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CHAPTER5
Brick
Spending allthis time with Ava is doing a number on me. I wake up every morning with a hard-on that could double as a battering ram. Today is no different.
As soon as my eyes flutter open, I reach down and grab my morning wood. Already, my head is filled with Ava. Her full lips, her delicious curves, the way she moves with such grace and confidence. Just thinking about her has me aching.
I start to stroke myself, slowly at first, letting out a low growl as I imagine her soft hands on me instead of my big rough paws. I picture her trailing kisses down my chest, making her way lower until her lips find my cock, planting a sweet kiss on the tip before swirling her tongue around it. My breathing becomes ragged, and pretty soon I’m making a mess all over my hand and stomach with a growl of pleasure.
I stand up and head for the door, needing to get into the shower.
And Ava is standing in the hall. She’s holding two mugs of coffee and blushing furiously.
“Um,” she says. “I brought you this.”
I take it with my clean hand and set it down on the table just inside my door. “Thanks, doll.” I catch her sneaking a glance down at my boxers before looking back up at my face, wide-eyed.
She’s fucking adorable.
“See you later,” I tell her and slip past her toward the bathroom, wishing I could pull her into the shower with me.
* * *
Watching Ava engage with this part of my life stirs something within me. My feelings for her have been growing, slowly but surely, and it’s becoming harder to keep them in check.
As we mingle with the other club members, I see Ava’s genuine interest in their stories and her easy way of connecting with them. It’s a sight that brings warmth to my chest, but also a twinge of fear. I want to protect her, to keep her insulated from the harsher aspects of this life, but I also respect her independence, her resilience.
It’s a struggle, this balancing act of desire and duty, and I find myself torn. But for now, I push those feelings aside, focusing instead on introducing Ava to this new world and ensuring she feels comfortable within it.
I see him from across the room, Stray, young and reckless, hurling knives at the dartboard. There’s a wildness in his eyes, a desperation I recognize all too well. He’s drunk, sloppy, and it’s a dangerous combination. Ace had been his mentor, his guiding light, and in Ace’s absence, Stray has been spiraling.
The guilt over Ace’s death gnaws at me, a constant reminder of the choices I’ve made, the mistakes I can’t undo. I’d been avoiding Stray, unable to face him, unable to face my own guilt. But seeing him now, teetering on the edge, I can’t turn away anymore.
“Enough, Stray,” I call out, striding toward him. The room falls silent, all eyes on us.
Stray turns to me, his eyes glassy and unfocused. He laughs, a hollow, bitter sound, and throws another knife. It misses the dartboard entirely, embedding itself in the wooden wall.
I reach him just as he’s about to throw another knife. Grabbing his wrist, I try to wrench the knife from his grip. But he resists, turning on me with a snarl.
In his drunken state, he lunges, slashing the knife across my arm. It’s a shallow cut, more shocking than painful. But it’s enough to ignite a spark of anger within me.
Reacting more out of instinct than thought, I swing my fist, connecting with his jaw. Stray stumbles backward, dropping the knife as he falls to the ground. The room is silent, everyone watching us, but I barely notice.
As I stand there, my heart pounding, looking down at Stray sprawled on the floor, I feel a mix of anger, frustration, and a deep, gnawing guilt. I should have stepped in sooner, should have been there for Stray like Ace would have wanted. But it’s not too late. Not yet.
Breathing heavily, I extend my hand toward Stray. His eyes, still clouded by the alcohol, flicker up to meet mine. There’s defiance there, yes, but also confusion, and something that looks a lot like pain.
“Come on,” I say, my voice steady despite the tumultuous thoughts running through my head. “Let’s get you up.”
With a groan, Stray accepts my hand and I pull him to his feet. He sways, unsteady, and I grip his arm to keep him upright. A few club members shift uncomfortably, watching us. I can feel their eyes on me, their silent questions hanging heavy in the air.
“Rider,” I call out, looking toward one of the members standing nearby. He’s a veteran, someone I can trust. “Help me get Stray to his room.”
Rider nods, stepping forward to take Stray’s other arm. Together, we guide the young, drunk club member away from the crowd, away from the knives still embedded in the wall, each one a stark reminder of what could have gone wrong tonight.
As I help carry Stray down the hallway toward his room, I can’t help but think of Ace, of the promises I made, the promises I broke. But it’s not too late to make things right. I can’t bring Ace back, but I can help Stray. And maybe, just maybe, that’s a start.
* * *
