Chapter 4
Knox
Grease coats my hands up to the wrists. It's good, honest work. The kind that shuts up the voice in my head—the one that keeps replaying the moment she touched my tusk and everything inside me fractured.
I dig deeper into the engine block, hunting for the gasket leak that's plagued this vintage Indian for weeks. Behind me, the garage fills with the usual noise—wrenches clinking, compressors hissing, someone cursing at a stubborn bolt.
"So." Finn doesn't look up from the carburetor he's cleaning. "Tonight's the big night."
I don't look up. "Hand me the torque wrench."
"Jessica's been cooking since yesterday. The women are acting like it's Christmas, all because you're bringing a guest." He pauses, waits, lets the silence do the work. "A human woman. To family dinner."
"Torque wrench, Finn."
He slaps it into my palm and the weight feels right, solid and useful—unlike this conversation.
"Just saying." Finn leans against the tool cart with his arms crossed, studying me the way he does when he's about to say something I don't want to hear. "Twenty years I've been your VP. Never once seen you bring a woman to Sunday dinner."
"Betty can't feed her every night. Drop it."
Garrett's shadow falls across the engine bay—seven feet of minotaur, silent as fog. He says nothing, just raises one eyebrow. The one that calls bullshit louder than words.
I tighten the gasket with more force than necessary and the metal groans in protest.
"Club business," I say. "We need to talk."
Finn straightens, the teasing vanishing from his face. Garrett steps closer. Rex wipes his hands on a rag and moves in, and suddenly we're not four brothers shooting the shit in a garage anymore. We're officers. Leaders. The men who keep this club breathing.
"Humans First," I say. "What's the latest?"
Rex pulls out his phone and scrolls through notes. "Getting bolder. Red caps showing up in the next county, targeting orc-owned businesses. No violence yet, but the rhetoric's heating up."
"I saw three of them at Betty's yesterday." My grip tightens on the wrench. "Harassing a mother and her kid. Sarah stepped in. She stood between them, told them off. She didn't back down."
Finn whistles low. "Heard about that. Whole town's talking about the human woman who told off Humans First."
I don't answer. I watched the whole thing through Betty's window, watched this small human woman plant herself in front of three men who could have hurt her. Watched her shake afterward when she thought no one could see. Walked in and sat at her counter because I couldn't stay away anymore.
She's got steel. And it terrifies me how much I want to wrap myself around her and make sure no one ever tests that steel again.
"There's something else." Rex's voice drops. "Ran a background on Sarah."
I set down the wrench. Every brother goes still.
"Got more on the ex-husband," Rex continues.
"Peter Mitchell. Investment banker, old money.
Multiple domestic violence charges that never stuck—expensive lawyers, scared witnesses, you know the drill.
He's escalating, Knox. Three more PIs hired since last week.
And he's not just tracking where she went—he's narrowing down where she is. "
My jaw locks so tight my tusks ache.
"Dig deeper." My voice scrapes gravel. "Bank accounts, travel history, associates. I want to know when he takes a piss."
Rex nods. "Already on it."
"I want brothers on her. Not just drive-bys—actual eyes on her building, her commute, the diner. She doesn't go anywhere unescorted."
"She know about this?" Garrett's voice rumbles.
"No. And it stays that way until I decide otherwise."
Finn exchanges a look with Rex but neither argues. They've seen me like this before—twenty years ago, when the club first formed and threats came from every direction.
I turn back to the engine and my hands shake.
A human woman I've known two weeks. A guest in my territory, nothing more—that's what I tell myself. That's the lie I've been swallowing since she touched my tusk and the word mate detonated in my skull.
Tonight I'm bringing her to family dinner.
I've lost my damn mind.
She steps out of her building at 7:45 and my lungs forget how to work.
The dress hits simple—dark blue, falling just above her knees, leaving her shoulders bare in the cooling October air. Her hair falls loose around her face, no jewelry except small gold studs in her ears, she looks like something I have no right to want.
Sarah spots my bike and her steps falter.
She catches her bottom lip between her teeth, then releases it.
Nervousness, yes—but underneath it her scent changes.
Her scent shifts—something brighter underneath, sharper, like she's running warm.
I have to grip the handlebars to keep from crossing the distance between us.
"I wasn't sure what to wear." She smooths her hands down the dress. "Betty said casual but nice, and I don't have nice clothes right now, so I borrowed this from Imogen at the bookstore, and—"
"You look good." The words scrape out before I can stop them.
Her cheeks flush and my chest tightens.
I step closer and lift the helmet over her head, fingers grazing her jaw as I fasten the strap. The same electricity as the first night shoots through me. Her breath hitches. She feels it too.
"Ready?"
She nods and swings onto the bike behind me, her arms wrapping around my waist with her fingers not quite meeting across my stomach. Her thighs press against mine, her chest fits against my back, and something in me settles even as something else catches fire.
The ride takes fifteen minutes but feels like hours. Every breath she takes, I feel. Every shift of her weight sends heat spiking through my blood. By the time the clubhouse lights come into view, my jaw aches from clenching so hard.
The Shipyard glows golden against the dark water, music drifting from the open windows, and I catch the smell of burgers and something sweeter—Betty's pie. Sarah's arms loosen as I kill the engine.
"Last time it was quiet. This feels like a whole different place."
"Family dinner brings out the good side."
I help her off the bike and her hand stays in mine a beat too long. Neither of us mentions it.
Inside, the main room has transformed into organized chaos—brothers and their women crowding the long tables Garrett built last summer, kids chasing each other around the sofas, Rex's mother holding court by the fire pit doors and passing judgment on everyone's plate arrangement.
Lisa appears first—Tom's wife, both of them mechanics at the garage, family adjacent for years now. She takes one look at Sarah and pulls her toward the kitchen.
"Fresh meat. Thank God. Come on, I'll save you from the grunting."
Sarah glances back at me with wide eyes and I nod once. Lisa's safe. Lisa will take care of her.
I watch them disappear into the kitchen where the wives and girlfriends cluster around steaming pans and uncorked wine bottles. Sarah's laugh floats back—bright and genuine—and something in my chest unclenches.
"She fits in." Finn appears at my shoulder. "Didn't expect that."
I grunt.
"The women like her, Knox. That's not nothing. You know how they are with outsiders."
I know. The old ladies protect the club as fiercely as any patched member, don't welcome strangers easily, circle up and freeze out anyone who doesn't belong. But Sarah—
She emerges from the kitchen carrying a salad bowl, laughing at something one of the women said, and her whole face changes when she laughs. Lighter. Younger. Like the shadows I've seen in her eyes lift for a moment.
She sets down the bowl and catches me staring. The corner of her mouth curves up.
I look away first. I have to.
Dinner unfolds the way it always does—too much food, too much noise, brothers arguing about bike modifications and football scores, kids whining about vegetables. The controlled chaos of family that took two decades to build.
Sarah sits between Lisa and Maria, Rex's 'current' girlfriend, and she eats, she talks, she helps pass dishes and refill glasses without being asked. She belongs here. The realization punches through me—she fills a space I didn't know existed.
Fuck.
I push back from the table. Need air. Need to clear my head before I do something stupid.
I make it to the back door before trouble finds me.
Vince Carlisle. Human. VP of the Iron Hammers from up the coast—an allied club, purely human, old-school MC. They rode down for business earlier, stayed for dinner. Vince doesn't know our rules. Or he doesn't care.
I see him approach Sarah before my brain catches up to my legs. He leans against the wall beside her, one arm braced above her head, too close. His hand drops to her waist. She tenses—I see it—and her scent sours, discomfort cutting through the warmth.
"—just saying, gorgeous. A woman like you doesn't belong in a place like this. Why don't you let me show you how a real club treats their ladies?"
The room narrows to a single point—This man's hand on her. Something tears loose inside me.
I cross the room before I process moving, bodies parting around me, conversations dying mid-sentence. Someone curses under their breath.
"Hands off."
My voice doesn't sound like mine. Something old and dangerous. The orc my father tried to make me.
Vince turns, smirk fading when he sees my face. "Oh, hey, man, I—"
"She's under Feral Sons protection." The words come out as a growl. "Touch her again and I'll break every bone in that arm. Starting with your fingers."
The room goes silent, every brother on their feet, Garrett's shadow looming at my back. Vince's face pales and he steps back with his hands raised.
"Didn't know, Knox. No disrespect meant."
"Get out."
He doesn't argue. The Iron Hammers file out fast, muttering apologies, and the door slams behind them.
The silence stretches. I'm breathing too hard, my pulse still hammering, my hands still wanting to break something. My beast wants blood. Wants to hunt. Wants to claim.
I force myself to look at Sarah.
She stares up at me, lips parted, and her scent floods my lungs. Not fear. Not the sharp tang of terror I expected after watching a seven-foot orc lose control.
Her pupils have blown wide. Her chest rises and falls too fast. The air around her thickens into something I have no business recognizing on a woman I barely know.
Arousal.
She's aroused by my protectiveness. By watching me threaten another man for touching her.
Our eyes lock and the room disappears.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
"I need air." I turn before I break. "Don't follow me." I tell her.
The dock behind the clubhouse stretches out over black water, stars burning overhead, bright enough to see by. The October chill bites at my skin and I welcome it—anything to cool the fire still raging through my blood.
Footsteps on the weathered boards. Light ones.
"I told you not to follow me."
"I don't take orders well." Sarah stops beside me, close enough that her shoulder brushes my arm. "Bad habit from my previous life."
I should send her back inside, tell her to leave me alone, let the cold air do its job. But she's here and I can smell her and the violence drains out of me like someone pulled a plug for the first time since I saw Vince's hand on her arm.
"You didn't have to do that." Her voice comes soft against the water sounds. "I could have handled him."
"I know."
"Then why—"
"Because I couldn't watch him touch you." The truth scrapes out before I can stop it. "Couldn't stand there while another man put his hands on you, even if you could handle it. Even if it's not my place."
Sarah goes quiet. The waves lap against the pilings and somewhere in the distance a night bird calls.
"Why isn't it, Knox?"
The question hangs between us. I turn to face her.
The starlight catches her face, her eyes huge and dark, and her scent wraps around me. The dock smells like salt and pine but all I catch is her. A note I can't name yet, darker than before. Want. Need. The same pull I've fought since the first moment I saw her.
"You know why."
"I want to hear you say it."
My hand lifts and my fingers hover an inch from her cheek, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her skin. She doesn't step back.
"I'm forty-two years old." My voice comes out rough. "Orc. Monster. President of an MC with more enemies than allies. You've been through hell and you deserve better than—"
"What if I don't want better?" Her chin lifts. "What if I just want this? I know you feel it."
My thumb brushes her cheekbone and she leans into the touch. My heart slams against my ribs.
"Sarah—"
The door bangs open behind us.
"Knox!" Diesel's voice cuts through the night. "Emergency call—Garrison from the Iron Hammers says Humans First just torched his garage. They need backup."
The moment shatters. I drop my hand, step back. Sarah blinks, startled, then pulls herself together.
"I have to go."
"It's okay, I know."
I pull out my keys and toss them to Diesel. "Get Sarah home safe. We'll handle the Hammers."
Diesel catches them and nods. Sarah opens her mouth to say something but I'm already turning away, heading for Garrett's bike.
I don't watch them pull out. Don't watch her arms wrap around another man's waist, her cheek press against another man's back.
Garrett's bike idles at the curb. I swing on behind him and we tear off into the night, toward the glow of distant flames.
I should drive away and never come back, should let her find someone better, someone human, someone without the monster blood and the old wars and the darkness I've never shaken.