Chapter 18
Sadie
The clubhouse feels different this morning, maybe because I’m seeing it differently.
Or maybe because I spent half the night talking to Shadow, learning things about him that make the quiet biker even harder to understand.
The scar on his face isn’t from some bar fight or motorcycle wreck.
And the loss of his child still lives behind his eyes every time he thinks nobody is looking.
The memory of his face when he talked about it twists something painfully soft inside my chest.
Behind me, Owen bounces excitedly in his car seat. “I can’t believe we’re going to be living here!” In Owen’s mind, we’re moving into a castle.
“Only for a week,” I correct.
“A whole week,” he repeats, as if that’s an age. To him it is, I suppose.
Shadow glances over from the driver’s seat. He insisted on driving, leaving his bike behind to collect later, and perhaps to convince any would-be intruders that he’s still there. The corner of his mouth twitches. He doesn’t smile often, which makes it feel strangely satisfying when he does.
The clubhouse comes into view around the bend. Immediately, Owen starts vibrating with anticipation. He rolls down the window and sticks his head as far out as he can. “Moose! Moose! Moose!
“Buddy, we can’t even see the dog yet.” I smile, twisting in my seat.
Owen sits back in his seat and looks at me. “He knows I’m coming,” he insists with certainty. The second we pull into the parking lot, Owen is already trying to unbuckle himself. I barely manage to stop him launching out of the vehicle before it’s fully parked.
The clubhouse yard is busy despite the early hour, with kids running around and several bikes parked neatly in rows.
Already, I can hear music drifting softly from inside.
Safe. That word keeps sneaking into my head every time I come here.
Safe. Which is ridiculous considering it’s a motorcycle clubhouse full of heavily tattooed, dangerous men, but somehow, it’s true.
The front door opens, and Trigger strides out. As soon as his eyes land on me, his expression changes, not much, but enough to see the relief. His shoulders relax slightly. But then his gaze shifts to Shadow, and the relief disappears.
The reaction is so immediate that it catches me off guard.
He’s been worried, really worried. For a split second, before he notices Shadow standing beside me, his face is completely open, filled with relief, happy, and underneath, something deeper.
Then it vanishes, replaced with pain and confusion, with envy.
I shouldn’t notice the little micro-expressions like that, shouldn’t be so attuned to his emotions, not yet, and I definitely shouldn’t feel guilty about it.
But I do. I know exactly why he’s looking at Shadow like that.
He knows something happened last night, maybe not exactly what, but enough.
The energy between Shadow and me has shifted, molded into something more comfortable, more familiar, more intimate.
It seems neither of us is particularly good at lying or hiding that.
The knowledge settles heavily in my stomach.
Chief warned me, Shadow warned me, and now, seeing Trigger’s reaction firsthand, I understand why.
Shadow notices too, how could he not? Trigger is an open book, his shoulders square, eyes narrow, the veins in his arms pressing against his skin as his muscles tighten.
The atmosphere goes weird almost instantly.
It’s not openly hostile, not yet, but tense.
They look like two wolves trying very hard not to bare their teeth.
Owen, thankfully, notices none of it. “Trigger!” He abandons me immediately and sprints across the parking lot.
Trigger catches him automatically before he can collide with a motorcycle. The transformation is immediate. The contrast is ridiculous. Five seconds ago, Trigger looked genuinely dangerous, now he’s nodding solemnly as Owen explains sanitation routes.
“Wednesday’s recycling,” Owen informs him.
Trigger nods. “Recycling is important.”
Owen nods back somberly. “Very important.”
“What day is garbage truck day here?” Owen asks, placing his little hand in Trigger’s and looking up at him, squinting.
Trigger pauses to think about it. “Thursday.”
Owen gasps. “Really?”
Trigger furrows his brow, as if getting the answer right is of utmost importance to him, even though I can’t imagine garbage collection is something he’s ever given much thought to before this moment. “Pretty sure.”
Owen swings his arm back and forth, still holding Trigger’s hand. “Can we watch?”
Trigger looks down at him like the answer should be obvious. “Of course we can. Do you think it will be the same guys who collect from your house?”
“I don’t know.” He frowns. “Are there different ones?”
The look on Trigger’s face softens further. He chuckles softly. “I don’t know, I would assume there are lots and lots of garbage trucks and men to cover so many houses, but maybe they have magical powers, like Santa, that means they can collect from everyone in the city.”
Owen beams. “That would be neat!”.
It’s strange watching Trigger with Owen.
Trigger is all sharp edges and intensity most of the time, loud emotions, big reactions, unstable, unpredictable, the kind of man who takes up space without even trying, but Owen seems to slip straight past all of that.
Around him, Trigger becomes patient, gentle, protective in a way that feels almost instinctive, as if he can’t help himself, almost as if caring for Owen isn’t something he chooses, it’s something that simply happens.
The realization should make me uncomfortable—it’s so soon—but somehow, it makes my chest ache with longing and sadness.
Trigger acts more like a father toward Owen than Ethan ever did.
Trigger catches me watching and softens further.
The look he gives me is so naked, so vulnerable that it takes my breath away.
Trigger might be volatile, but he’s not afraid to show his feelings, nor does he try to run from them.
His eyes flick to Shadow again, and the tension returns.
Great, just great, this week is going to be a nightmare if Trigger keeps acting like a guard dog.
Chief appears, lazily ambling outside. Moose runs out alongside him, bounding over to a delighted Owen, who immediately begins stroking him and chatting to the dog as if he understands every word.
Chief’s gaze moves from me to Shadow to Trigger. I swear I actually see him sigh. “Morning,” he says casually. Though his body language is anything but casual. It gives away the fact that he’s preparing to break up a fight.
“Morning,” I say with an awkward, guilty wave.
His eyes linger on me a second longer than necessary, and I feel hot under that searching gaze, which is unfortunate because I absolutely do not need another attractive biker complicating my life.
As if summoned by my thoughts, Dash emerges from the clubhouse carrying a breakfast burrito.
“Honey, you’re home!” he sings out, grinning.
He ambles over, slinging an arm casually over my shoulder.
I try not to let myself get distracted by how good he smells.
“Look who finally moved in.” He holds the burrito close to my face. “Wanna bite?”
I shove his arm away, glancing at Trigger, who looks ready to explode. A fact I’m certain Dash is well aware of. “ No, thank you, and I did not move in.”
“You brought luggage.” Dash picks up the bag with one hand, slings it over his shoulder, and takes a bite of his burrito.
I decide against trying to get it off him. “It’s one bag,” I say, resisting the urge to show my exasperation.
He winks. “That’s basically marriage.”
I roll my eyes. “In your book, Mr. Date and Dash.”
Dash grins. “I see you and Shadow did some cozy chatting last night.” He turns and winks at Trigger, a red flag to a raging bull.
The man is physically incapable of behaving normally.
Unfortunately, he’s also ridiculously charming.
“I’ll have you know that I have never had a lady come stay with me at the clubhouse.
You’re the first woman to have the honor. ”
“She’s not here for you,” Trigger snaps, voice tight.
“Easy,” Chief warns quietly.
Dash looks as if he’s about to say something typically Dash to wind Trigger up further, but a warning look from Chief silences him. “Come on, let me show you where you’ll be sleeping,” Chief says, looking at me.
I hesitate, wondering if I’ve made the right choice, if coming here was a bad idea.
The last thing I want is to cause drama or come between four best friends.
I’ve made things complicated enough as it is, and staying here is bound to complicate matters further.
As if reading my mind, Chief says, “Please, Sadie. I promise these idiots will be on their best behavior. You and Owen are perfectly safe and welcome here, for as long as you like.” I open my mouth to reiterate that it’s just for a week, but he continues before I can.
“A week, I know, just while we figure out who is leaving those notes and the threat level.”
I nod. “Alright.”
He’s right, it is safer here. It has to be.
I have to admit, receiving that note has shaken me, and the thought of staying in the house right now, feeling as if I’m constantly being watched, isn’t appealing.
I head inside, the guys flanking me protectively.
It almost feels natural, the way they seem to know what I need to feel safe, even when I don’t.
Chief always positions himself between me and the exit.
Dash can make me laugh even when I’m stressed, offering a brief relief.
Trigger watches me constantly, which comforts and frightens me in equal measure.
And Shadow somehow makes silence feel comfortable, makes the darkness feel warm, less lonely.
It’s a problem. A massive problem. Especially after last night.
Every time I look at Shadow, I can’t help but think about last night, not about the sex, though of course that regularly comes to mind, same as when I look at Trigger, but more than that, it’s the intimacy, the conversation that keeps replaying in my head.
The vulnerability, the trust. I don’t think I’ve ever had such a deep, meaningful conversation with a man, especially not one I’ve just met.
Ethan was never one for deep conversations; he didn’t open up about his past, and he never wanted to hear about mine.
He thought the past was best left in the past: No use dwelling on it. What’s done is done, he’d always say.
But I think about the way Shadow looked at me when he talked about losing his child.
The way his voice went quiet when he mentioned Trigger’s childhood, and how he now loves too fiercely, too passionately.
I think of what he said about Trigger’s ex.
That he loved her more than himself. The words keep echoing in my head.
Now, watching Trigger with Owen, I understand why Shadow told me and why Chief warned me.
Trigger’s attachment isn’t subtle anymore.
It’s everywhere. In every glance. Every protective instinct.
Every excuse to be near me. I don’t think he’s even aware he’s doing it.
It’s becoming instinctive. His eyes immediately seek me out whenever I enter a room; he always seems to position himself between me and potential threats, and his entire body visibly relaxes whenever Owen and I are safely accounted for.
It’s sweet, terrifying, beautiful, and far too much.
But underneath all that possessiveness, I can see something heartbreakingly vulnerable.
He’s a man who loves with his whole heart, a man who doesn’t know how to do anything halfway, a man who has already started imagining a future that I haven’t even considered yet, and every time I see it, every time I see the hope in his eyes when he looks at me, guilt twists inside my gut, because I don’t know where this is going.
I don’t know what I want. I only know that the more time I spend with all four of them, the harder it becomes to imagine walking away.
I don’t want to hurt Trigger, but I don’t know what to do either, because my feelings are becoming a tangled mess.
I care about Trigger. I’m drawn to Shadow.
Chief intrigues me. And Dash… Dash is just dangerous in an entirely different way.
A woman should not be attracted to four men simultaneously, should she?
“Mommy!” Owen waves from halfway across the yard, where Trigger scoops him up into his arms, balancing him on one hip and carrying him inside while the giant dog trails behind, attempting to knock them both over. “Moose missed me!”
I laugh, and something inside my chest eases slightly for the first time since the second note arrived, perhaps even since I started feeling watched.
Maybe that’s the real problem. Not the bikers and my attraction to them, or how confused I feel, but the fact that somewhere along the way, this place stopped feeling like a place I was just visiting and started feeling a little bit like home.
Which is a far more concerning thought than any of the men standing in front of me.