Page 35 of Switch

“I think you’ve got a hell of a lot of nerve talking like that,” Dagger cuts in, his voice cold. “Especially when you’ve done jack shit to move this club forward in years.”

The room goes quiet at that, a tense silence stretching out as Butch glares at Dagger.

Mason clears his throat, breaking the standoff. “Let me make something real clear,” he says, his voice steady but sharp. “This club isn’t about living in the past. It’s about survival, about brotherhood, and about protecting what’s ours. You got a problem with that, Butch?”

Butch glares at him, but he doesn’t respond.

“Thought so,” Mason says, leaning back in his chair. “Now, if you’ve got something constructive to say, speak up. Otherwise, sit down and shut the fuck up.”

The room stays quiet for a beat before Butch mutters something under his breath and crosses his arms, clearly pissed but not brave enough to push further.

Mason’s gaze sweeps over the rest of us, his jaw tight. “Anyone else got something to say?”

Nobody speaks, and the tension finally starts to ease.

But as I sit there, watching the older guys shift uncomfortably in their seats, I can’t help but think this isn’t over.Change is never easy, and for some of these guys, it’s going to feel like a fight. It might just come to that.

When I walk through the door, the first thing I notice is the quiet hum of the TV in the living room. The second thing I notice is Bella.

She’s curled up on the couch, wearing one of my old t-shirts and a pair of my gym shorts. Her hair’s tied up in a messy bun, a few loose strands framing her face, and Oreo is sprawled across her lap, her head resting contentedly as Bella scratches behind her ears.

Bella glances up when I step inside, and her lips curve into a smile. “How was church?” she asks, her tone light, with a quirk of her lips that makes me laugh.

I hold up the bag of sandwiches I picked up on the way home. “I brought lunch.”

“Oh, thank God! I’m starving!” She carefully nudges Oreo off her lap, earning a disappointed groan from the dog, and gets up to join me.

I give Oreo a scratch behind the ears as I walk by. “Don’t worry, girl, I didn’t forget you.” I toss her a dog biscuit, and she’s up in a flash, happily catching it mid-air.

Bella follows me into the kitchen, her bare feet padding softly against the floor. “What’d you get?” she asks, leaning over the counter as I unpack the sandwiches.

“I wasn’t sure what you were into, so I figured turkey would be safe.”

“That’s perfect! Turkey’s my go-to,” she says, already unwrapping hers.

We sit at the kitchen island, the bag of chips I grabbed from the pantry between us. It’s easy and comfortable—just the sound of wrappers crinkling and the occasional crunch of chips as we eat.

Between bites, Bella glances at me. “I’ll probably need to head home soon,” she says, her tone apologetic. “I need to get ready for the week.”

I nod, finishing off my sandwich. “I get it. Got a busy week ahead?”

“Always,” she says with a small laugh. “But it’s worth it. I like what I do.”

Her words remind me of our conversation last night, and I catch myself smiling at her. There’s something about the way she talks about her work, her family, everything—it’s honest, grounded, and I can’t get enough of it.

“Thanks for sticking around,” I say after a moment, my tone soft. “It was nice coming home to this.”

Bella looks up, her cheeks flushing slightly, but she smiles. “It was nice being here.”

And just like that, I know this isn’t something I want to let go of anytime soon.

FOURTEEN

BELLA

The table’s set,the plates are full, and the warm scent of roasted chicken and herbs fills the kitchen. It’s one of those nights where everything feels just right—simple, easy, and ours. Jax pulls out my chair, and I’m smiling as I sit, appreciating the little gestures he doesn’t even realize he does.

But just as he settles into his own chair, his phone buzzes on the counter. He glances at the screen, his jaw tightening slightly. “Give me a sec,” he mutters, standing and grabbing the phone as he heads toward the back door.

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