The rest of my things sat tucked inside the saddlebags on either side of Wheels’ bike.A pair of shoes, my toiletries, and a couple of books I’d grabbed without thinking.
Not because I planned on reading, but because they were mine.
Funny how the smallest things suddenly mattered when everything else was falling apart.
The vibration of the motorcycle hummed beneath me, steady and familiar now.Twenty-four hours ago, I’d been terrified climbing onto the back of it.Now, without thinking, my arms rested comfortably around Wheels’ waist.
The city rolled past us.Traffic had picked up since we’d left the clubhouse.Students wandered sidewalks with backpacks slung over one shoulder.Couples sat outside coffee shops.Delivery vans squeezed through intersections while cyclists darted between cars like they had a death wish.Madison looked exactly the way it always had.
Normal.
Nobody would ever guess there was an organization quietly controlling pieces of it from the shadows.Nobody would guess a motorcycle club had unknowingly bought the one property they couldn’t afford to lose.Nobody would guess I was riding behind the man who had somehow become the safest place I’d found in days.
The thought caught me off guard.
Safe.
I didn’t know Wheels.
I knew he was the Sergeant at Arms.I knew he listened more than he talked.I knew Twister trusted him enough to put my life in his hands.
And I trusted him.That realization should’ve scared me.
We slowed as the traffic light ahead turned red.Magnum rolled to a stop first.Wheels stopped behind him.Hodge pulled up on our right.
The idle of three Harleys rumbled around us.
Wheels turned his head just enough that I could see part of his profile.“You okay?”
The question floated back to me over the engine noise.I stared at the line of cars crossing the intersection.
Was I okay?Not even close.
My apartment didn’t feel like mine anymore.
Every time I closed my eyes, I pictured someone calmly opening my desk drawers, lifting my planner, sliding my hard drives into a bag, then quietly walking out the door like they’d done it a hundred times before.
I was safer with Wheels.
Safer with the Saints.
That didn’t change the fact that The Ledger was still out there.
“I’m fine,” I called back.
He held my gaze another second.Long enough that I knew he didn’t believe me.
The light turned green, and he faced forward again.
The bike rolled ahead, and neither of us said another word.
The clubhouse came into view fifteen minutes later, and this time we didn’t pull around back.
Magnum eased toward the curb out front before parking beside the sidewalk.Wheels stopped behind him, and Hodge parked last.
I noticed the small seating area before I noticed the people.
A round metal table sat near the front door with a faded blue umbrella rising from the middle.Four chairs circled it, and another couple had been pulled close enough to join the conversation.
