Chapter Four
Remi
I wake up to the low rumble of bikes starting outside and sunlight cutting through the thin curtains.
For a second, I forget where I am, then the smell of leather and motor oil hits me and I remember.
Shadow’s bed.
Not that he was in it. No, he’d left me alone all night, door locked from the inside like he’d ordered, but his presence lingered in the space anyway.
The way his voice had dropped when he told me to get some sleep.
The way he’d stepped close, like he could block out the rest of the world if he wanted to.
God, the nerve of him.
I should still be mad. I am mad. Nobody tells me who I can talk to, especially not a grumpy, bossy biker who thinks glaring counts as conversation.
And yet, every time I think about him cutting in last night, there’s this little fizz low in my stomach I can’t shake.
I hate that I like it. I hate that the memory makes my pulse race a bit faster.
I stretch, burying my face in his pillow before I realise what I’m doing. It smells like him––warm, clean, faintly smoky. It’s ridiculous, but it makes me smile like a giddy teenager.
If I’m honest with myself—and I’m usually not—I do fancy him. Not in the harmless “he’s hot” way. It’s worse than that.
I fancy the way he watches me like he’s trying to work me out. The way he makes me feel noticed, protected, and Lord knows I need that.
Which is exactly why I should keep my distance, because I’ve been around him for less than twenty-four hours and I’m already obsessing.
And it’s clear Shadow’s the kind of man who takes over without asking, and I’ve had enough of men like that to last me a lifetime.
But still . . . the thought of seeing him again today sends another buzz through me, like I’ve had too much coffee.
I groan into the pillow. This has to stop. He is no good for me.
I’m sitting cross-legged on the bed, debating whether I can sneak out without anyone noticing, when there’s a heavy knock on the door.
“Wake up,” Shadow’s voice rumbles through it.
I roll my eyes but get up anyway, opening the door to find him leaning on the frame, arms crossed and his face like thunder.
“Morning, Grumpzilla,” I say with forced enthusiasm.
“Breakfast,” he says, like it’s an order. Then he turns and starts walking without looking back.
I follow, mostly because I don’t actually know the way out of here without retracing every corridor we came through last night. His strides are long and deliberate, like I’m slowing him down just by existing.
We’re halfway to what smells like coffee and bacon when Ragnor appears at the other end of the hall. He grins the second he sees me.
“Remi,” he drawls, strolling over like he’s got all the time in the world. “You’re up early. How was your first night at the clubhouse?”
Before I can answer, Shadow’s hand finds mine. Big, warm, and completely unexpected.“It was great,” Shadow says for me, voice low, his thumb brushing once over my knuckles before tightening just enough to make his point.
Ragnor’s eyes drop to where our hands are joined, and that easy grin of his ticks just a little tighter at the edges.
“Glad to hear it,” he says finally, gaze flicking back up to mine like he’s trying to read something in my face. Shadow doesn’t let go, not even when we reach the dining room and Ragnor falls into step beside me.
Shadow pulls out a chair for me, and I slide into it, almost smirking at his sudden interest in me now Ragnor is around. He sits beside me, and Ragnor takes the seat on my other side.
For a minute, it’s almost nice. Two men leaning in, asking if I want juice or coffee, sliding the toast basket my way. I might even be enjoying it, until I notice one of the club whores approaching.
Sasha sways past like she’s on a runway, manicured nails trailing over the back of Shadow’s chair. As she passes, she rakes them gently over his shoulder then bends just enough to whisper in his ear between us.
“I had a great night,” she purrs, her lips grazing his skin.
It’s quiet, but not quiet enough. I hear every word.
And just like that, the fizz I’d been feeling all morning is replaced with something sharp and sour. He’s a typical man. Why did I think he’d be any different?
I don’t flinch. I don’t glare. Why would I? He’s free and single, just like me. So, I butter my toast and keep my head lowered while I gain some composure.
“Something wrong?” Ragnor asks, leaning closer, his arm resting casually along the back of my chair.
“Not at all,” I say brightly, flashing him the fake smile I save for customers.
Shadow’s fork stills halfway to his mouth, and I feel his dark eyes sliding to me, but I keep my gaze on Ragnor. “So, you were telling me about your bar.”
“Yeah,” Ragnor says, smiling back, though his glance flicks to Shadow as if he can sense the tension thickening between us. “We’re refurbishing it now. Maybe you could come see it sometime.”
“I’d love that,” I reply, ignoring the way Shadow’s jaw ticks. “And I heard you were looking for cleaners?”
“Yeah, we always need good cleaners,” he says, looking slightly confused.
“Great, I need all the extra hours I can get.”
Ragnor’s smile falters. “If you need work, I’ll speak to Axel and see if he minds.” He places his fork down. “But I was more interested in taking you out, maybe for a drink?”
Shadow’s cutlery clatters as he places it down. I feel him close, his nose almost to my ear. “Thought I told you not to get any ideas, barmaid.”
I turn to him, keeping my voice low and sweet. “And I told you I don’t take orders.”
Ragnor chuckles like this is the best breakfast entertainment he’s had in months. “Man, I like her.”
Shadow doesn’t even glance at him. His eyes stay locked on me, and there’s something there—heat, warning, maybe both—that makes my pulse skip.
I break the stare first, going back to my toast like it’s suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. But I can still feel him watching me.
And the worst part? I like it.
Shadow
I know she’s pissed. She’s been quieter since Sasha walked past. She’s all smiles for Ragnor and all cold shoulder for me.
The thing is, nothing even happened last night. I didn’t touch Sasha. Didn’t touch anyone. I slept on the floor of her room, and we watched reruns of some old comedy show Sasha likes. She said it to wind Remi up after their altercation yesterday.
Ragnor is halfway through telling her about his bike when Axel calls him over.
“Need a word,” Axel says.
Ragnor claps my shoulder on his way past like we’re all friends here. We’re not. But in this life, there are rules, and unless someone lays claim to a woman, any biker is free to talk to her, date her . . . fuck her.
The second he’s gone, I lean closer to Remi. “About Sasha––”
“Don’t,” she cuts me off, not even looking at me.
“Nothing happened,” I say anyway. The need for her to understand the truth is overwhelming.
“Like I said, don’t. I’m not bothered.”
My teeth grind. “You are.”
She finally looks at me, her eyes cool and unreadable. “You’re free to shag who you like, Shadow. Even prostitutes, if that’s your thing.”
Before I can answer, Sasha’s voice cuts in from behind me, sharp as broken glass. “Excuse me?”
I turn my head and find her standing there, hands on hips, glaring between us. Great. Just what I need––women’s drama before I’ve even finished breakfast.
“We’re not doing this,” I say firmly.
“I just wanna know why,” Remi demands, suddenly finding her voice. “Why you can lecture me on who I can talk to, but you can go and fu––”
“I’m just trying to save you from making a fool of yourself.
” Her eyes flash with anger, but I keep going.
“You think Ragnor wants to wine and dine you? He’ll use you for sex and move on.
That’s what we do, Remi. We fuck and move on.
But hey, if he’s your bag, have at it. I’m not that fussed . . . I can get cheap pussy anywhere.”
The moment the words leave my mouth, I know I’ve crossed the line. But pride’s a bastard, and I’m already on my feet, shoving my chair back. I grab my kutte from the back of it and stalk out, leaving them both in silence.
I need air.
I need distance.
And I need to work out how the hell I let her get under my skin this bad.
“Pres, can I have a word?” I ask, leaning in Axel’s office doorway.
He looks up. “Sure.”
I head in, closing the door behind me. “Did you do a background search on Remi?”
“You know I do a search on everyone. Why?”
I shrug. “I just wanna know if anything came back.”
He grabs a folder from the edge of his desk and flips it open. “Erm, I haven’t looked through it all yet.”
“I can do that,” I offer a little too eagerly.
He grins, pushing it my way. “Okay.”
I head out and round the back of the club. There’re a few trees, and I slump beneath the nearest and open the file.
Remika Harris. I repeat it over a few times, liking the way it sounds.
I skim through a few police reports from when she was a kid.
Sounds like her mum took a few beatings, and Remi often ended up in emergency foster care.
Colin Nash was the antagonist. I wince as I look over the photographs of her mum bruised and battered, and then I stop on the report of her mum’s death, frowning when I see the word ‘overdose’.
Shit. Remi was just sixteen. I sigh, realising she was left in Colin’s care.
The system is fucked if we’re allowing teenage girls to be raised by abusers.
I glance up when I hear the heavy door open, just as Remi strides across the car park. I stuff the papers away and jog to catch her up. “Sorry,” I say, and she jumps in fright. “I didn’t mean it.”
She turns to me, her eyes hard. “You did.”
I look away. “Yeah, the bit about Ragnor using you. He’s just setting up a club, he ain’t looking for an old lady.”
“And you are?” she challenges, raising a brow.
I frown, her words catching me off guard. “Well, no, but I––”
“Then we’re all good, Shadow.” She continues towards the gate.
“My name’s Logan,” I blurt out, frowning as the words leave my lips. “Wait, where are you going?”
“You aren’t my keeper.”
“I’m just looking out for you.”
She spins to face me, her eyes narrowed in annoyance. “The only person allowed to look out for me is the person I’m fucking, and last time I checked, that’s not you.”
She marches through the gate, and this time, I let her go. She needs time to cool off, and I need to learn some more about her.
I’m not sure how much time passes, but I’m so lost in Remi’s file that I don’t hear Axel calling me until he’s almost reached me.
I glance up in surprise, and he looks amused.
“You okay?” I nod. “I’ve been calling you for the last few minutes.
” I close the file and push to my feet. “You find anything?” he asks as we head back towards the club.
“Not really. Same old story. Shit childhood. She’s running from a bad life.”
“Parents?”
“Mum’s dead. Suicide by overdose. And Colin Nash was the boyfriend who then took over Remi’s care.”
“So, nothing we gotta worry about?”
I shrug. Nothing about Remi’s life sits well with me. She’s had it rough. “I’d like to run a check on Colin Nash.”
“Why?”
“What if he’s looking for her?”
“Then it’s her problem. Unless he causes me a headache, I don’t give a shit why she’s running or who from. Man, she’s just a bar worker.”
“You hired her.”
“Cos I wanted to annoy you,” he says with a smirk. “Now, get into church.”
The rest of the brothers are already in their seats when we step into the room. The low hum of conversation dies down as Axel strides to the head of the table. I take my usual spot a few chairs to his right, the wood creaking beneath me.
Axel grips the gavel, the weight of the room shifting with that single bang against the table.
“Alright. I wanna hear thoughts on the Hell’s now you’ve met ’em.”
Duke leans back, arms folded. “Had a long talk with Ragnor. Man knows his numbers. He’s got plans that’ll stack some serious cash if he pulls even half of it off.”
Axel nods, a slow grin tugging at his mouth. “And in turn, that means stacks for us. Anyone got a problem with that?”
No one speaks up. Heads shake around the table. Even mine. Ragnor rubbed me up the wrong way, hanging all over Remi like she was already his. But I can’t deny it—he came off solid when it came to club business.
Axel raps the table again, cutting off the last of the murmurs.
“Good. Then we’ll move forward with the Hell’s. Now, other club business.” He flips open the worn leather ledger. “First order, shipment outta the docks Friday night. Need a full crew on it. No fuckups. Fletch, you’re running the show.”
Fletch gives a sharp nod. “I’ll have the boys lined up.”
Axel’s gaze shifts. “Second, the prospects have been dragging their heels at the garage. Customer complaints are bad for business. I don’t care if it’s oil changes or rebuilds, the shop keeps us clean on paper. Someone’s gotta light a fire under their backsides.”
Atlas smirks from across the table. “I’ll handle it. Nothing like a little motivation.”
“Good, keep on their arses,” Axel says flatly. He scratches something into the ledger before looking up again.
“Last thing, rival activity. The Steels have been sniffing around. Anyone seen them on our turf?”
A few brothers exchange looks, then Fletch clears his throat. “Caught two of their patches at The Bar last night. Didn’t cause trouble, but they wanted it known they were there.”
A low rumble of voices follows, chairs creaking as tempers flare. My fists clench under the table. Steels don’t “accidentally” wander onto our side.
Axel lets it boil for a second then slams the gavel again. The room snaps quiet.
“Alright. They’re probably just pissed we took their strip club from them.
Speaking of which, the new sign goes up today, and Shadow, I want you with me and Grizz when we go over to talk to the staff later.
In the meantime, let’s keep eyes open. They push, we push back harder.
Until then, no one makes a move without it coming through me. Understood?”
A chorus of “yeah” and “got it” echoes around the table.
Axel leans back, satisfied. “Good. That’s church.”