Page 77 of Boulder's Weight

What hasn't Kelsey told me?

What else could there be beyond the horror she's already shared?

We exit the hotel in silence, only speaking once we're on our bikes, engines rumbling beneath us.

"That went well," Brick comments dryly. "You think they got the message?"

I stare back at the hotel, uneasiness settling over me. "They heard it. Whether they'll listen is another matter."

"Those aren't the kind of men who back down easily," Brick comments. "Especially the older one. Something is off about his eyes."

"Yeah," I agree, thinking of Kelsey's warnings about Benji. "We'll need to keep close watch on them."

As we ride back to the clubhouse, my mind begins rolling.

This isn't just about protecting Kelsey from threats—it's about navigating her past, the secrets she may still be keeping, and my own growing feelings for a woman I claimed on impulse.

The weight settles heavier on my shoulders with each mile. But strangely, it doesn't feel like a burden I want to shed.

For the first time in my life, I understand why a man might choose to be weighed down by someone who matters more than his own freedom.

CHAPTERELEVEN

Kelsey

I've been living in the clubhouse for one week, and already my life before feels like a distant memory.

I run my fingers over the worn leather of the couch in the main area, watching the morning sunlight filter through the windows.

The clubhouse is never really quiet—even at this early hour, there's the distant rumble of motorcycles in the garage, the clatter of someone in the kitchen, music playing softly from one of the back rooms.

It's so different from my apartment, where silence was my constant companion, broken only by the sounds of my own movements.

Here, life pulses through every room.

In a way, it’s nice that I’m not alone anymore.

For someone who's spent years looking over her shoulder, the adjustment should be jarring, but somehow, I'm adapting faster than I expected.

"Morning, sunshine."

I turn to see Astra walking in, two coffee mugs in hand.

She passes one to me before dropping onto the couch.

Her vibrant red hair is pulled into a messy bun, her face free of makeup.

It's still strange seeing her outside the café setting, but there's something comforting about her presence here.

"Thanks," I murmur, taking a grateful sip. "You're here early."

She shrugs. "Python had business at five, and I couldn't get back to sleep. Figured I'd see what kind of trouble I could get into at the clubhouse."

I smirk at her words.

Astra has a way of making everything sound like an adventure rather than a burden.

"So," she says, studying me over the rim of her mug, "how are you settling in? Being an ol’ lady suits you."

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