Page 26 of Wings
I clung to Gabe, trusting him completely as we tore down the road. The rush of speed was exhilarating, each curve and turn making my heart leap in my chest. With every twist of the throttle, I felt more alive than I had in years.
The Heavy Kings clubhouse sat in the center of town like some twisted youth club. All brick and steel and bikes lined up like soldiers. Gabe killed the engine of his bike, and I sat frozen.
"Hey." His hand covered mine on the door handle. "No one here will hurt you. You have my word."
I nodded, not trusting my voice. His word used to mean everything. Maybe it still did.
The moment we stepped inside, sensory overload hit. Cigarette smoke and leather and motor oil created a cocktail that screamed danger to every instinct I'd developed. Pool balls cracked against each other. Glass bottles clinked. Male voices rumbled like distant thunder, punctuated by laughter that made me want to run.
It was only ten in the morning, but several men already nursed beers at the bar. They looked up when we entered—leather cuts, heavy boots, tattoos covering more skin than not. Their gazes tracked our movement, and I found myself pressing closer to Gabe's side, his hand warm and steady on my lower back.
"Easy," he murmured, just for me. "You're under Heavy Kings protection now. That means something."
Before I could process what exactly it meant, a whirlwind in human form descended.
"You must be Kiara!" The woman who appeared couldn't have been more than twenty-one, all bright smiles and bouncing energy that seemed impossible in this den of outlaws. "I'm Mia, Duke's Little. Oh, you look exhausted, poor thing. Duke said you'd be staying for a while?"
She didn't wait for an answer, just linked her arm through mine like we'd been friends forever. The casual touch made me flinch, but she either didn't notice or pretended not to.
"Come on! You have to meet everyone. Well, not everyone everyone because some of the guys are at work, but the important people. The fun people." She practically dragged me toward the bar, chattering the whole way. "Duke said you're a nurse? That's so cool. I could never do that. Blood makes me queasy, which is weird considering, you know." She gestured vaguely at the clubhouse.
My brain struggled to keep up. This bubbly, sweet girl was dating the president of a motorcycle club? It didn't compute until I saw how the men moved aside for her, respectful and protective. Not the deference of fear but of genuine affection.
"Mandy! Thor!" Mia called out. "Come meet Kiara!"
A redhead sat at the bar with markers spread in front of her, filling in what looked like anatomical diagrams in a medical journal with surprisingly artistic flare. The massive blond man beside her read a newspaper, occasionally reaching over to hand her a different color without looking up.
"Hi," Mandy said, green eyes assessing me with sharp intelligence before warming. "I'm Mandy. This grumpy giant is Thor. Don't let him scare you—he's basically a teddy bear."
Thor snorted. "Woman, I am not a teddy bear."
"You bought me three stuffed animals last week," Mandy countered, switching from purple to pink marker.
"That was—those were on sale." His neck flushed red above his beard.
The casual mention of stuffed animals made my chest tight. Here in broad daylight, in front of everyone, they just . . . talked about it. Like it was normal. Like she wasn't risking everything by admitting she wanted soft things.
"And this is Cleo!" Mia tugged me toward a corner where another young woman sat cross-legged on the floor, organizing a box of toys with intense concentration. A man with graying temples watched her from a nearby chair, fond smile creasing his weathered face.
"These go by color," Cleo explained to no one in particular, sorting toy cars into rainbow rows. "But also by size. But if they're the same color and size, then by how fast they look."
"Sound logic," the man—Dex, Mia informed me—agreed seriously.
My mind reeled. These women were clearly in little space, in public, in a motorcycle clubhouse, and no one was mocking them. No one was calling them crazy or weak or demanding they act their age. The cognitive dissonance made me dizzy.
"Kiara."
Duke's voice cut through the introductions like a blade. The club president stood in a doorway I hadn't noticed, filling it completely. I’d met him once before, early on in my medical supply stealing career. He was six-foot-four of controlled power, the kind of presence that commanded without demanding. His steel-blue eyes assessed me in one sweep, cataloging everything from my defensive posture to the way I'd unconsciously stepped closer to Gabe.
"Miss Mitchell—or Miss Santos," he corrected himself, formal but not unkind. "Doc and I need to speak with you about your situation. Gabe, you too."
It wasn't a request.
The office felt like entering a different world—organized, professional, at odds with the chaos outside. Doc sat in a leather chair, looking older than I remembered from our dawn meetings. Duke settled behind a massive desk while Gabe guided me to a chair, then stood behind it like a sentinel.
"First things first," Duke began, fingers steepled. "You're safe here. Whatever your history with the Serpents, specifically with Alex Moreno, it ends at our door. Clear?"
I nodded, throat too tight for words.
