Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

Bama

The sun sneaks through the thin motel curtains, casting a sliver of light across the bed.

I blink, my eyes adjusting to the morning.

Jordyn's beside me, her chocolate brown hair sprawled out like a halo on the pillow.

Each strand catches the light, accentuating the golden highlights she has in some places.

I'm caught for a moment, just watching her breathe, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

Her face is peaceful, her lips slightly parted, and she looks nothing like the firecracker she is when awake.

It's these moments that get me. Moments where the world outside—bikes, club business, danger—doesn't matter.

I shift, trying not to disturb her.

My arm's gone numb from having it under her all night, but hell, if I'd move it sooner.

Jordyn stirs, murmuring something unintelligible before settling back into stillness.

I take a deep breath, inhaling the mix of her floral shampoo and the lingering scent of last night's whiskey.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand, snapping me out of my reverie.

I reach over, careful not to wake her, and grab it.

The screen lights up, and I see the time.

8:00 a.m.

Shit.

I've got to be at the clubhouse soon, or Blackjack and Zane will have my hide.

"Jordyn," I whisper, placing a hand gently on her shoulder.

She doesn't stir. I don't really want to wake her since she looks so damn peaceful. But duty calls and the club waits for no one.

"Jordyn," I try again, a bit louder this time.

Her eyes flutter open, those hazel depths slowly focusing on me.

"Morning, beautiful," I say, brushing a loose strand of hair away from her face.

She smiles sleepily, but then I watch realization hit her like a freight train.

"Shit, what time is it?" she asks, suddenly wide awake, the tranquility of moments ago shattered.

"Eight-oh-five," I reply. "We need to go. I've got to get back to the clubhouse."

"Fuck!" she mutters under her breath, throwing the covers off and scrambling to find her clothes from last night, scattered around the room like breadcrumbs leading to our wild evening.

"Late to something?" I ask, already knowing she must be.

"Yeah," she says, pulling on her jeans. "Tara's gonna kill me. I'm late for my shift at Tart."

She grabs her phone and dials Tara, pacing the room while waiting for her to pick up.

I start getting dressed too, pulling on my jeans and a black t-shirt, the fabric feeling rough but familiar against my skin.

"Hey, Tara. Yeah, I'm sorry, I'm running late. I'll be there in thirty . . . Yeah, thanks." She hangs up and looks at me, hope flickering in her eyes. "Can you drop me off at Tart?"

"Sure thing." I nod, grabbing my cut. "But what about your car?"

"I'll get Tara to drop me off after work so I can pick it up. I'll tell her I was too tipsy to drive last night and left it there," she explains, slipping on her shoes.

"Smart," I say, appreciating how she always thinks things through.

It's part of why I'm drawn to her, beyond just the obvious chemistry.

Licking my lips, I look right into her eyes. "Look, this should be a one-off kinda thing."

Jordyn forces a smile. "Yeah. After that clusterfuck of a relationship, I don't need anything serious right now anyway."

We hurry out of the room, the cold Montana morning hitting us as we step outside.

The cold air bites, waking us up fully.

My bike waits like a loyal dog, chrome gleaming under the pale sun.

I swing my leg over and fire it up, the engine's roar echoing through the quiet streets.

"Hop on," I shout over the noise.

Jordyn climbs on behind me, her arms wrapping around my waist.

It feels right, her holding onto me like this. Like we're two pieces of a puzzle.

"Make sure you hold on tight," I warn, though she already knows the drill. She's lived and breathed this life, and Jordyn even has her own bike and rides.

We peel out, tires screeching against the asphalt.

The city blurs around us, a mix of gray and muted colors.

We ride through Billings, past rundown buildings and up-and-coming neighborhoods.

The wind whips through my hair, stinging my eyes. But I don't mind.

This is where I belong—between the rush of speed and the promise of something more.

As we near Tart, I feel Jordyn's grip tighten.

She leans closer, her breath warm against my neck.

"Thanks, Bama," she murmurs, sincerity lacing her words.

I just nod, eyes on the road ahead.

We pull up to Tart, the neon sign flickering in the early light.

I cut the engine, and the silence hits me, deafening after the roar of the bike.

Jordyn slides off first, her boots clicking on the pavement as she lands.

She smooths down her hair and adjusts her jacket.

"Thanks for the ride," she says, eyes meeting mine, a mix of gratitude and urgency. "Next time, we should have helmets."

"Yeah, you're probably right," I reply, though the clock's ticking in my head.

I have to get back to the clubhouse before Blackjack and Zane start raising hell.

"Hey," she stops me as I'm about to rev the engine again. "I'll tell them I called you this morning. That I stayed at a friend's place ‘cause I was too tipsy to drive home last night."

"Appreciate it, Jordyn," I say, a weight lifting off my shoulders.

The last thing I need is more heat from the club.

"Don't mention it," she says, flashing a quick smile. "Just get back there before they notice you're gone if you can."

"Will do," I promise, watching her walk toward the entrance.

Her stride is confident like she's got the world figured out. Maybe she does.

As she disappears through the door, I can't help but feel a pang of something—regret, maybe. Or just the cold reality that our worlds only collide in moments like these.

The bike roars back to life beneath me, and I speed off, the wind trying to tear away the thoughts gnawing at my mind.

The city blurs past once more, each mile taking me closer to the clubhouse.

Closer to the questions I'll have to answer. But for now, all I can think about is how Jordyn jumped to have my back.

She didn't have to offer up that alibi, but she did, and that means the world to me.

The ride back is a blur of asphalt and wind.

Billings wakes up around me, the early risers and the stragglers blending into one faceless mass.

But I'm not part of their world. My world is danger, leather, and the code we live by—one that doesn't forgive mistakes easily.

I pull up to the clubhouse, the familiar sight settling the unease in my gut.

Dismounting, I park my bike next to the row of others, each one representing their riders.

I take a deep breath. It's time to face the music, and hopefully, they don't have my head.

Inside, the air is thick with smoke and the remnants of last night's party.

It's quieter than usual—most of the brothers are probably nursing hangovers or still sprawled out on couches.

I scan the room, looking for my Prez and VP. He's the one I need to answer to.

No point delaying it. I push further inside, steeling myself for whatever comes next.

Blackjack's hunched over a newspaper at the scarred wooden table in the corner.

The kind of corner that's seen deals, threats, and brotherhood.

He doesn't look up as I approach, just flicks his eyes my way before burying them back in the print.

"Where the hell you been, Bama?" His voice is low, gravelly—the kind that demands answers.

"Jordyn called me this morning," I say, keeping it brief. "She needed a ride to Tart."

He lowers the paper slowly, like every second's a test of my patience.

His eyes, sharp and cutting, finally lock onto mine. "That right?"

"Yeah." I shift my weight from one foot to the other. "She was too tipsy to drive last night. Left her car at a friend's place."

"Better not be messin' around when there's work to be done." There's a hint of warning in his tone, but he doesn't press further.

"Wouldn't dream of it," I reply, my jaw tightening. "Just helpin' out."

Blackjack grunts, folding the paper neatly before tossing it on the table. "Get to it, then."

"On it." I nod, turning away, already feeling the weight lift slightly.

One hurdle down, a thousand more to go.

I get to work cleaning up the bar area, and I might be twenty minutes into it when someone calls my name.

"Yo, Bama!" a voice cuts through the air like a blade.

I turn to see Dracus leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.

His eyes are like steel—sharp and unyielding.

"Hey, Dracus." I nod, bracing myself. This isn't a conversation I can afford to mess up.

"Why'd Jordyn need a ride this morning?" He pushes off the wall, taking a step closer. "Her car okay?"

"Yeah, it's fine," I say, keeping my voice steady. "She drank a little too much with some girlfriends last night. Left it at a friend's place."

"Drank too much?" Dracus's brow furrows, concern flickering across his face. "Where'd you pick her up from?"

"Friend's house over on Maple." I shrug, trying to play it casual. "She called me early, figured I'd help out."

"Maple, huh?" Dracus rubs his chin, eyes narrowing. "Which friend?"

"Didn't ask." I meet his gaze head-on. "Just wanted to make sure she got to work on time."

"All right." He finally nods, though the tension doesn't leave his shoulders. "Thanks for goin' to get her."

"No problem," I reply, feeling the weight of his scrutiny.

"Now, get your ass in gear," he says, turning away. "There's a hell of a lot of work that needs to be done."

"On it," I mutter, already moving toward the garage.

I'm done here at the bar anyway.

As I walk away, I can't shake the feeling that the cat will get out of the bag eventually.

Dracus seemed very accusatory when he was asking me about Jordyn, so did someone see me and her at the hotel? It makes me wonder.

I feel eyes boring into my back like a hot brand.

The whole place smells like oil and sweat, an undertone of desperation clinging to the air.

"Hey, Bama," Blackjack calls out from his corner, not looking up from his newspaper. "Don't forget to clean the tools after you're done."

"Got it," I grunt, pushing the door open to the garage.

The second I make it through the door, I reach for the grease-stained rag on the workbench.

My hands move on autopilot, muscle memory from endless mornings spent here earning my keep.

Being a prospect isn't easy at all. It's hard work, but it's hard work that will show the club I want to be here. Not only that but that I deserve to be here.

"Dracus seemed pretty tense." It's Blackjack again, this time coming into the garage with his newspaper in hand.

His gaze is sharp, cutting through the haze of exhaust.

"Yeah," I mutter, focusing on the wrench in my hand. "He's just worried about Jordyn."

"Always is," Blackjack says, more to himself than anyone else. "Don't get me wrong, he's worried about Nova too, but Jordyn and Dracus have a special father-daughter relationship."

"Yeah." I've seen that kind of love before—rare, fierce, and consuming. Makes you do crazy things. "Is he her biological father, or do they not know?"

Jordyn's Mom is with three dudes, almost like they're brother husbands. You know, instead of sister wives.

Blackjack shrugs. "I'm not sure. She looks like Bolt more than anyone else."

I nod, hearing his words. I didn't ask for any specific reason other than the fact I'm nosey as hell.

The wrench slips from my fingers, clattering against the concrete floor.

I curse under my breath, bending to pick it up.

When I straighten, I catch Zane watching from the doorway, arms crossed, face unreadable.

"Heard you picked Jordyn up this morning," he says, voice low but carrying. "Good on you for showin' up when one of the ladies needed help. We take care of our own around here."

"Yeah, I did. I'll do anything for the club, Prez, whether it's picking one of the ladies up or scrubbin' toilets. I'm here to prove myself to y'all," I repeat, meeting his gaze head-on.

For Jordyn, I'd walk through fire, but no one knows that.

Somehow, I feel like last night changed everything between us, and I hope it did.

"Good." He nods, finally turning away. "Now get back to work."

"On it," I say, gripping the wrench tighter.

I will bust my ass for however long I have to until I prove myself to the club. My ultimate goal is to get patched in, and I will.

I've already taken a bullet for the club, and I'd gladly do it again.

As I dive back into the familiar routine, I can't shake the sense that today is anything but ordinary.

Maybe it means things are going to change for the better, and I hope it does.