to kill me.
“Thanks,” she mutters, letting go fast.
“No problem.”
She turns and walks away, but not before I see the flush creep up her neck. She feels it too. I know she does.
By mid-morning the fairgrounds are filling up fast. Families pour in, kids squealing as they run toward the bounce houses and petting zoo.
The distant rumble of engines and the sharp scent of exhaust mix with the sweet smell of cotton candy and funnel cake.
The bike show area is packed, members showing off custom rides, doing slow rolls and occasional burnouts for the cheering crowd.
Scarlett organizes a kids’ bike parade. She rides slow with the little ones on her own bike, laughing when one of the smaller kids wobbles. She looks so natural with them, waving and cheering them on like it is the easiest thing in the world.
I watch from the side, arms crossed. How the hell did I ever think she was just some spoiled princess? She’s right in the middle of all this chaos and she’s making it work. She belongs here. Something tightens in my chest.
She catches me staring again. This time she doesn’t look away immediately. For a few long seconds we just hold eye contact across the field. Then she gives me a small, almost shy smile before turning back to the kids.
Fuck. I’m in so much trouble.
The afternoon brings the main events. Scarlett steps up onto the stage, mic in hand. The crowd quiets surprisingly fast.
“Hey everyone,” she starts, her voice warm and steady over the speakers.
“Thank you for coming out today. This is for the kids at Jackson Memorial Hospital, the ones fighting every single day. A lot of you know my family has been part of the Iron Reapers for a long time. We believe in taking care of our own… and today, these kids are ours too.”
She smiles, a real one that lights up her whole face.
“So open those wallets, enjoy the food and the bikes, and let’s make sure no kid has to fight alone. Thank you.”
The applause is loud and immediate. People start lining up at the donation tents right away.
I watch her step off the stage. Tessa, Hadley, and Erica immediately swarm her. Tessa throws an arm around her shoulders.
“You killed that speech, General Scarlett!”
Hadley grins. “Seriously. You’re a natural.”
Erica nudges her. “Proud of you, girl.”
Scarlett laughs, looking a little embarrassed but genuinely happy. “Thanks. I couldn’t have done it without you guys.”
Tessa leans in, voice dropping conspiratorially. “So… you gonna tell us what’s going on with you and a certain tall, grumpy biker who’s been staring at you all day?”
Scarlett’s face goes bright red. “Tessa!”
“What? We’re not blind.”
I turn away before they catch me listening, jaw tight. They have no idea how bad it really is.
The day keeps rolling. A vendor has a scheduling mix-up.
Scarlett fixes it with two quick phone calls and that same calm smile.
A little kid gets overwhelmed at the petting zoo and starts crying.
Scarlett kneels down right there in the dirt, talks to him gently, and walks him back to his parents with a stuffed animal from one of the booths.
Every time I see her handle something, another crack forms in the version of her I had built in my head. She’s not who I thought she was. She’s so much more.
By late afternoon the donation totals are already blowing past expectations. The air is thick with the smell of barbecue and sunscreen. I am helping break down one of the side tents when she walks over, wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand.
“You need help with that?” she asks.
I almost say no. Instead I nod.
We work in silence for a few minutes, folding metal frames and stacking them. Our arms brush once. We both tense at the contact. One brush and I’m right back there. Wanting things I have no right to want.
“You were right,” I say quietly, not looking at her. “I had you pegged wrong. I thought you were just some spoiled princess who forgot where she came from. But watching you today… you belong here. You’re damn good at this.”
Scarlett pauses, hands still on the frame. She looks up at me.
“Thanks,” she says softly. “That means more than you probably know.”
We stand there for a long moment, the sounds of the event winding down around us. The kiss from two weeks ago hangs between us like a live wire.
A tall, clean-cut guy in a button-down shirt and slacks, the kind of man who looks like he belongs in a country club, not a biker charity event, keeps hovering near her. He is one of the bigger sponsors, a local businessman named Ryan Caldwell. I saw his name on the donor list earlier.
He smiles too much. Laughs too loud at everything she says.
I am helping secure one of the vendor tents when I see him approach her again near the raffle table.
“Scarlett, this is incredible,” Ryan says, flashing a perfect white smile. “You really turned this around. I’d love to talk more about how you managed the logistics. Maybe over dinner sometime?”
Scarlett gives him a polite smile. “I appreciate that, but I’m pretty tied up with the club right now.”
Ryan doesn’t take the hint. He leans against the table, closer than necessary. “Come on. One dinner. You deserve to celebrate after pulling this off. I know a great place downtown.”
I grip the tent pole so hard the metal creaks under my fingers. Back the fuck off.
Scarlett’s smile tightens. “Really, I’m good. Thank you though.”
I step forward before I can stop myself.
“Everything okay over here?” I ask, voice low and flat.
Ryan looks me up and down, taking in the cut, the tattoos, the way I am standing like I have every right to be there. His smile falters for half a second.
“Just congratulating Scarlett on a job well done,” he says.
Scarlett glances between us, tension clear on her face. “We’re fine, Rook.”
Ryan tries one more time. “Seriously, Scarlett. Think about it. You look like you could use a night off.”
I take another step closer, voice dropping dangerously. “She said she’s good.”
Ryan finally backs off, hands up. “Alright. Message received.” He gives Scarlett one last lingering smile. “Call me if you change your mind.”
He walks away. Scarlett lets out a slow breath.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she says quietly.
“I know.”
We stand there for a moment. The air between us crackles with everything unsaid.
“You jealous, Rook?” she asks, a hint of challenge in her voice.
I meet her eyes. “Yeah. Maybe I am.”
Her breath catches. For a second neither of us moves. The noise of the event fades into the background. It is just her and me and everything we are not saying.
Then someone calls her name from across the field. Scarlett startles and steps back.
“I should go,” she whispers.
“Yeah.”
She walks away fast. I stay there, heart pounding, fists clenched at my sides.
The rest of the day passes in a blur of successful chaos. By sunset the donation totals are blowing past expectations. Scarlett looks exhausted but glowing as she helps break down the last tables with the girls.
I keep my distance. But I can’t stop watching her, and I don’t know how much longer I can pretend I don’t want her.