Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

Highway

The scent of beer, oil, and leather hits me hard as I enter the clubhouse. I'm on a mission. My eyes scan the room, cutting through the haze of cigarette smoke and raucous laughter, searching for one face among the sea of brothers and their old ladies.

"Highway!" someone shouts, but I barely nod.

Not stopping.

Can't stop.

She's here somewhere.

The back of the clubhouse is where the noise dulls to murmurs and chuckles. That's where I find her—Lyric, my woman. She throws her head back, and a cascade of hair tumbles around her face as she laughs at something Jet says. Jet, with her dark hair and eyes that have seen too much.

My heart beats a little faster at the sight of Lyric. It's love, pure and fierce. Seeing Lyric happy and hearing that uninhibited laugh feels like a jolt to my heart. "Hey, babe," I say as I approach.

Her laughter winds down, and those bright eyes lock onto mine.

"Highway," she greets, her smile still in place, like she knew I'd come looking for her, and she's been waiting.

"Jet." I nod, acknowledging her without taking my eyes off Lyric. She tips her chin up by way of a greeting.

Lyric turns in her seat, and I catch a glimpse of that spark in her eyes that tells me she's exactly where she wants to be—with me, with us, and in this life we've chosen, dangerous edges and all.

"Missed you," Lyric says, simple and true, like everything about us.

"Back at you," I reply, because what else is there to say?

There's a space next to her on the log, so I sit beside her. My hands find her waist, fingers gripping with a touch of ownership. With a fluid motion that's as natural to her as breathing, she's on my lap, perched like she belongs there because… she does.

With ease, I pull her closer. I'm rough around the edges, always have been, but with her, it's different. She leans back against me, a perfect fit, and I can't help but think how right it feels—a puzzle piece snapping into place.

Reaper strides in, Lucy tucked at his side, her bubbly personality a stark contrast to his dark presence. They're another piece, another perfect damn fit.

"Highway," Reaper nods, dropping onto the log across us like he owns it. His voice, a low rumble, cuts through the din of rowdy bikers and clinking glasses.

"Reaper," I acknowledge.

This is family.

This is brotherhood.

Lucy grins, eyes flicking to where Lyric sits on me. "Looks cozy," she says, her voice lilting with laughter.

"Life goals," I say with a smirk, watching them settle in. There's nothing but truth in those words.

My mind drifts for a second, Creed with Devil, Reaper with Lucy, all of us finding anchors in the storm. Rough men with hearts that beat fiercely for their women. The thought punches a grin onto my face, fierce and proud.

Justice strolls in, eyes scanning the area like he's casing the joint. He's got that look—cool, calculated, every inch the enforcer he is. But when his gaze lands on Jet, something shifts. It's subtle, but I catch it, the hard lines softening just a fraction.

"Jet," he says, his voice smooth as whiskey, pulling up a chair next to her with a confidence that's all Justice.

"Hey," she replies, and damn if she doesn't blush, her smile shy but lighting up her face.

"Having fun?" Justice asks, leaning in, close enough to share secrets or steal kisses.

"Yeah."

"Good." He grins and then holds out a beer for her.

Jet takes it, twists off the top, and clinks the bottle against his. The grin he's wearing grows bigger, and I see how much he likes the broken woman.

"Upstairs?" Lyric whispers against my neck, her breath hot, sending shivers down my spine.

"Lead the way, babe," I say, standing up, my hands steadying her as she slides off my lap, right onto her feet. We're a team, moving through the crowd, her hand clasped in mine, an unspoken promise between us.

The stairs creak under our boots, every step a beat closer to the haven above. The door to our room swings open, and we slip inside, away from the chaos, into our own slice of peace, just Highway and Lyric, the way it's meant to be.

The moment the door clicks shut, it's like a switch flips. My hands are all over her, pulling her close with an all-consuming hunger. She matches my intensity, her fingers tearing at my cut, the heavy leather falling onto the bed.

"Highway," she breathes out, and it's a spark right to my core.

"Lyric," I growl back, our lips crashing together, a collision of need and desire.

Her taste is intoxicating, sweet, and fierce, and I'm downing it like the finest whiskey.

Clothes shed like unwanted skin. We're bare, the moonlight spilling through the window painting her in silver.

"God, you're beautiful," I mutter against the valley between her breasts, my voice rough like gravel.

"Yours," she whispers, and that one word sends me over the edge.

Climbing onto the bed, I sit with my back against the headboard. Lyric climbs on me and slowly impales herself on my cock. I thrust up inside her, a relentless rhythm, and she's meeting me with every drive of my hips. The world outside doesn't exist—it's just us, tangled sheets, and the sound of our union filling the room. Sweat beads on our skin, the air charged with electricity, every touch sparking fire.

"Highway!" she cries out, her nails digging into my back, marking me as much as I've marked her.

"Lyric!" I echo her cry, my release tearing through me, a tidal wave that leaves nothing untouched.

We collapse together, a twisted mess of limbs and satisfaction. Our breathing slows, hearts still pounding out a wild beat, a testament to what we've just shared. I cradle her against me, her head on my chest, the rise and fall of her breathing syncing with mine.

"Do you remember you promised me we'd escape on your bike?"

A smile creases my face, the memory of that night flooding back. "Sure do. The open road and no looking back."

"Do you think we could cut it short and take off for a week?"

"Why would we do that?"

"Highway…" she starts, her voice a soft murmur against my skin. "I've got news."

"Shoot," I say, my hand stroking her hair, the silky strands slipping through my fingers.

"I've been offered an assignment…" she says, and there's a tremble in her words. "A photographic gig in Ukraine to document the war. They want me to leave in eight days."

The words hang in the air, heavy as lead. War zones are no playgrounds—they're hell on earth. But this is brave, unstoppable Lyric, and if anyone can capture the chaos and beauty of life in the midst of destruction, it's her.

My hands ball into fists, tension builds in my chest like a coiled spring. "Ukraine's a goddamn war zone, Lyric. It ain't safe."

She nods against me, her resolve a tangible thing. "It's important, Highway. To show the world." Lyric grabs my hand, her grip strong and unyielding. "This is about my goals and my life outside the club."

"Your life is here, with me," I say, the words barreling out before I can stop them. The thought of her in some distant battlefield, camera in hand instead of my fingers entwined with hers, it twists my gut.

"Highway." Her voice softens, and she traces the tattoo on my arm. "I love you. You're the man I want, the only one." She leans closer, her breath warm against my cheek. "But this… this is something I need to do. You understand chasing something that matters, don't you?"

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I'm silent, grappling with the tightrope between my need to protect her and my respect for her passion. The room suddenly feels too small, the walls closing in as the weight of her confession settles over me.

"Lyric…" I start, but the words don't come.

How do you argue with a woman who has dreams bigger than any horizon I've ever chased?

"Hey," she says, a small smile playing on her lips, the kind that tells me she's not asking for permission, more like she's telling me what will be. "This is important to me. As important as the club is to you. Can you understand that?"

And dammit, I do.

Because if there's one thing I get, it's the call of the road, the pull of something that's in your blood. And Lyric has the heart of a rebel and the soul of an artist, painting stories with her lens in ways most folks can't even dream of.

"All right, baby," I say finally, pulling her back into my arms. "A week of you and me on the open road. Then you go and do what you gotta do."

Her kiss is all fire and promise, stoking a different kind of flame that speaks of wild love and the kind of devotion that doesn't chain you down but sets you free. Free to chase the thunder, ride the storm, and always, always come back home.

Yeah, life with Lyric isn't ever going to be normal. But then again, who the hell wants normal? Not me. Not when I've got a love that burns hot enough to rival any blaze she'll find in a war zone.

Life's going be one hell of a ride, and I'm strapped in, ready for wherever this road takes us.

Together or miles apart, we're in it full throttle, no brakes.

And I wouldn't have it any other way.