Kraken
The office air sits thick with old gun oil, stale whiskey, and the faint vanilla sweetness that clings to Tia November like she carried it straight from some soft civilian life into my world of blood and leather.
I stand behind the desk with my arms crossed tight over my chest. The worn fabric of my cut creaks with every breath.
Gunny keeps talking but my focus stays locked on her.
She shifts her weight from one foot to the other.
Her mismatched socks are ridiculous. One has pineapples. The other has dancing tacos.
She looks up through long lashes and offers a small awkward smile that makes something tight coil in my gut.
Her ankle hurts. I can tell by the way she winces each time she stands on it.
I try to focus on that fact instead of imagining wrapping my hands around that ankle and pulling her closer.
She belongs to Gunny’s bloodline. She stands in the middle of my war.
Wanting her goes against every rule I live by.
“It’s really no big deal at all. I’m sure my father is just being a nervous Nellie. He’s always been a Captain Catastrophe of sorts.”
Her voice carries a soft lilt that curls around my spine.
Playful. Cute in a way that doesn’t belong in this clubhouse.
I imagine pinning her against the wall and tasting that smile until she forgets every word except my name.
The thought burns hot. I shove it down deep.
She’s Gunny’s daughter. She’s a complication wrapped in danger.
My club bleeds from the missing shipment and the body under the bridge.
I can’t afford distraction. Especially not the kind that comes with soft skin and dancing taco socks.
Gunny watches me close. His jaw stays tight. “She’s all I have left, Kraken.”
“I know what she is,” I answer. My voice comes out rougher than I intend. “She stays under my roof. My rules. My protection.”
Tia shifts again. Her injured ankle makes her wince.
The small sound hits me harder than it should.
I move without thinking. My hand wraps around her elbow.
Her skin feels warm and smooth under my rough palm.
Electricity shoots up my arm. She smells so fucking good.
Like sun warmed skin and faint coconut from whatever lotion she uses.
I want to pull her against my chest and bury my face in her hair.
Instead I guide her toward the door with careful pressure.
“Come on,” I ground out. “We get that ankle looked at.”
She limps beside me. Her shoes slap softly against the floor.
Every brother in the main room turns to watch us pass.
Their stares burn heavy. I meet each one with a look that promises pain if they step wrong.
Tia stays close. Her shoulder brushes my arm.
The contact sends another wave of heat through me.
I grit my teeth. She’s not mine to want.
She’s cargo. Pure and simple. Valuable cargo in the middle of a war I didn’t ask for.
The infirmary room sits at the end of the hall.
The air inside carries antiseptic and the faint copper of old blood.
I lift her onto the metal table without asking.
She lets out a small surprised squeak that goes straight to my cock.
I ignore it. I kneel in front of her and look at her ankle.
I grab an ace bandage from the drawer. My hands stay steady even though her bare leg, inches from my face, makes my blood run hot.
“You don’t have to do this,” she says softly. “I can probably manage. I once bandaged my own elbow after falling off a kitchen chair while trying to reach the good cereal on the top shelf. True story.”
Her words tumble out fast and quirky. I glance up.
Her eyes sparkle with nervous humor. A small dimple appears on her left cheek when she smiles.
Fuck. She looks adorable and vulnerable and far too tempting on that cold table.
I want to spread her thighs and taste the skin above her injured ankle.
I want to hear what other ridiculous stories spill from her mouth while I make her moan.
I force my attention back to the task at hand.
“Hold still,” I mutter. My voice sounds gravelly.
“Sorry. I’m usually much more coordinated. Except when nervous. Or excited. Or existing in general. You know. Normal human things.”
She giggles. The sound rolls light through the room and wraps around my chest. I wrap the bandage around her ankle.
My fingers brush her skin more than necessary.
She smells so fucking good. Clean and sweet against the harsh antiseptic-smell of the room.
I finish the bandage and stand. She looks up at me from the table.
Her lips part slightly. Heat flares in her eyes for a second before she blinks it away.
I step back fast. Distance. I need distance. “You stay inside the compound until I say otherwise. No wandering. No windows without permission. You breathe when I tell you to breathe.”
Her eyebrows lift. “That sounds very controlling. In a hot way. Wait. Did I say that out loud? I definitely said that out loud. Ignore me. I blame the blood loss. And the fact that you look like you could snap a man in half but also have really nice forearms. Sorry. I’ll stop talking now.”
She presses her lips together like she’s physically holding back more words.
The effort makes her even cuter. I turn away before I do something stupid like kiss that nervous smile off her face.
Gunny waits outside the door. His eyes narrow when he sees how close I stand to his daughter.
Good. He should worry. I don’t trust myself right now either.
We move her into a room at the back of the clubhouse. I set her backpack on the bed. She sits on the edge of the mattress and swings her legs. The movement makes her shirt ride up slightly. A strip of soft skin shows above her jeans. My hands itch to touch it. I shove them into my pockets.
“Get some rest,” I order. “We talk more in the morning.”
She nods. Her fingers twist in the blanket. “Thank you. For not throwing me out. Or laughing at my socks.”
I almost smile. The urge shocks me. I turn and leave before she sees it.
The door shuts behind me with a solid click.
I lean against the wall in the hallway. My heart pounds heavy.
The scent of her still clings to my hands.
I want to go back in there. I want to crowd her against that bed and show her exactly how possessive I can get.
Instead I walk away. Hard. Angry at myself for the weakness.
The main room still buzzes with tension. Mace waits near the bar. Ghost stands silent by the pool table. I join them. The whiskey tastes sharp on my tongue when I take a glass. It burns down my throat but does nothing to erase the memory of her.
“We have a problem inside the club,” I say low. “And now we have her. Gunny’s daughter. Someone’s stalking her. The timing lines up too clean with the shipment and the driver.”
Mace nods. His beard scratches against his shirt. “You think it’s connected?”
“Maybe.”
Ghost’s eyes stay cold. “She’s a liability.”
She’s more than that. She’s a fucking distraction I can’t afford.
Her smile and soft voice keep replaying in my head.
The way she looked at me like I was both terrifying and fascinating.
I want to own that look. I want to make her say my name while I bury myself deep inside her.
The thoughts rage through me. I slam the glass down harder than I mean to. Whiskey sloshes over the side.
“Keep eyes on her at all times,” I order. “She doesn’t leave the compound. She doesn’t talk to anyone without me present. She’s under my protection now.”
The words feel heavy. I mean them more than I should.
Gunny left fifteen minutes ago after I promised to keep her safe.
The club locks down tighter. Brothers patrol the perimeter.
Engines rumble low in the night. I walk the fence line myself.
The air carries salt and distant rain. Mud sucks at my boots.
Every shadow makes me think of her. Her injured ankle.
Her nervous laugh. The way her body felt under my hand.
I stop near the west gate. The razor wire glints under the lights.
Somewhere out there enemies circle closer.
They took our shipment. They hung our driver like meat.
Now they watch Gunny’s daughter. My fists clench.
No one touches what’s mine. And Tia feels like mine already.
The realization burns. I shouldn’t want her.
She’s soft where my world is hard. Cute where everything around me stays brutal.
Yet every word out of her mouth makes me want to drag her into the darkness and keep her there.
I return to the clubhouse. My boots carry me back to the office.
Screens glow with shipment logs and perimeter feeds.
The numbers blur. All I see is Tia’s face.
Her wide eyes. The flush on her cheeks when she called my forearms nice.
A low roar builds in my chest. I slam a fist on the desk. The wood cracks under the force.
Mace appears in the doorway. “Prez. We got movement on the outer road. Two vehicles. Holding position.”
I straighten. The distraction pulls me back into the war. Good. I need it. “Send Ghost and two prospects. Watch them close. No engagement unless they cross the line.”
He nods and leaves. I sit behind the desk.
The chair groans under my weight. Hours pass slow.
I review logs until my eyes burn. Every few minutes my mind drifts back to her.
The way she limped beside me. The ridiculous stories she spills when nervous.
I should focus on the threat. The missing shipment.
Odin. The possibility of a rat inside my club.
Instead I keep seeing her small hand tracing that cartoon kraken on her backpack.
Dawn creeps across the compound. Gray light filters through the windows.
I stand and stretch. My muscles ache from the long night.
I walk to her room again. The door opens quietly.
She sleeps curled on her side. One sock has slipped off.
Her bare foot peeks out from the blanket.
Her chest rises and falls in soft rhythm. She looks peaceful.
I close the door softly. The hallway air feels cooler against my heated skin.
Brothers stir in the main room. Coffee brews bitter and strong.
I pour a cup and stand at the window. The compound wakes slowly.
Engines rumble to life. Men move with purpose.
The war waits outside our gates. But inside these walls Tia November has already started changing things.
She makes me feel possessive in ways I’ve never allowed.
She makes me hard with nothing but a nervous smile and dancing taco socks.
As I drink my coffee the compound stirs fully awake.
Orders go out. Perimeter checks double. I keep her in my sight as much as possible.
She moves through the space like a bright spot in the darkness.
Her laughter carries down the hall when she talks to one of the old ladies about houseplants.
The sound pulls at me. I watch from the doorway.
Her hands gesture wild as she explains something about emotional support succulents.
The old lady chuckles. Tia beams like she won a prize.
My chest tightens. She shouldn’t fit here.
Yet she does. In small ways that make my blood run hot.
I want to drag her away from everyone. I want her smiles for myself.
Her quirks. Her nervous energy. All of it.
I turn away before she catches me staring.
The attraction wars with duty. With the knowledge that enemies circle closer.
The day drags heavy. Meetings blur together.
Logs. Timestamps. Suspect names. Every lead circles back to the same dark possibility.
Someone inside. Someone who knew the route.
Someone who might now watch Tia through my own walls.
The thought makes my fists clench until knuckles crack.
I’ll find them. I’ll rip answers from their throats. And I’ll keep her safe while I do it.
Evening falls again. The compound lights buzz on. I bring her food myself. A plate of grilled meat and rice from the kitchen. She sits cross legged on the bed when I enter. Her hair falls messy around her face. She looks up and smiles that bright smile that hits me like a punch.
“You brought me dinner? That’s surprisingly domestic for a big scary president. Do you also do laundry? Because I have trust issues with laundromats after an unfortunate sock eating incident last year.”
I set the plate down. Her fingers brush mine when she takes it. The contact burns. “Eat. Then sleep. No wandering the halls.”
She nods but her eyes sparkle with mischief. “Yes sir. Though full disclosure I’m terrible at following rules. I once got detention for drawing smiley faces on all the test answers. The teacher did not appreciate my artistic interpretation of algebra.”
I fight the smile that wants to break free. She’s dangerous. Not because of who hunts her. Because of how easily she slips past my defenses. I leave before I do something stupid like sit on the bed beside her and pull her into my lap. The night stretches long. I patrol the perimeter again.
Hours later I return inside. The clubhouse quiets.
I stop outside her door once more. No sound.
Just the steady rhythm of her breathing I imagine through the wood.
My hand rests on the knob. I could go in.
I could wake her with my mouth on her skin.
I could make her moan my name until the only danger she knows is how deep I can bury myself inside her.
I pull my hand back. The restraint costs me. My body stays hard and aching as I walk away. She’s a light in my dark world that I can’t afford to touch.
The war outside waits. The threat inside my club festers. But the real battle rages in my chest. Between duty and desire. Between what I should do and what every dark part of me demands.
I head to my own room. The bed feels cold and empty.
Sleep comes slow. When it does her face fills my dreams. Soft, porcelain skin.
Dancing socks. That bright smile begging me to claim it.
I wake hard and frustrated. The sun rises on another day of war.
Another day of keeping her close while fighting the need to make her belong to me.