Chapter Eight

Tyson

My fingers strum a silent rhythm on Annette's dining room table, and the morning light filters in through the window, painting the room in hues of gold and warmth. Annette's home is just like her, and I can see why she picked this building in her hometown. After everything she's been through, the familiar must be comforting, but having it shattered by Beathan's abduction makes me wonder if she'll stay. Tension coils within my chest, and it feels as tight as a spring when I think of anyone hurting either of them.

The memory of last night's kiss lingers on my lips, a passionate promise that left me yearning for more. Her lips were soft, eager, and honest—so damn honest that it nearly broke me. I can still feel the press of her body against mine, a moment of pure connection that makes me question everything I've ever wanted or worked for.

Now, with the new day dawning, I'm wrestling with the conflict raging inside me. I want her, God, how I want her. Yet, I'm straddling the line between desire and patience. Surely, she must feel it too? Five years is a long time, enough to build trust and lay down roots. She knows me—my strengths and my failings. But does knowing equate to readiness?

I catch myself staring at the empty chair across from me, picturing her seated there, her laughter filling the room, dissolving all my uncertainties. But I won't—I can't rush her into anything. I've learned love isn't something you take—it's given freely, without constraints or expectations. And so, I wait with a heart full of hope that she'll see in me what I see in her beyond just this moment of passion we shared.

Taking a deep breath, I exhale slowly, steadying the restless thrum of my pulse. Because no matter how much I ache to move forward, it's not just about what I want. It's about us and whether she's ready to take that next step with me.

The soft pad of footsteps precedes her appearance, drawing my gaze toward the hallway. Annette emerges, the morning light casting a warm glow around her. Her light pink dressing gown clings to her figure, a pale fabric that whispers against the contours of her body. It's her hair that captures my attention the most—blonde strands in a tangled disarray from sleep, a chaotic crown that somehow accentuates her natural beauty. I've seen her polished and poised, but this disheveled state is breathtaking in its intimacy. This is Annette, unvarnished and real, and it strikes me just how profoundly she's engraved herself into every corner of my being.

"Morning," she mumbles, her voice husky with sleep, rubbing her eyes with delicate fingers.

"Good morning," I reply, my voice steadier than I feel.

I push back from the table and move to the counter, reaching automatically for the coffee pot. The familiar ritual grounds me and gives me something to do with hands that itch to reach out to her.

"Coffee?" I ask, even though I know the answer.

"Please," she says, a ghost of a smile touching her lips as she sits at the kitchen table.

I pour the steaming liquid into a mug, the rich aroma filling the room with a comforting scent. Handing her the mug, our fingers brush briefly, sending a jolt of electricity through me. Her smile deepens, and for a moment, I'm lost in the depth of her eyes.

"Annette," I begin, leaning against the counter, my coffee forgotten. "I need to head over to the MC. Angus and the others… they'll be waiting for me." The words are heavy, tasting of duty and the unspoken dangers that lurk outside these walls.

"Is everything okay?" Concern etches her features, her brow knitting together.

"Everything will be fine," I assure her, though the weight in my chest belies my confident tone. "I just have some things to sort out with the MacKenny boys, but I'll return as soon as possible."

She nods, cradling the mug in her hands, the steam curling up like tendrils. "Maybe we could talk about us when you get back," she says softly.

My heart skips a beat at her mention of a partnership, but I don't want to get ahead of myself. "I'll always make time for you," I respond with a half-smile, hoping to inject a bit of levity into the air thick with unspoken fears.

"Promise me you'll come back," Annette says, staring into my eyes.

"Promise," I affirm, holding her gaze. In that simple word lies the entirety of my world, bound by an unbreakable oath, not just to return but to return to her.

It's Annette who anchors me—she and the hope of a future that hangs on the precipice of a single kiss shared right here in her kitchen.

Moving toward her, I lean in, my lips finding hers in a quiet farewell. Annette's cheeks bloom with color. The kiss is gentle, a whisper of a thing, yet it stirs a storm within me. Her taste, sweet and warm, lingers on my tongue, morning breath be damned. I pull away reluctantly, memorizing the way her eyes flutter open, heavy with sleep and something more.

"See you soon," I murmur, my thumb brushing her cheek one last time before I turn for the door.

The crisp morning air bites at my skin as I climb into my Charger, the engine roaring to life beneath me. The drive to the Loyal Rebels clubhouse is a blur, my mind replaying that tender moment over and over like a favorite song stuck on repeat.

Arriving at the clubhouse, the sight of Maddock lounging against the front steps pulls me back to reality. His nod is curt, a silent acknowledgment between men who understand each other's worth without needing words. Maddock is an accountant, methodical in everything he does, and although many don't see it, he's like the rest of his brothers with a wild streak. He plays at being the businessman, but I've seen him fight and saw him when he came back from exile. His family and Cherie are his everything, and he'll do whatever it takes to keep them safe.

"Let's not keep them waiting," Maddock says, his voice gravelly as he leads the way inside.

The meeting room feels like stepping into a den of lions. Kyle stands at the head, his presence commanding even in stillness. Sean slouches in a chair, dark circles under his eyes, speaking of a night spent on high alert. Jamie, always the outlier with his farmer's tan and calloused hands, nods a greeting. And there's Angus, perched on the edge of the desk like some dark avian observer, his gaze sharp and calculating.

"Tyson," Kyle greets, his handshake firm.

"How was the night on the sofa?" Sean asks, a wry smile tugging at his lips despite the fatigue.

"I slept fine."

"Let's get down to business," Angus cuts in, his voice devoid of warmth or welcome.

The initial camaraderie is tangible as I sit among the MacKenny brothers. There's a shared nod here, a half-smile there—unspoken affirmations of solidarity that have always been their way.

Angus speaks up, his tone slicing through the comfort like a knife. "Carlotta Vaughn," he says, and my blood runs cold at the mention of my lawyer's name. "She's behind Beathan's abduction."

My head snaps up, eyes locking onto Angus, searching for some hint of jest, but his face is all hard lines and grim certainty.

" How do you know this?" I demand, but even as I speak, I dread the answer.

Angus's hand lifts, pointing out into the clubhouse where a sliver of daylight reveals a silhouette. "Elaine," he states flatly. "The woman we found in the attic. Carlotta loaded her with cash to spy on Annette and the club. I've traced everything back to Carlotta, her signature is all over the operation."

"Dammit, Angus, why would she…?" My voice trails off as the pieces fall into place, jagged edges cutting at the trust I've held for over a decade.

"Because you were cleaning house, Tyson." Angus leans forward. "Bringing in new people, a new company that'd sniff out the rot. She's been bleeding you for years."

His words hang heavily in the room, dense with accusation and disbelief. It's a gut punch, a betrayal that stings sharper than any blade could.

"Tyson, man," Angus shakes his head, almost pitying. "How did you not see it?"

A storm of confusion and disbelief churns inside me. Carlotta, she's the woman who's been my confidante, advisor, and friend . For over ten years, she's stood by me, and I've trusted her with not just my legal matters but with the fragments of my personal life. How could she betray Beathan, Annette, and me ? They are my world, even if the blood ties say otherwise. I would lay down my life for them. Carlotta knows this. She knows everything.

The room feels like it's closing in, the air thick with tension and unspoken thoughts. My hands clench into fists beneath the table, nails digging into my palms to anchor me against the tide of betrayal washing over me. I glance at the faces surrounding me, etched with concern and anger, and realize that these men, the MacKenny boys, are more than just a club, they're family. And they look at me now, awaiting my lead.

"All right," I start, my voice steady despite the storm raging within me. "What's our play with Carlotta?" I ask the room. It's a gesture of respect, acknowledging their stake in this too. Carlotta's deceit doesn't just wound me, it endangers the very fabric of loyalty and trust that binds us all. "I'll back whatever you decide."

They need to know I stand united with them when it comes to protecting our own. Whatever course we choose, it needs to be decisive. Carlotta's treachery won't go unanswered, not when it threatens what I hold most dear.

Sean's face breaks into a rare grin, his head nodding once, sharp and decisive. He raises his hand, a silent signal that reverberates through the room like a gunshot. The door swings open with a menacing creak, and Cutter steps in, a hulking shadow that commands an immediate unease in the pit of my stomach.

Cutter's eyes find mine, and I can't help but feel the ghost of every warning instinct flare to life. There's a dangerous edge to him, a blade hidden beneath a veneer of controlled calmness. He seems to thrive on the fringes of darkness, and I've learned to trust the wary tension that tightens my muscles in his presence.

"Carlotta," Cutter says, his voice rough like gravel. "I'm going to fetch her. We'll bring her to the pit." His lips curl into a smirk, but it doesn't reach his cold eyes. "Then we decide as a family."

The words hang heavy, and I can almost taste Cutter's desperation to be counted among the MacKenny boys as one of their own, to carve out his place within the tight-knit circle of brotherhood. But there's something off in how he claims the word ‘family,' as though it's a title he's still trying to earn, a badge not yet pinned to his chest.

‘Family' to the MacKennys isn't just about blood—it is loyalty, the bonds forged in fire and trust. Cutter yearns for that connection, maybe more than any of them realize, and at this moment, his hunger to belong is laid bare, naked and raw against the backdrop of our grim council.

My gaze flickers around the room, searching the faces of the MacKenny brothers for some hint of what's to come. The weight of silence settles over us before I clear my throat, a low rumble that feels louder than intended. "And the girl…" I start, my voice steady despite the turmoil within, "… the one who helped Carlotta… what happens to her?"

Cutter's eyes snap toward me, a spark igniting in their depths, and his lips stretch into a smile that doesn't promise kindness. "The girl…" he says, tone dripping with a venomous pleasure, "… she belongs to me now." There's ownership in his words, a declaration that sends an icy draft through the room. "I'll deal with her as I see fit."

His smile is a predator's grin, all teeth and no soul—a cruel twist that speaks of punishments not yet devised but certain to be merciless. My stomach knots at the implication, a silent alarm that this could spiral into something dark and irretrievable.

It's then I feel compelled to stand, every muscle tensing with a mixture of anger and resolve. I rap my knuckles against the table's wooden surface—a sharp, commanding sound that seems alien as this isn't my kingdom but Kyle's.

Words fail me, and my thoughts scramble. My hand rests on the table, the wood cool beneath my touch, grounding me in this pivotal moment where decisions are life and death, and loyalty is the currency that binds or breaks us.

"Tyson…" Kyle says, his voice steady as he rises from his chair, "… what are your intentions with Annette?"

All thoughts of Elaine drain away, and I feel the weight of their scrutiny. My hands twitch at my sides, but I plant them firmly on the table, anchoring myself.

"I…" The word is a tremor, and I clear my throat. "I love her." The confession feels like shedding armor in enemy territory. "And Beathan," I add, a fierce tenderness swelling in my chest. "If she'll have me, I want to move to Becca Falls to be with them. Start a life together." I pause, scanning the faces before me for any sign of judgment. "I've got money, more than enough. They'd never want for anything."

A moment stretches, taut as a wire. Then, one by one, the MacKenny brothers stand. Their eyes don't waver, each a sentinel guarding a sacred trust. It's Kyle's smile that breaks the standoff, slow and deliberate.

"Good to hear, Tyson. We're glad. But it's not money Annette needs. She needs a strong man to love her. To protect her. If you truly do…" his eyes lock onto mine, "… then we won't stand in your way if it's what she wants."

Their silent verdict ripples through me, a mix of relief and resolution. These men, bound by loyalty thicker than blood, have offered me something rare—a chance, not bought but earned. And it's that realization, more than any promise of wealth or safety, that cements my resolve. They all loved Lochlan MacKenny, Beathan's father, but he failed Annette in many ways. He broke her trust in a way I could never do. I would burn down the world to protect her and Beathan, and I think the MacKenny brothers know this.

The door of my Charger closes with a soft thud, the sound somehow final. The engine is silent behind me as I step away from the curb. My footsteps echo on the pavement, each step syncing with the drumming of my heart. It's a short walk, but one that stretches infinitely as I let the weight of the meeting settle over me.

The MacKenny brothers' words replay in my head, a mantra reminding me of what's at stake. Their approval is not about the money—it never was. It's about strength, protection, love, and whether I'm the right man for Annette and Beathan.

With each step toward Annette's front door, my doubts scatter. I've always known deep down that it wasn't my wealth that would make the difference. It's something more profound. A truth I'm only now beginning to fully grasp.

My hand finds the doorknob, and I step inside, the warmth of the studio enveloping me like an embrace.

"Tyson?" Annette's voice floats down the stairway, laced with surprise and something softer, gentler.

"Just me," I call back, shedding the remnants of my earlier apprehension.

I follow the murmur of voices and the sweet scent of vanilla to the kitchen. Climbing the stairs, each rise seems to lighten the burden on my shoulders, lifting the armor I didn't realize I'd been wearing.

Reaching the top, I pause at the threshold, struck by the scene before me. Beathan's bright and unburdened laughter peals through the air as he stands on a stool beside his mother. Annette's hands guide his, helping to spoon the cupcake batter into a tray. Her blonde hair catches the afternoon light, spilling around her shoulders in a disheveled halo.

"Momma, look," Beathan exclaims, proud of the dollop he's managed to get in the cup rather than on the counter.

"Perfect," Annette praises, her smile reaching her eyes. They shine with that same unconditional love I feel swelling inside me.

Something shifts within me witnessing their simple joy. The enormity of what I've just committed to pales compared to what I stand to gain. Not money, not power, but this—laughter in a sunlit kitchen, a bond forged in patience and care, and a family, imperfect and real.

"Tyson," Annette says again, her voice softer this time. She turns, a trace of flour on her cheek, and her smile widens as our eyes meet.

"Hey," I reply, my voice thick with emotion.

I walk over, reaching out to brush the flour from her skin, my fingertips grazing her warm face. Beathan looks up, vanilla batter smeared across his chin, and grins.

"Tyson, you're home!"

Home.

The word resonates, echoing through the kitchen, filling every corner of the space and my heart. And I realize, standing here among the sticky counters and the smell of baking cupcakes, that all the wealth in the world doesn't hold a candle to the riches found in these moments.

This is what matters.

This is where I belong.

With Annette and Beathan, surrounded by friends who are family.

Together, we are safe.

Together, we are loved.