Page 23
Story: Dex (Heavy Kings MC #4)
Cleo
M y stomach twisted into knots as Dex's bike rumbled to a stop outside King's Tavern.
The building looked exactly like what it was—a biker bar that had seen better days, all weathered brick and neon beer signs.
But knowing his brothers were inside, waiting to meet me, made my hands shake where they gripped his waist.
"You good?" Dex asked over his shoulder, that careful tone he used when he could sense my anxiety spiking.
I nodded against his back, not trusting my voice. We'd talked about this for days—meeting his MC family, asking about job opportunities, taking another step toward making this real. But talking about it in the safety of his apartment was different from standing outside their actual clubhouse.
He kicked down the stand and helped me off the bike, his hands lingering on my waist. "Hey. Look at me."
I did, finding those steady hazel eyes that had become my anchor.
"They're going to love you," he said simply. "But if it gets too much, you say the word and we're gone. Understand?"
"Yes, sir." The title slipped out automatically, and heat rushed to my cheeks. We'd agreed to be careful in public, to keep our dynamic private until I was ready.
His thumb brushed my cheekbone. "That's my good girl. Come on."
My hand found his as we approached the heavy wooden door. The muffled sound of classic rock and laughter filtered through, along with the smell of grilled meat that made my stomach growl. I'd been too nervous to eat lunch.
The door opened to another world entirely.
King's Tavern sprawled larger than I'd expected, all dark wood and amber lighting that softened the rough edges.
A massive bar dominated one wall, bottles gleaming like jewelry behind it.
Pool tables filled the back corner, currently abandoned.
The air carried layers of scent—burger grease and beer and leather and something indefinably male that should have been intimidating but somehow felt safe.
But it was the people that made me freeze just inside the doorway.
At a corner booth, a massive man with silver threading through dark hair had a petite brunette tucked against his side.
She was eating what looked like chicken tenders, but he was the one cutting them into perfect bite-sized pieces, sliding the plate closer without interrupting his conversation with the bartender.
When she reached for her beer, he smoothly swapped it for her water glass, and she didn't even seem to notice the switch.
Two tables over, a blonde giant who looked like he'd stepped out of a Viking saga was doing something I couldn't quite believe—braiding tiny yellow flowers into a redhead's hair while she colored in what was definitely a Disney princess coloring book.
In public. In a biker bar. Without a trace of shame or self-consciousness.
"That's Buttercup's dress," the redhead said, pointing at her page with a green crayon.
"Mm-hmm," the Viking rumbled, his massive fingers impossibly gentle as he wove another flower into her braid. "Matches your eyes, sweet girl."
My chest ached with a longing so sharp it stole my breath.
Near the bar, a dark-haired man with military bearing was wiping something off a woman's chin—ice cream, from the cone in her hand.
Purple streaked through her black hair, and she wore ripped jeans and combat boots, but the way she tilted her face up for his attention, the way he smiled soft and fond as he cleaned her up . . .
"Those are my brothers," Dex said quietly beside me, following my gaze. "Duke and Mia, Thor and Mandy, Tyson and Lena. They're . . . like us."
Like us.
The words sent heat spiraling through me, part recognition and part desperate hope.
I wasn't imagining the dynamic I was seeing.
The careful attention, the subtle dominance, the way the women seemed to unconsciously seek approval and affection while the men provided it without question or hesitation.
It was everything I'd dreamed about late at night, scrolling through forums and blogs about relationships I'd been afraid to want. Everything I'd found with Dex but been terrified was too good to be real. And here it was, playing out in public like it was normal. Like it was allowed.
"Dex!" The man with the silver-touched hair looked up, and his whole face transformed with genuine warmth. "About time you brought your girl around. I’m Duke."
He stood to greet us, and I understood immediately why Dex called him president. Duke carried authority like a second skin, commanding respect without demanding it. But when his attention landed on me, something paternal softened his edges.
"You must be Cleo." His smile was kind, welcoming in a way that made my throat tight. "Heard a lot about you, sweetheart."
The endearment should have felt presumptuous from a stranger. Should have made me bristle or pull back. Instead, something in my chest unclenched. He said it like my dad used to—protective and affectionate without any ulterior motive.
"All good things, I hope." My voice came out steadier than expected.
His laugh was rich, filling the space between us. "All good, of course. Come on, let's get you two fed. Can't have family going hungry."
Family. He said it so easily, like I already belonged. Like there was no question about my place here.
Dex's hand found the small of my back, guiding me toward the booth. The gesture was subtle but grounding, reminding me he was right there. That I was safe.
As we walked past the other couples, the redhead looked up from her coloring book and beamed at me. "I like your sweater! It looks so soft!"
I glanced down at the pale pink cardigan I'd agonized over choosing. "Thank you, I’m glad you like it."
"Mandy, let them get settled first," the Viking said gently, but his eyes were amused.
"Sorry!" But she didn't look sorry at all. "I just get excited about new friends. We're gonna be friends, right? Dex never brings anyone around so you must be super special and—"
"Breathe, baby girl," the Viking reminded her, and she immediately took an exaggerated deep breath that made him chuckle.
The easy affection between them, the way she responded to his gentle correction without embarrassment, made my chest ache all over again. This was what I wanted.
"She's right though," the brunette—Mia—added softly. "You are special. And we're glad you're here."
Simple words, but they hit me like a physical blow. These people didn't know me, had no reason to welcome me so warmly, but here they were. Opening their arms to include me in something I didn't fully understand yet but desperately wanted to be part of.
Dex's hand squeezed gently where it rested on my back. "Come on, little one," he murmured, low enough only I could hear. "Let's get you that burger you've been too nervous to eat all day."
As I slid into the booth across from Duke and Mia, watching how naturally she curled into his side, how automatically he adjusted to accommodate her, I felt something shift inside me.
Maybe I could have this. Maybe I could be brave enough to want it openly, to trust it, to let myself be cared for the way these women were.
Maybe I'd finally found home.
T he burger that appeared in front of me looked like it could feed three people. Thick beef patty, bacon twisted into perfect spirals, cheese melting down the sides in golden rivers. My stomach growled loud enough that Mia giggled, the sound bright and unselfconscious.
"Mac makes the best burgers in three counties," she said, then glanced up at Duke. "Can I have fries with mine?"
"You ate fries yesterday," he said mildly, but he was already sliding his plate closer to share. "Just a few."
The easy negotiation, the way she lit up at his compromise, made something twist in my chest. This was what Dex did with me—gentle boundaries that showed care rather than control.
Seeing it reflected in another couple made it feel less like an anomaly and more like something sustainable. Something real.
"Not hungry?" Dex asked quietly, noticing I hadn't touched my food.
I picked up a fry, forcing myself to eat despite the knot of anxiety in my stomach. "It's huge."
"You don't have to finish it." His hand found my knee under the table, a brief squeeze of reassurance. "Just eat what you can."
The permission helped. I managed a bite of burger, the flavors exploding across my tongue. Okay, Mac really did make incredible burgers.
Across the bar, Mandy had abandoned her coloring to steal bites of Thor's onion rings. He pretended not to notice, even when she snagged three in a row.
"Little thief," he rumbled, but his hand was gentle as it smoothed over her hair.
"I'm saving you from yourself," she informed him cheerfully. "All that grease is bad for your heart."
"My heart's just fine, sweet girl."
The look that passed between them made me drop my gaze, too intimate for public consumption. But no one else seemed bothered by the obvious affection, the casual dominance and submission playing out in small gestures.
"So." Duke's voice drew my attention back. He'd finished cutting Mia's second burger into manageable pieces and was watching me with those calculating eyes. "Heard you're looking for work. What kind of skills you got?"
Heat crawled up my neck. My resume was pathetic—a few months at a diner that went under, cash jobs that barely counted, nothing that would impress a man who clearly commanded respect in this town.
"I'm good with people." The words came out weak, insufficient. "Customer service. I learn fast."
"She's underselling herself." Dex's voice carried an edge of pride that made my chest warm. "Organized, reliable, good with numbers. Worked at the shelter for months as a volunteer before . . ."
He trailed off, but Duke nodded like he understood. Everyone probably knew about the shelter closing, about how many of us had scattered to the wind.
Table of Contents
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- Page 23 (Reading here)
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