Page 13 of Calypso’s Shield (Royal Harlots MC, Los Angeles Chapter #1)

FARRIS

B eing a prospect for the Royal Bastards MC is exactly what I’m expecting. They’re putting me through hell and I’m fucked up enough that I enjoy it.

I went from solving cases and taking down criminals, so far over the white line, I didn’t know where my ass went to, to fetching beer and being one of the first in line for any shit job the high ranking members can think of.

I’ve learned a lot about the hierarchy of an MC Club, and I still get the side eye from some members, but I’m making my way and proving I can be trusted. I’m not the only prospect here, and I’m not the oldest, but I’m not the youngest, and I’m the newest. So, I pay my dues.

Every day is a test. Every interaction is a challenge.

I’m learning quickly that respect isn’t given, it’s earned. And Capone has the highest respect from all the brothers to the Ol’ Ladies, even down to the Patch Bunnies.

Capone and Danyella have a little girl named Nina.

I shouldn’t say little because she’s almost a teen, but she’s still little in her Dad’s eyes.

She’s the oldest out of the kids the Club has dubbed Little Bastards.

The twins are next, Jaxson and Mara Jean, who are Torch and Daisy’s.

Then Jezebelle, who is Derange’s Ol’ Lady, has an older son named Seth, who is prospecting with me, and they have a little girl named Naomi.

Red, the Tech Guy, and his Ol’ Lady Nadia have a little boy they named Matthew, after his Dad.

Aftermath and Kensi don’t have any kids yet, and it’s not for a lack of trying. I’ve caught them in very compromising positions while I’ve been here. Some images I want to scrub from my brain, but it’s impossible.

Blayze and Monica can’t have kids, so they spoil all the Club kids every chance they get. Trigger and Aerianna, who used to be a FED, are new in their relationship and haven’t had that discussion yet, but from the look in Aerianna’s eyes, I’m sure it’ll be coming soon.

The single guys, Dagger, Bones, Seth, and Knight, all soak up the attention of the Club Bunnies, Pearl, Booty, Khandi, Lexi, and April. All except Tiny, Pretty Boy, and myself. Many of the Bunnies have tried, but all have been shot down.

I don’t know their reasons for turning down easy lays, but mine stands around five feet eight inches tall, with legs for miles, flowing jet black hair, piercing green eyes, and tattoos that cover every inch of her arms, named Calypso.

She’s been pretty quiet the last couple of weeks, and that is worrying me. Did she decide I’m not worth the trouble? Did she go back with her ex?

I can’t get any answers because she won’t talk to me. I’ve texted her several times like a pussy, and all I get in return are short one-word answers. She has my head spinning since day one. Even now, weeks into this life, she still has that hold over me.

It’s late on a Sunday night. The Club just got back from a run, which I couldn’t go on yet.

I step outside to do the bitch work of washing Capone and Blayze’s bike, and there Calypso is.

She’s sitting on her Harley, the fading sun turning her black hair into silk.

Her cut fits her body like it was made for her.

She’s watching me with a playful smirk on her lips.

“You surviving, Law Dog?” Calypso teases.

I got my road name moments after my boots hit the Clubhouse floor.

All the members started calling me Law Dog because I used to be a cop.

A damn good cop, turned outlaw, but I still hang onto some habits which have come in handy when the members try to prank me.

I run a hand through my hair. “Barely.” It’s the truth. These jobs are hard, but they’re worth it.

Calypso chuckles, kicking her boot against the pavement. “You’re learning fast. They might make a real biker out of you yet.”

I step closer, standing between her legs, placing my hands on the leather seat. She doesn’t move or push me away. If anything, her green gaze darkens.

“You like having me here?” I ask, my voice low.

Calypso arches an eyebrow. “I like watching you struggle.”

I smirk, gripping the seat a little tighter. “I bet you do.”

For a moment, the teasing disappears, replaced with something deeper. A pull between us that neither of us can ignore.

Calypso shifts against the seat, breaking the moment. “Come on, Law Dog. Take me for a ride.”

I don’t hesitate. Consequences be damned.

If my woman wants me to take her for a ride, then that’s what I’ll do.

I strap on my brain bucket, climb on my bike, and wait for Calypso to get on behind me.

After she puts her helmet on and wraps her arms around my waist, she presses her body into mine, I feel it.

Something I haven’t felt in years, if ever.

A sense of belonging. And maybe something more.

The weight of Calypso against my back feels like a brand. She isn’t the type to ride bitch, not for anyone.

Settling in behind me, she mutters against my Prospect cut. “Don’t make me regret this, Law Dog.”

I’m not planning on it. The roar of the engine beneath us drowns out everything else as we tear down the open highway.

The city lights are fading behind us, swallowed by the stretch of dark winding roads along the coastline.

The ocean gleams under the moonlight. Endless and wild, the wind hits my face like a whisper of danger.

Calypso’s arms wrap tighter around my waist as I shift gears, pushing my bike faster. She’s holding onto me like she belongs here, like she’s trusting me to keep her safe.

The trust she is instilling in me is a bigger rush than speeding.

I’ve spent my whole fucking life following the rules, doing what is expected of me. But out here, on this bike, with Calypso wrapped around me, I’m not Detective Dalton anymore.

I’m Law Dog and I fucking love it.

Calypso shifts behind me, her body molding to mine as we lean into a curve. Her fingers press into my ribs, sending a slow burn straight to my core.

A turn-off comes into view. A gravel outlook perched on the edge of the cliffs. I downshift, slowing as I pull off the highway, bringing the bike to a smooth stop near the edge. Killing the engine, the night settles around us, thick with the scent of salt and leather.

For a long moment, neither of us move. Lost in our own heads.

Calypso’s arms loosen around my waist as she slides off the seat, her boots crunching against the gravel. I follow, watching as she removes her helmet, running a hand through her hair, the moonlight casting a bright glow on the dark strands.

“I’ll give it to you, Law Dog,” Calypso murmurs, glancing over her shoulder at me. “You’re getting better.”

I smirk, pulling off my brain bucket and setting it on the seat. “That almost sounds like a compliment.”

She shrugs, teasing. “It’s an observation.”

Her movements are slower than normal, like she’s in pain, but I don’t question it. I haven’t seen her in weeks, and the last thing I want to do is cause an argument. She’ll tell me if she thinks I need to know.

I huff a quiet laugh, shaking my head as I lean back against the bike with my arms crossed. “So, what’s the real reason you let me ride you?”

Calypso catches my underlying question. Then she hesitates for a moment, keeping her back to me. Turning around to face me fully, her gaze is unreadable. “Because I wanted to know what it felt like.” Her voice is soft against the crashing waves below us.

My chest tightens. “And?”

Calypso steps close enough I can see the hint of vulnerability in her emerald eyes. “I don’t let people get close, Farris.”

My real name rolling off her lips is like heaven to my ears.

“I already know this.” She doesn’t let people hold her. Doesn’t let anyone into her space unless she trusts them.

I’ve been trying to figure out if she has been keeping me at arm's length because I’m a prospect or because she’s scared of whatever’s happening between us.

“I’m sick.” Calypso’s voice is quiet and rough. “I have Lupus.”

I know I should say something, but my throat locks up.

Not because I’m scared, fuck no, but because I know what this means.

Chronic illness isn’t something you just fix.

It’s not like a broken bone or a bullet wound.

It’s something that doesn’t go away, something that wears you down over time.

Something that can steal a person’s fire, no matter how bright they burn.

And Calypso burns like a goddamn wildfire.

I think about the moments I’ve caught her wincing, the way she’s been quiet lately, the times she’s disappeared without an explanation. It all clicks into place. She wasn’t ghosting me, she was struggling. And she didn’t want me to see it.

She’s waiting for the moment I look at her differently. For me to flinch, to pull back. To say something dumb or, worse, do what every other man before me has done, see her as fragile.

But I don’t.

Calypso is not fragile.

Instead, I reach out, brushing my fingers along her jaw, tilting her face toward mine. “You think that scares me?” My voice is rough but steady.

Calypso’s breath hitches. “It should.”

There’s no arrogance in her tone, no challenge. Just raw, quiet truth. She’s seen people leave before. She’s watched men lose interest when they realized she comes with complications. And she’s bracing herself for me to do the same, but she doesn’t know me. Not yet.

I shake my head. “You don’t scare me, Calypso.”

Her lips part slightly, a sliver of uncertainty breaking through the armor she’s spent years perfecting. She’s always in control, always the one who calls the shots. But right now? She’s letting me in.

“Call me Amanda when we’re like this.” she whispers, so quietly I almost miss it. She’s close enough that I can see the war happening inside of her. The part of her that wants to push me away and the part that wants to pull me in.

It’s a test. A final line in the sand.

“Amanda.” I don’t rush. I don’t push. I let my fingers linger, waiting for her to make the call.

Slowly, Calypso leans in. Her lips brush against mine, a hesitant, testing kiss. It isn’t explosive, it isn’t rushed. It isn’t our first kiss, but something changes between us. Something real.

I groan low in my throat, and my grip tightens at Calypso’s waist as I deepen the kiss, letting her know exactly where I stand.

Calypso’s hands curl into my shirt, fisting the fabric like she’s anchoring herself to me. Maybe she is, and maybe I’m anchoring myself to her.

When Calypso finally pulls back, she stays close, resting her forehead against mine. “I don’t know how to do this,” she admits, her voice barely a whisper.

I exhale, running my thumb over her hip. “Then let’s figure it out.” I don’t hesitate. I don’t push. I just let her see it, the truth in my eyes, the promise in my touch.

It’s something deeper.

It’s trust.

Calypso’s breath shudders against my lips, and just like that, I know.

She isn’t the only one falling.