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A faint smile flickers across Ava’s face, her gaze distant. “He was always so strong for me,” she says. “And funny as hell.”
I nod, taking a slow sip of my beer. “Alsostubbornas hell. Stubborn and reckless. Would’ve charged into a burning building if he thought someone needed help.”
Her eyes meet mine, and there’s a spark of recognition there. We’d both known the same man, seen his many facets, experienced his kindness and his recklessness in our own ways. We’d both loved him, in different ways. There weren’t two sides to Ace. Not really. He was who he was, bold and raw and infinitely real.
As I watch Ava, her face illuminated by the soft glow of the porch light, I feel an attraction that I can’t deny. Her strength, her resilience, her compassion—it draws me in, stirring feelings I’d buried deep inside.
Before I can stop myself, I reach out, gently cupping her face. Her eyes widen in surprise, but she doesn’t pull away. It’s a line I know I shouldn’t cross, but in the quiet solitude of the night, with the taste of Ava on my lips, I can’t bring myself to care.
CHAPTER6
Ava
The Cascade Reapers’clubhouse is a world unto itself. It’s a symphony of roaring engines, laughter, and the sharp scent of motor oil. The place is perpetually humming with life, a stark contrast to the quiet solitude I’ve been used to. There’s a sense of camaraderie here that’s almost tangible, a fierce loyalty that binds these men together.
I watch them from a corner of the room, my eyes drawn to their interactions. The way they tease each other, the shared nods and grins, the silent understanding that seems to pass between them. It’s intriguing, and a part of me yearns to understand more, to peel back the layers and delve into the heart of what makes this brotherhood tick.
I feel a twinge of regret that I never got to see my brother in this setting, with his other family. His brothers. I missed out on this integral part of his life—the rowdy camaraderie, the intense loyalty to these men. But it’s a small measure of comfort to experience it now.
And then there’s Brick. The man who’s been my constant shadow, my protector. The man I should despise, yet find myself drawn to. He moves through the clubhouse with an easy confidence, his presence commanding respect and attention. But there’s a quiet intensity to him, a guardedness that no doubt stems from the burdens he carries as president.
As the days pass, our paths cross more often. We share meals, exchange small talk, and sometimes, when the noise of the clubhouse fades into a distant hum, we share stories. Stories of Ace, of our pasts, of the things that shaped us into who we are. It’s in these moments that I catch glimpses of the man beneath the hardened exterior. The man who’s sacrificed so much for the club, who bears his loyalty like a badge of honor.
Days blend into weeks, and slowly but surely, the Cascade Reapers’ clubhouse starts to feel less alien. The harsh grumble of motorcycles, the sharp scent of oil and leather, the steady hum of voices and music echoing through the walls – they all become a part of my daily existence, seeping into my bones until I can’t remember what it was like before.
The clubhouse is a constant flurry of activity, a chaotic mix of business and pleasure. No one tells me outright how exactly the club makes money, but I pick up on things here and there, and I’m pretty sure it’s money laundering. I haven’t really examined how I feel about that. Yeah, it’s dangerous and illegal. But when I think about what they’ve built here, I can’t quite bring myself to judge them for it.
I watch as club members gather around the bar, sharing stories and jokes over beers, their laughter ringing through the air. I see them huddled in quiet corners, discussing club business with serious expressions and hushed voices. I witness the camaraderie, the brotherhood, the unyielding loyalty they have for each other. It’s a world far removed from the sterile halls of the hospital, from the quiet solitude of my previous life.
More than once, I inadvertently witness the Reapers hooking up with the girls who hang around here. But I notice that none of them go near Brick. I don’t know if he’s always made himself unavailable or if Ace’s death made him recede into himself, and it occurs to me how little I know about him, truly. I know his guilt eats away at him, but I don’t know how much because I don’t know who he was before I met him.
The members of the Cascade Reapers, once intimidating and unapproachable, become familiar faces. They greet me with nods and smiles, treating me with a respect that I hadn’t expected but am grateful for.
I find myself drawn to their stories, to the lives they’ve led. There’s an allure to their lifestyle, a freedom and sense of belonging that I haven’t felt in a long time. I watch as they tease each other, as they stand up for each other, as they band together in the face of adversity. It’s a fierce, unbreakable bond they share, one that I can’t help but envy.
I’m not oblivious to the effort Brick puts in to ensure my safety. I know he cares about me, and I know there’s something between us. He hasn’t kissed me again, though, and it’s starting to make me insane. I see the way he looks at me, and I know it’s not a lack of interest—it’s his stubborn, macho bullshit and his loyalty to my brother that are keeping him from taking things further. My favorite parts of the day have become the morning and evening commutes to work on the back of Brick’s bike. There’s something so peaceful about riding behind him, my arms around his waist, everything drowned out by the roaring engine.
At work, it’s a different story. It’s been getting less peaceful by the day. A colleague, Mark, a cardiothoracic surgeon, has been increasingly persistent in his attempts to get me to go out with him. I’ve tried to brush him off, to maintain a professional distance, but he seems incapable of taking a hint.
One day, as I’m stepping outside the hospital, Mark corners me. His too-close proximity makes my skin crawl, and his persistent advances are starting to feel more like harassment. I glance around, desperate for an escape, but the street is deserted.
And then I see him. Brick. His face hardens as he takes in the scene, his body going rigid. Without a word, he strides toward us, his movements filled with a quiet, deadly intent. I watch, my heart pounding in my chest, as Brick shoves Mark away from me and slams him against the wall.
Brick’s eyes are cold, hard steel as he reads Mark’s name badge. “Mark Belcic, chief of cardiothoracic surgery,” Brick reads, his voice deliberately casual. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a knife, which he presses against Mark’s forearm.
“If you ever come near Ava again,” Brick warns, his voice deadly calm, “I will sever every tendon in this arm of yours. You won’t be able to hold a scalpel, let alone perform surgery. Do you understand?”
Mark swallows hard, his eyes wide with fear. He nods quickly, muttering a shaky, “Yes.”
With one final warning glare, Brick releases him, and Mark stumbles away, his face pale. I watch as Brick sheathes his knife, his eyes meeting mine. There’s a silent promise in his gaze, a vow of protection that leaves me with a mix of terrifying emotions.
* * *
The ride home is a quiet one. When we pull up to the clubhouse, we dismount the bike, the roar of the engine dying down to a soft purr. I turn to Brick, my mind still reeling from the confrontation with Mark.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice soft but steady. “For... for what you did back there.”
Brick just nods, his eyes never leaving mine. “It wasn’t how you would have handled it,” he acknowledges, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.
