Chapter 10
Sadie
By the time Kane’s bike pulls into the clubhouse parking lot, I’m already questioning every decision that led me here, including, but not limited to sleeping with a biker after accidentally sexting him for a week, and agreeing to visit a motorcycle clubhouse with my four-year-old.
The gravel crunches under my tires as I pull in behind Kane.
I pause for a moment, contemplating turning back around, before killing the engine.
Owen practically vibrates with excitement in the backseat.
“Mommy,” he whispers loudly, fingers pressed against the window as he stares out. “This is awesome.”
I smile despite myself; his joy is so palpable it’s hard not to. I climb out and walk to the back to let Owen out. He tries to unbuckle his seatbelt, wriggling so much it’s almost impossible.
I glance up at the building uncertainly.
It’s not what I expected. Not even close.
I’d pictured something dark, grimy, and vaguely criminal.
Smoke-filled and dangerous. Instead, the clubhouse looks weirdly normal.
There’s rustic wood siding and a large outdoor patio.
Conversation drifts outside through open windows, and I can hear the rev of engines somewhere out back.
There’s even a painted sign advertising wings, beer, and live music on Fridays.
It honestly looks more like a Southern bar and grill than some terrifying outlaw headquarters.
The smell of barbecue and fried food wafts through the warm mid-morning air while rock music plays from outdoor speakers.
Strings of patio lights glow overhead, casting warm amber light across picnic tables scattered around the property.
To my complete shock, children are playing around the side of the building.
I blink. A little swing set sits near a fenced, grassy area where three kids chase each other, while a woman in a leather vest drinks wine beside a fire pit.
“What…” I say slowly.
Kane smirks beside me like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. “Disappointed?”
“A little.”
His laugh rumbles low in his chest. “Thought we sacrificed goats out back?”
“I was at least expecting a knife fight.”
He smiles, a slow, mischievous grin. “Tuesday nights only.”
I snort before I can stop myself.
Owen is fidgeting excitedly. He tugs on my hand. “Can I play on the swings?”
I glance at Kane, and he nods.
“Okay, but be careful.” He races off, his little sneakers hitting the ground fast. “Slow down,” I call automatically.
Kane catches the back of Owen’s shirt before he can sprint into the parking lot. “Easy, tornado.”
Owen beams up at him. The sight does something strange to my chest again. Somehow, Kane already handles Owen naturally, easily, as if he’s always known him, which makes absolutely no sense.
Kane glances toward the playground area. “Go ahead. Stay where we can see you.”
Owen tears off immediately. I watch anxiously while he runs toward the swings.
The group of women sitting nearby automatically smiles at him.
One even pushes an empty swing toward him without hesitation.
The natural ease and acceptance are the same as at any playground.
Owen begins chattering away, making friends with the other children.
Kane watches my expression carefully. “Told you.”
I cross my arms defensively. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Annoyingly smug man.
The closer we get to the clubhouse doors, the more nervous I become.
Music spills out louder from inside, alongside the sounds of conversation, laughter, and pool balls clinking together.
Kane rests a hand lightly against my lower back as we walk in.
The touch shouldn’t affect me as much as it does, after last night, every small contact feels loaded now.
Inside, the clubhouse is warm and loud. It might smell of beer and leather, but nothing you wouldn’t get in any sports bar.
It’s not filthy, dark, or menacing. It has a lived-in, welcoming atmosphere.
The walls are covered in framed photos, club patches, old concert posters, and motorcycle parts mounted like art.
A long, polished wooden bar stretches across one side of the room, while people crowd around the pool tables near the back.
Honestly? I’ve been in trendier Nashville bars with worse vibes.
Kane notices me looking around. “Still expecting the human trafficking dungeon?”
“I hate that you can read my face.”
He grins. Then his expression shifts slightly as he looks toward the back corner of the room.
Three men sit around one of the tables near the bar.
The second they look up, I immediately feel exposed.
I don’t feel threatened, just acutely aware of how outnumbered I am.
All three men look at me with immediate recognition, like they already know exactly who I am.
The blond one grins first. He’s dangerously handsome in an effortless, reckless way that should honestly be illegal.
His hair falls messily across his forehead, showcasing bright blue eyes full of amusement.
His tattooed forearms stretch along the back of his chair, as if he owns the room.
I can already tell that he’s cocky yet charming, the kind of man who absolutely knows that women are staring at him.
Next to him sits a broader man dressed in dark jeans and a fitted black Henley that stretches across solid shoulders.
He’s older than the others, maybe, with a smattering of gray in his dark hair and well-trimmed beard.
His striking hazel eyes survey me closely, thoughtfully.
Controlled is the word that comes to mind.
Then there’s the scarred one. I can’t help but notice the scar first. It cuts across his chiseled jawline up close to his deep-set gray eyes.
He, too, is broad, muscular, with several tattoos, though Kane has the most. His dark hair is slightly too long around the collar.
His oil-stained fingers are wrapped loosely around a beer bottle.
He doesn’t smile like the others. He just watches me, steady and observant.
The intensity of his gaze makes heat creep slowly up my neck.
Kane notices me noticing them and looks smug about it, which only irritates me because apparently, bikers are annoyingly attractive now.
The blond one grins wider as we approach. “Well damn,” he drawls. “Trigger brought her in.”
I blink, taking a second to process who he means, then turn to look at Kane. “Trigger?” I ask, cocking a brow.
The blond guy bursts out laughing. The scarred one lowers his head slightly, as if he’s hiding a smile. Even the broad-shouldered one’s mouth twitches.
Kane narrows his eyes at me. “You got something to say, sweetheart?”
I bite my lip to keep from laughing. “Your biker name is Trigger?”
The blond one outright loses it. “I knew you wouldn’t have introduced yourself as Trigger.” He holds out his hand, and the others reluctantly hand over some cash, which he pockets triumphantly.
Kane mutters, “I’m surrounded by assholes.”
“It sounds like the world’s most concerning cowboy stripper name,” I admit.
The blond man nearly chokes on his beer. The scarred one laughs softly under his breath.
Meanwhile, Kane pretends to be deeply offended. “Cute,” he says flatly.
“It is kinda sexy though,” the blond one offers helpfully.
Kane points at him. “You’re done talking.”
The blond guy grins shamelessly before standing and holding out his hand toward me. “I’m Dash.” His grip is warm and firm; he lingers just slightly too long before letting my hand go. Flirt.
The broader, bigger man stands next. He’s almost as tall as Kane and has the kind of naturally broad, muscular build that makes me think he must have played football when he was younger.
“Chief.” His voice is lower than I expected, with a calm yet rich tone that wouldn’t be out of place narrating an ASMR channel.
It’s an undeniably sexy, masculine voice.
He shakes my hand firmly, eyes steady on mine in a way that makes my stomach tighten.
God. I understand women who like a ‘Daddy’ significantly better now.
Then the scarred one rises last. “Shadow.”
Up close, he’s startlingly attractive, the scar only enhancing his handsome features. There’s something unsettling about how quietly observant he is, as if he notices every tiny reaction on my face.
Kane gestures lazily. “Guys, this is Sadie.”
All three men look entirely too pleased to hear my name.
Then Kane adds, “And her son Owen is playing outside.” He points to the window where we can see Owen still merrily playing away on the swings.
Dash immediately lights up. “The thunderbike kid?”
I blink. “How do you know about that?”
Dash pauses exactly half a second too long. He grins easily, recovering quickly. “Trigger talks about him nonstop.”
A flush crawls up Kane’s cheeks. Interesting.
Kane ignores him, expression turning more serious as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the folded note.
“There’s a reason why I brought Sadie here.
Last night, when I arrived at Sadie’s place, her ex-husband was there.
They had a…” He clears his throat. “…Disagreement, and he left. This morning, we found this shoved under the door.”
The mood shifts immediately. Dash’s grin fades. Chief’s eyes sharpen. Shadow goes completely still. Kane drops the paper onto the table. Chief unfolds it first. The second he reads it, something cold settles across his face.
Dash reads it over his shoulder and mutters softly, “Shit.”
Shadow’s eyes lift toward me. Not the note. Me. When he reads the note, his gaze returns to me, steady and focused, as if he’s checking whether I’m okay without asking directly.
Chief folds the paper carefully. “The ex-husband?”
Kane nods once. “That’s my guess.”
I cross my arms. “I already told him Ethan wouldn’t do this.”
Dash raises an eyebrow slightly. “You sure?”
The answer comes too quickly. “Yes.” I hold my chin up and meet his gaze.
Kane stiffens beside me. Chief’s hazel eyes settle steadily on me as he calmly reads my expression. If he’s judging me, he doesn’t show it. “Men can surprise you sometimes with what they’re capable of,” he says quietly. Something about the certainty in his tone makes my stomach tighten.
Kane leans back slightly beside me, his arm brushing mine. “She thinks I’m overreacting by saying she needs the Wild Riders’ protection.”
I scowl at him. “I don’t need protection. It’s no big deal, probably some stupid prank.”
Dash snorts softly. “The woman gets a murder note and says maybe everybody should calm down.”
“I did not say calm down.”
“You implied we should calm down.”
Despite myself, I almost smile. Something about Dash’s energy feels weirdly easy. He’s playful and chaotic, smiling at me like we share a secret.
The guys begin discussing possible steps, grilling me about the people I know and who else might be behind the note if I’m so certain it isn’t Ethan, and saying it’s no big deal.
The more we talk, the more I start to worry that I am being too calm about this, too flippant.
I have to think of Owen’s safety. Outside, Owen shrieks happily from the swings.
I glance out the window at him, and he waves.
The sight of him happily playing, oblivious to the world’s darkness, makes my heart ache, and I vow to do whatever I can to protect him, even if it means accepting the Wild Riders’ offer.
The whole time we’re talking, Shadow watches me quietly from across the table. He rarely interjects unless asked a direct question. Every time I glance at him, I get the strange feeling that he sees more than he lets on. It’s unsettling.
However, the longer I stand here, the more aware I become of another, bigger problem. I’m attracted to all of them.
Kane beside me, all rough heat and tattoos. Chief with those calm hazel eyes and quiet authority. Dash grinning like sin itself. Shadow’s dark intensity, watching me too closely.
Coming to this place was a terrible idea. An absolutely terrible idea. Yet, I don’t want to leave. Somehow, standing inside this loud, warm clubhouse surrounded by bikers whom I should probably fear a little, I feel safe.