Chapter 7 - Steel #2
As she passes me in the doorway, she murmurs, "Be honest with her. About everything." Then she's gone, leaving me alone with the woman who's somehow become the center of my thoughts in less than a day.
I step into the kitchen, "How are you feeling?" I ask, immediately wanting to kick myself for such a banal question.
"Physically or emotionally?" she counters.
"Both," I reply, taking the seat across from her.
She sighs, her fingers tracing the rim of her coffee mug. "Physically, I'm sore in places I didn't know could be sore. Emotionally, I'm somewhere between mortified, worried sick about James, and confused about... us."
Her blunt honesty catches me off guard. I expected evasion, maybe anger at my absence this morning. Not this forthright assessment.
"I'm sorry about this morning," I offer. "Luna came, and then I had to hide in the bathroom. By the time I got out, you were gone, and I spent the whole morning with Tank."
"It's okay," she says, though her tone suggests it's not entirely okay. "Luna explained how things work here. Club business comes first."
There's no accusation in her voice, just a statement of fact, but it stings nonetheless.
Because she's right. Club business does come first. It's the code I've lived by ever since I joined.
It's the code that's kept us alive through wars with rival clubs, through the bloodbath when Vulture attacked our clubhouse and we killed nearly all his men.
But sitting across from Holly now, seeing the vulnerability behind her composed exterior, I'm not sure I want to live by that code anymore. Not if it means putting her second.
"King's sending us to a safe house," I tell her, changing the subject before I say something I can't take back. "You, me, and your brother. Tonight."
She absorbs this news with remarkable calm. "Because of the Iron Eagles?"
"Yes. Their president, Vulture, has a personal vendetta against our club."
I don't tell her the full story—how King killed Vulture's brother Talon in self-defense five years ago, setting off a blood feud that's already claimed dozens of lives on both sides.
How we thought we'd ended it when we decimated the Eagles during their attack on our clubhouse, only for Vulture to escape, wounded but alive and more vengeful than ever.
"Last night's attack was targeted," I continue. "They knew I'd be at your apartment."
"And they'll try again," she concludes.
I nod. "The safe house is off the grid, about an hour from here. Remote, defensible. We'll stay there while the club deals with Vulture."
"Deals with him?" she asks, her eyes searching mine. "You mean kill him."
It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "Yes."
She doesn't flinch, doesn't recoil in horror at my casual confirmation of planned murder. Instead, she simply nods, accepting this reality with a composure that's both impressive and concerning.
"And James??"
"James needs to understand that talking to cops about club business is a line no one crosses."
She looks down at her coffee. "James told everyone about us. About last night."
"Yes. He was trying to discredit us, make it seem like our judgment was compromised."
"Is it?" she asks softly, finally meeting my eyes again. "Compromised?"
I think of King and Luna, how they found each other during a crisis.
How Tank and Amelia connected when he was protecting her from her abusive ex.
How Beast and Jenny's fake relationship became real during a club emergency.
How Rage found Claire when she was fleeing her Iron Eagles fiancé.
How Torch discovered he was a father when Sidney showed up desperate for help.
Every couple in this club found each other through chaos and danger. Maybe that's just how it works for men like us. We're not made for normal courtships and dating rituals. We find our matches in the fire.
"No," I say firmly. "What happened between us… What I feel for you it's not about the situation. It's about you, Holly."
Her eyes widen slightly, hope flickering in their green depths. "What do you feel for me, exactly?"
It's the question I've been asking myself all day, the one I still don't have a complete answer to. But she deserves honesty, even if it's messy and uncertain.
"I don't know yet," I admit. "It's too new, too intense to label. But I know it's more than just physical. More than just one night."
"I feel the same way. Confused, but certain that there's something here worth exploring."
The simple admission lifts a weight I didn't realize I was carrying. She feels it too. This strange, powerful connection that defies the brevity of our acquaintance.
"The safe house will give us time," I say. "To figure this out, away from the chaos if James can cool down."
"I can't believe he told everyone about... that I was a virgin."
My jaw tightens at the reminder. "Your brother has a talent for making bad situations worse."
"Story of my life," she sighs. "Ever since our parents died, it's been one crisis after another with him. The gambling, the restraining orders from women he's become fixated on, the drinking..."
"You don't have to keep cleaning up his messes," I tell her, reaching across the table to take her hand. "You've done enough."
She looks down at our joined hands. "He's all the family I have left."
"Family is more than blood," I say, thinking of my brothers in the club who became my family when I had no one else. "Sometimes the family we choose is more important than the one we're born into," I continue.
Her fingers tighten around mine, a silent acknowledgment of the weight behind my words. We sit like that for a long moment, connected by touch and shared understanding, the kitchen quiet around us.
Finally, she asks, "When do we leave for this safe house?"
"Nightfall. About four hours from now." I squeeze her hand gently. "Pack light. Just essentials."
"I didn't bring much to begin with," she reminds me with a small smile. "Just what I could grab in thirty seconds."
"This time we're better prepared. The safe house also has supplies, weapons, communication equipment. We'll be okay there until the club handles Vulture."
"And after that?" she asks, the question I've been dreading. "What happens after Vulture is... dealt with?"
It's the future neither of us can see clearly yet, clouded by too many variables—her brother's debt, my commitment to the club, the vast differences in our worlds and experiences.
"One step at a time," I say. "First, we survive. Then we figure out the rest. Together."
She nods, accepting this non-answer with grace. "Together," she repeats, the word a promise and a question all at once.
I rise from my chair, still holding her hand, and come around the table to her side. She looks up at me, her green eyes wide and trusting despite everything she's learned about me and my world.
"Together," I confirm, bending to press my lips to hers in a gentle kiss that somehow feels more intimate than all we shared last night.
When I pull back, the kitchen doorway is no longer empty. James Mercer stands there, watching us with undisguised disgust, his split lip curled in a sneer.
"Isn't this fucking sweet," he spits, his words slurred slightly. "My sister, the club whore."
Before I can react, Holly is on her feet, crossing the space between them with surprising speed. The crack of her palm against his cheek echoes in the kitchen.
"Don't you ever call me that again," she says, her voice deadly quiet. "Not after everything I've sacrificed for you."
James looks stunned, his hand coming up to touch his reddening cheek. I move to Holly's side, ready to intervene if her brother retaliates, but he just stands there, shock gradually giving way to shame.
"We're leaving at sunset," I tell him, my arm settling around Holly's shoulders. "Pack your things. And sober up. Where we're going, you'll need your wits about you."
He nods jerkily, his eyes darting between Holly and me before he turns and disappears down the hallway.
"I've never slapped him before," Holly says quietly, trembling slightly under my arm. "Not once in all these years, no matter what he did."
I pull her closer, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Maybe it was long overdue."
She leans into me, her body fitting against mine like it was designed to be there. "Maybe everything that's happening was long overdue. Maybe I needed my entire life to fall apart to finally start putting it back together the right way."
Her words strike a chord deep within me.
I've been going through the motions for years—fixing bikes, following orders, existing rather than living.
I joined the club after King stood by me during my trouble with the townspeople, grateful for the protection and brotherhood, but never fully embracing the violence that comes with this life.
I've always been the fixer, the mechanic, the one who makes things work rather than the one who breaks them.
Until now. Until Holly. Until I found something—someone—worth fighting for, worth changing for.
"We'll figure it out," I promise, both to her and to myself. "Whatever comes next, we'll face it together."
What I don't say, what I can't bring myself to voice aloud, is the fear that haunts the edges of my newfound hope.
The fear that once she truly knows me… The violence I'm capable of, the blood on my hands, the darkness I keep leashed, she'll realize she deserves better than a broken man trying to build something good from the wreckage of his life.
But looking at her now, feeling her warmth against me, I allow myself to hope.
Because if King found redemption with Luna, if Tank found peace with Amelia, if Beast found tenderness with Jenny, if Rage found purpose with Claire, if Torch found belonging with Sidney and Max, maybe, just maybe, I can find my future with Holly.