Chapter 31
-Hailey-
The ride back was silent.
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Wind in my hair, asphalt blurring beneath us, the world felt muted – like someone had turned the volume down on everything but my heartbeat.
The adrenaline that had carried me through the station was gone, leaving only exhaustion and that strange, weightless numbness I’d been unable to escape.
Logan’s hand was steady on the throttle, his shoulders stiff under his cut. I leaned against his back, eyes half–closed, and tried not to think about what I’d just gotten us into.
Detective Becker was going after Logan… after the club. And it was my fault.
Becker’s voice still lingered in my head, cool and measured. *He spent an inordinate amount of time behind bars in this very station.*
Like Logan was a case file waiting to be reopened.
I thought we were headed back to the clubhouse, but instead Logan drove us out of the city until we were surrounded by trees and meadows.
I didn’t know where we were going, and I didn’t care.
The countryside blurred past, trees bleeding together in a haze of autumn colors and exhaustion. My mind kept circling back to the interrogation room, the cold metal chair, the way Defective Becker’s pen tapped against his notepad like a
metronome.
—
For a split second, the blur of trees became the flash of gunfire in my mind Matt’s eyes as he went down, the smell of his blood. I blinked hard and it was gone, replaced by sunlight and green fields that felt too alive for what was inside me.
My chest tightened, and I buried my face between Logan’s shoulder blades, breathing in the scent of leather and smoke. It was familiar, comforting. But even that couldn’t chase away the read pooling in my stomach.
Eventually the bike slowed, turning onto a gravel driveway. I lifted my eyes as we rolled up to a big gray farmhouse with a wraparound porch. Flower boxes lined the windows, bursting with colors.
It didn’t match Logan’s vibe at all too soft, too clean. But maye that was the point… maybe he brought me here because it didn’t belong to the same world. No guns, no blood, no Becker whiting to pounce.
He killed the engine, and the sudden silence rang in my ears.
“Where are we?” My voice came out hoarse.
“My parents‘ place.” He swung his leg over the bike and offerede a hand. “Figured you could use some quiet. Plus, I wanna do some work on the bike and Talon has the good tools.”
I unclipped my helmet and took his hand, my legs stiff from the ride. The air smelled like fresh–cut grass and honeysuckle. A far cry from the scent of motor oil and stale beer at the clubhouse.
Logan unlocked the door and let himself in. The house was modern and well–decorated. It was also quiet.
“They’re probably at the clubhouse,” Logan said, like he could red my mind. He toed off his boots by the door.
I followed him inside, my socks silent on the hardwood floors. The living room was cozy. A well–loved leather couch, shelves
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Chapter 31
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crammed with books and knickknacks, a big fireplace.
Family photos covered the walls, and I paused at one of a younger Logan, maybe ten or twelve, grinning at the camera with his arm slung over the shoulders of someone else I recognized. young River.
“Make yourself at home.” Logan disappeared into the kitchen.
I wandered to the sliding glass door in the dining room. Rolling elds stretched to the tree line, golden in the afternoon light. A tire swing hung from an ancient oak tree, swaying in the breeze. It was so peaceful.
Logan appeared beside me with two bottles of beer. “Patio?”
I nodded, following him out, and we settled into a couple of lounge chairs facing the backyard.
“So, you come here while your parents aren’t home and help yourself to their beer?” I teased, taking a sip from the bottle he handed me.
He chuckled, cracking open his own. “They won’t miss a couple.
I leaned back in my chair, eyes fixed on the tree line. “What’s your mom like?”
“She’s the glue,” he said, a softness creeping into his voice. “Keep Talon grounded, keeps me from killin‘ him.” He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
I hesitated, swirling the beer in my hand. “What was it like growing up? With the club, I mean.”
Logan was quiet for a minute. “Complicated,” he said. “The club is family, but it’s not the kind of life you’d wish on a kid. My mom tried to keep me away from it. Hell, my old man did, too, at first. Didn’t work, obviously. I was riding before it was legal–built my first bike when I was fifteen. Throwin‘ punches before I knew what they meant.”
I wondered if Becker would ever understand that — that there was more to these men than their rap sheets. I nodded, chewing on my lip. “Sounds rough.”
He shrugged. “It had its perks. Never had to worry about bullies at school. Everyone knew who my old man was.”
“Sounds like you had a pretty decent childhood, though… overall
–
He laughed. “Yeah. Depends who you ask. Mom hated it — still does. She wanted me to go to college like Scarlett. Get a real job, live a normal life. But that was never gonna happen.”
“Scarlett has a real job?” I asked, taking another sip of beer. “It seems like she’s always at the clubhouse. Behind the bar or in the kitchen.”
“Yeah,” he replied. “She has a degree in social work. Helps kids, mostly. Somethin…”
He trailed off, like he was unsure whether to tell me whatever came next.
“Something happened to her when we were kids. Bad. She had fight like hell.”
I almost choked on my beer. “Seriously?”
“Yeah,” he said. “She wanted to help kids ever since.”
“The genes in your family need to be studied,” I replied. “Bunch of badasses. I can’t wait to meet your mom.”
He tilted his head with a smirk on his face, studying me. “What about you? What’s your story, Ace?”
I took a deep breath, the words bubbling up automatically. “My afloat, but it was never enough. I learned early how to take care
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ad died when I was ten. Mom worked three jobs to keep us myself and my little sister, Abby. How to patch up the
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Chapter 31
holes in our lives.
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“When I met Matt, I thought he was my way out. He was charming, ambitious… everything I thought I needed. Until the cracks started showing”
Logan’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t say anything.
“I haven’t been in touch with my mom or sister in years,” I continued. “I had a lot of friends back home, too. I miss them all.”
“Should reach out to them,” he murmured, resting his hand on my thigh. “I’m sure they’d love to hear from you.”
“I wouldn’t know how,” I sighed, covering his hand with mine. “I lost their numbers years ago. They probably think I hate them.”
“Bullshit,” he said. But before he could say more, he was interrupted by the sound of bikes pulling into the driveway.
I had another flashback to the night before. Engines roaring, pulling up to Matt’s house with River and Monty.
My stomach dropped.
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
