Chapter 4 #2
Spur clears his throat. "Easy, brother. Banshee's just making conversation. No judgment here." He glances at me, expression softer. "Doc's a good woman. Anyone can see that."
"Damn right she is." Shadow's possessive edge is clear now.
Banshee's grin fades slightly.
He exchanges a look with Spur, and something unspoken passes between them.
"Heard you were asking Rogue to run plates yesterday," Spur says, changing the subject. "Something going on we should know about?"
Shadow hesitates.
I can feel the tension in his body, the war between keeping me safe and keeping club secrets.
"Just checking on something," he finally says.
"Something to do with Doc?" Spur presses.
Shadow's jaw ticks. "Maybe."
Spur nods slowly, like he's putting pieces together. "You need backup, you say the word."
"I'll handle it."
"Alone?" Banshee's tone is sharper now. "Or are you planning to keep secrets from the club?"
"I'm planning to protect what's mine." Shadow's voice is steel. "However I need to."
The brothers exchange another look.
Finally, Spur stands, clapping Shadow on the shoulder. "Just remember, brother. Club's got your back. Whatever you're dealing with, you don't have to do it alone."
Banshee slides out of the booth too, but not before giving me a small nod. "Doc. Take care."
They leave, and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.
"They know," I whisper.
"Yeah." Shadow brings my hand to his lips, presses a kiss to my knuckles. "They know."
"They're going to tell my father."
"Maybe. Or maybe they'll give me a chance to tell him myself." He meets my eyes. "Either way, it's happening. You okay with that?"
Am I?
My father finding out about us, about Shadow and me, about everything we've been hiding for all of two days?
"I don't have a choice," I say quietly.
"You always have a choice, Grace." His voice is gentle but firm. "You can walk away right now. End this before it gets complicated."
I stare at him.
At this man who's upended my entire world in forty-eight hours.
Who makes me feel safe and desired and claimed in ways I never thought I'd want again.
"I don't want to walk away."
His smile is slow and devastating. "Good. Because I wasn't letting you go anyway."
The afternoon passes in a blur of appointments.
Shadow stays close, helping where he can, watching when he can't.
Every time I look up, he's there. Solid. Steady. Mine.
By the time I finish with my last client, the sun is setting and exhaustion is pulling at me.
I lock up the clinic, grab my bag, and head out to my truck.
That's when I see it.
Another note on my windshield.
My hands start shaking before I even reach for it.
Shadow appears at my side instantly, taking the paper before I can.
He unfolds it, and I watch his jaw clench.
"What does it say?"
He shows me.
THREE DAYS. RETURN WHAT WAS STOLEN OR WE TAKE WHAT WE'RE OWED. - CK
The blood drains from my face. "Three days. They're giving us a deadline."
"Yeah." Shadow's voice is cold. Controlled. But I can see the rage simmering beneath. "They are."
"What does 'return what was stolen' mean?"
"The four million. Or you. Maybe both."
My knees go weak, and Shadow catches me, pulls me against his chest.
"Hey. Look at me." He tilts my face up. "I'm not letting anyone take you. You hear me?"
"What are we going to do?"
"I'm going to talk to Phantom. Tomorrow. Tell him about the threat." He pauses. "And about us."
The fear that spikes through me must show on my face because Shadow's expression softens.
"I know you're not ready. But we're out of time, darlin'. If the Copperhead Kings are coming for you, the club needs to know. Phantom needs to know."
I nod, even though everything in me is screaming to run.
To hide. To pretend this isn't happening.
"Tonight," Shadow says, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Tonight you're coming to my place. We'll deal with everything else tomorrow."
I follow Shadow's bike through the darkening evening, my truck loaded with an overnight bag and Charlie in the passenger seat.
My heart is pounding, and I don't know if it's fear or anticipation or both.
Shadow's cabin sits on the far edge of Sharp Shooter property, tucked into a grove of oak trees.
It's small—maybe a thousand square feet—but well-maintained.
The exterior is weathered wood, the porch neat and swept.
He waits while I park, then helps me with my bag.
Charlie hops out, immediately sniffing around the new territory.
"She's been here before?" I ask, watching my dog explore like she owns the place.
"A few times. When I was watching your place, I'd bring her over sometimes. Let her run." He opens the door. "She knows it's safe here."
I step inside and stop.
It's... not what I expected.
Clean. Organized. Almost military in its neatness.
A simple couch and coffee table in the living room.
Small kitchen with everything in its place.
A bookshelf against one wall—actual books, not just motorcycle magazines.
On the kitchen counter, there's already a water bowl set out. For Charlie.
"You planned this," I say quietly.
"Hoped." Shadow sets my bag down. "Hoped you'd say yes."
I move through the space, taking in the details.
His cut hanging on a hook by the door.
A framed photograph on the shelf—him with other club members, everyone smiling.
A worn paperback on the side table, some thriller novel.
"It's nice," I tell him. "Your place. It's... you."
"Yeah?" He comes up behind me, hands settling on my hips. "What's me about it?"
"Controlled. Careful. But with things you care about." I turn in his arms. "The books. The photo. Charlie's bowl."
His smile is soft. "Observant."
"I'm learning you." I slide my arms around his neck. "Trying to, anyway."
"Take all the time you need, darlin'. I'm not going anywhere."
We stand there for a moment, just holding each other. Then my stomach growls, and Shadow laughs.
"Come on. Let's feed you."
Shadow cooks—actual cooking, not just heating something up.
He grills steaks on the small deck out back while I make a salad and set the table.
We move around each other easily, like we've done this a hundred times before.
We eat outside as the stars come out, Charlie settled at our feet.
The air is warm and still, crickets singing in the darkness.
"This is nice," I say softly. "Feels... normal."
"We can have normal." Shadow reaches across the table, takes my hand. "Between all the chaos, we can have this."
I want to believe him.
Want to believe we can build something real in the middle of all this danger and secrecy and threat.
But tomorrow he's telling my father.
Tomorrow everything changes.
"Hey." Shadow squeezes my hand. "Where'd you go?"
"Just thinking about tomorrow."
"Don't." He stands, pulls me up with him. "Tomorrow I'll deal with Phantom. Tomorrow we'll handle the threat. Tomorrow the club gets involved."
He backs me against the deck railing, his body pressing into mine.
"But tonight?" His voice drops, rough and wanting. "Tonight you're mine. Just mine. No club. No threats. No one else."
My breath catches. "Shadow—"
"Been thinking about this all day." His mouth finds my neck, teeth grazing the marks he left. "Getting you alone. In my space. In my bed."
"We should talk about my dad—"
"Tomorrow." He kisses me, deep and claiming. "Tomorrow I'll talk to him. Tell him everything. But tonight..."
His hands slide under my shirt, finding bare skin.
"Tonight I'm going to take you to bed and remind you exactly who you belong to."
Heat floods through me, want and need tangling together. "Shadow—"
"Bedroom. Now."
He takes my hand, leads me inside.
Charlie settles on the couch with one of her toys, content.
And as Shadow's bedroom door closes behind us, his hands already pulling at my clothes, I let everything else fall away.
Tomorrow we face my father. Tomorrow we deal with the threat.
But tonight?
Tonight I'm his.