Page 21

The cabin materialized from the darkness like a secret revealing itself, low and solid against the backdrop of towering pines. I cut the engine, letting silence settle around us.

"We're here," I said unnecessarily, steadying the bike as Mia dismounted. Her legs wobbled slightly after the long ride, and I caught her elbow to stabilize her. She didn't pull away.

The mountain air bit with pre-dawn chill, carrying the scent of pine resin and distant rain. I unstrapped the duffel from the back of the bike and slung it over my shoulder, then drew my Glock from its holster beneath my cut.

"Wait here for a moment," I told her, keeping my voice low even though we were miles from anyone who might hear. "I need to check the perimeter."

She nodded.

I moved silently along the cabin's edge, checking the motion sensors I'd installed among the trees, confirming that the tripwires remained undisturbed. The windows were still shuttered from my last visit, the door secured with three separate locks—standard, deadbolt, and a custom mechanism Thor had designed specifically for me. No signs of intrusion. No boot prints in the soft earth besides the ones Diesel was currently leaving as he followed Mia's slow circle near the bike.

Satisfied, I returned to where Mia waited, her arms wrapped around herself against the cold. Without the engine's warmth and the shelter of my body, the mountain chill had set in quickly.

"All clear," I said, holstering my weapon. "Let's get inside."

I led the way up the three rough-hewn steps to the cabin's porch, unlocking each mechanism in turn. The interior was dark and still, smelling of wood and stone and the lingering traces of my last visit months ago.

"Wait," I said, extending an arm to keep Mia in the doorway while I moved to the control panel hidden inside a hollowed-out copy of Moby Dick on a nearby shelf. I flipped the switches that activated the solar-powered generator, bringing the cabin's minimal electrical system to life. Low lights embedded in the ceiling beams flickered on, casting a warm glow across the space.

"It's safe," I told her, gesturing for her to enter.

I watched her take in the space—a single large room with high ceilings supported by hand-hewn beams. A massive stone fireplace dominated one wall, the hearth large enough to sit in if you were so inclined. The furniture was rustic but comfortable—a deep leather sofa facing the fireplace, a handcrafted dining table with four chairs, open shelving that held books, supplies, and photographs I'd salvaged from my childhood home after my father died.

What Mia couldn't see were the weapons—the shotgun mounted beneath the dining table, the handgun taped behind the toilet tank, the rifle in a hidden compartment near the front door, the hunting knives stashed in every room. I'd designed the place as both sanctuary and fortress, a reflection of the duality that defined my life.

"You built this?" she asked, her voice soft with something like awe as she took a tentative step further inside.

"Most of it," I said, moving to the fireplace where kindling and logs were already stacked, prepared during my last visit. "My father started it. I finished it after he died."

I struck a match, touching it to the kindling. The dry wood caught quickly, flames licking upward with growing confidence. I added larger pieces methodically.

"It's beautiful," Mia said, approaching slowly. The firelight caught in her dark hair, highlighting strands of deep brown among the black. "How long did it take?"

I stared into the growing flames, memories surfacing unbidden. "My father started it when I was fifteen. We'd come up here on weekends, whenever club business allowed. He taught me how to notch logs, how to lay stone." The fire crackled, sparks rising up the chimney. "After the Iron Serpents killed him, I couldn't come here for a while. Too many memories."

It had been such a rough time.

"I came back a year later. Spent every free moment here, finishing what he started." I gestured to the ceiling beams. "Those were the hardest part. Had to figure out how to raise them alone."

"But you did it," she said, not a question but an observation.

I nodded, adding another log to the growing fire. "Took five years, working when I could. By then I was President, time was scarce." I straightened, feeling the familiar ache in my lower back from the long ride. "The lessons stuck, though. Everything he taught me about building this place—they were the same lessons I needed to rebuild the club after he was gone. It’s still not finished though. I don’t know if it’ll ever be finished."

The fire had caught fully now, casting dancing shadows across the cabin walls. Heat began to radiate outward, pushing back against the mountain chill.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Mia drift toward the windows, pulling back the edge of a curtain to peer out into the darkness. Her shoulders were tense, her movements quick and nervous despite the apparent safety of our surroundings.

I crossed to her, my boots silent on the rugs covering the hardwood floor. She flinched slightly when I touched her shoulder, then immediately relaxed, recognizing my touch without turning.

"No one knows we're here," I said, gentle but firm. "The Iron Serpents can't track us."

She let the curtain fall back into place but remained facing the window, her reflection ghostly in the glass.

"Hey," I said, softer now, one hand moving from her shoulder to cup her cheek, turning her face back to mine. "I've spent my entire adult life preparing for threats, anticipating attacks. Trust me when I say you're safe here."

“I like it. Feels like you.”

“Well, Little One, I guess I like you.”

Her eyes widened slightly at that, her lips parting in surprise. We stood facing each other across the small space, the fire crackling beside us, casting our shadows long against the cabin wall. Something shifted in the air between us, the tension transforming from wariness to a different kind of awareness.

I moved toward her slowly, giving her time to retreat if she wanted. She didn't. My hands found her shoulders again, but this time the touch wasn't about reassurance or protection. It was a question.

Her answer was to lean into me, her smaller frame fitting against mine as if designed for that purpose. I slid one hand up to cradle the back of her head, fingers threading through dark hair that smelled faintly of vanilla despite days on the run. My other hand traced down her spine, feeling each vertebra through the thin material of her shirt, coming to rest at the small of her back.

"Daddy," she whispered.

I held her against me, feeling her heartbeat gradually slow from its rapid flutter to something steadier, more certain.

Mia tilted her face up to mine, firelight dancing across her features, transforming them. There was desire in her expression, naked and unguarded.

My hands framed her face, thumbs brushing across her cheekbones with a gentleness few outside this cabin would believe me capable of. Her skin was soft beneath my calloused fingers, warm from the fire's heat. I hesitated, giving her time to pull away if this wasn't what she wanted.

Instead, she leaned into my touch, her eyes half-closing. Something tight in my chest loosened at her trust.

"Mia," I said, my voice rougher than intended.

She answered by rising on her toes, closing the distance between us. Our lips met hesitantly at first—a question asked and answered in the softest of touches. Then something broke free in both of us. The kiss deepened, her hands fisting in my shirt as mine slid from her face to her waist, drawing her more firmly against me.

My senses were on fire.

She tasted strawberry-sweet and fresh. I noticed the small sounds she made in the back of her throat, felt the insistent press of her body against mine, the way her fingers unclenched from my shirt to slide beneath it, seeking skin. I was lost in it.

Without breaking the kiss, I bent and lifted her, one arm behind her knees, the other supporting her back. She was light—too light, testament to weeks of running and irregular meals—but solid and warm in my arms. Her arms circled my neck, holding on as I carried her the short distance to the bed.

I set her down gently on the quilt, then straightened to look at her. Her dark hair spilled across the pillow, her lips parted and slightly swollen from our kisses. Something primitive and possessive surged through me at the sight—she was here, in my sanctuary, in my bed. Safe. Mine to protect.

"Duke?" she questioned softly, uncertainty creeping into her expression at my sudden stillness.

I sat beside her on the edge of the bed, one hand finding hers, enveloping it completely. "I want you," I said, my voice low but steady. "And I need to know you want me, too."

Her fingers tightened around mine. "I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything, Daddy. Claim me, please.” Her voice was suddenly strong. She was sure of this.

I nodded once, decision made. I reached for the hem of her sweater, raising my eyebrows in silent question. She sat up slightly, arms lifting to help me remove it. The t-shirt beneath followed, leaving her in a simple cotton bra that somehow affected me more than the expensive lingerie club women typically wore to catch attention.

I took my time, eyes tracking over newly exposed skin. “You’re so fucking beautiful. You’re perfect. A damn angel.”

"You don't have to be gentle," she said. "I'm not breakable."

I met her eyes, letting her see a glimpse of the controlled violence that was always present beneath my surface. "Everyone's breakable, Mia. Even me."

Something shifted in her expression—surprise, followed by a deeper emotion I couldn't quite name. Before she could respond, I bent to press my lips to her skin, kissing every part of her, working my way across her body with deliberate tenderness.

Her breathing quickened, hands finding my shoulders, fingers digging in as I reached the hollow between her breasts. I unhooked her bra with practiced ease, drawing it away to reveal small, perfect breasts tipped with dusky nipples already tightened with arousal.

"Beautiful," I murmured, cupping one breast in my palm, thumb brushing over the sensitive peak. The contrast between my rough, scarred hand and her smooth skin was stark—a visual reminder of our different worlds. Yet here, in this moment, those differences seemed to matter less than what drew us together.

Her hands tugged at my shirt, pulling it from the waistband of my jeans. "Too many clothes," she complained, a hint of smile in her voice that I hadn't heard before.

I allowed her to help me out of my cut and shirt, revealing the tattoos that covered most of my upper body—club insignia, memorials to fallen brothers, symbols of the life I'd chosen long ago. Her fingers traced the crown on my chest, the Heavy Kings emblem inked over my heart.

"President," she said softly, not a question but a recognition.

I caught her hand, pressing it flat against the tattoo. "Not here," I reminded her. "Not tonight."

She nodded, understanding. Her hands moved to my belt, hesitating briefly before unfastening it with determination that sent heat pooling low in my belly. I stood to remove my jeans and boxers, then helped her out of her remaining clothes until we were both naked in the firelight.

I took a moment simply to look at her—all of her, now that there was nothing left to hide behind. She was slender but strong, curves softened by recent weight loss but still evident. Dark hair between her legs, matching the waves that framed her face. Full lips, high cheekbones, eyes that held both innocence and knowledge beyond her years.

"Duke," she whispered, reaching for me.

I returned to the bed, stretching out beside her, one hand sliding along her side to rest at her hip. "I've got you," I assured her, my lips finding the pulse point at her throat. "Tell me what you need."

She shivered beneath my touch, arching into me as my hand drifted across her stomach, moving steadily lower. "You," she breathed. "Just you."

I explored her body with deliberate thoroughness, learning what made her gasp, what made her moan, what made her press insistently against my hand. When my fingers found her center, she was already wet, ready for me. I circled my thumb against the sensitive bundle of nerves while one finger slipped inside her, then two, stretching her gently.

She moaned with pleasure, her body quivering as I pushed my fingers in and out for a moment, and her hips rose to meet my movements, seeking more. Her hands weren't idle either—they roamed my chest, my shoulders, my back, mapping muscle and scar tissue alike with equal fascination. When one hand wrapped around my cock, I groaned against her neck, momentarily losing my carefully maintained control.

"Daddy," she whispered, the word slipping out like a secret revealed. My cock throbbed to hear it, to hear the way she submitted, so naturally, to my dominance.

"Say it again," I murmured against her ear, fingers resuming their rhythm inside her.

She gasped as I curled them just so, finding the spot that made her tremble. "Daddy," she repeated, louder this time, more certain.

I withdrew my fingers and moved over her, bracing my weight on my forearms, positioning myself between her thighs.

"Look at me," I commanded softly.

Her eyes met mine, pupils blown wide with desire, a flush spreading across her cheeks and chest.

"I'll take care of you," I promised, the words laden with meaning beyond the immediate moment. "Always."

I let the thick tip of my cock rest at her entrance, teasing her, making her want me. She bit her lip, closed her eyes. “Please, Daddy, push it in, please.”

“When I’m good and ready,” I insisted.

“Yes, Sir. Whatever you want.”

“Good girl,” I said, starting to slowly—agonizingly slowly—push into her.”

The sensation was overwhelming—tight, wet heat enveloping me inch by inch until I was fully seated within her. I held still, giving her time to adjust, fighting the urge to thrust, to claim, to take.

"You feel fucking incredible," I groaned.

"More," she whispered, nails digging lightly into my shoulders.

I began to move, establishing a steady rhythm, each thrust measured and controlled. As much as my body demanded release, I was determined to make this good for her—to erase the memory of other hands, other pain, with pleasure and care.

"So good," she breathed, eyes half-lidded but still locked with mine. "Daddy, please . . ."

This time, the word seemed to bypass my conscious mind and go straight to something primal. My pace increased, control slipping just enough to show her the edge of the intensity I kept carefully leashed. One hand slid beneath her, lifting her hips to change the angle.

She cried out, her inner muscles clenching around me as I hit a spot that sent sparks along her nerve endings. I repeated the motion, watching her reactions closely, learning her body's language with the same focused attention I gave to everything that mattered.

"That's it, baby girl," I murmured, the endearment falling from my lips naturally, as if I'd been saying it to her forever. "Let go. I've got you."

She came apart beneath me, around me, her body arching as pleasure coursed through her. The sight of her release, the knowledge that I had given her this moment of perfect abandon, pushed me toward my own edge. I thrust deeper, harder, chasing completion while still mindful of her smaller frame beneath mine.

"Duke," she gasped, hands clutching at my back, my name a prayer on her lips.

My orgasm hit with unexpected force, physical pleasure amplified by emotions I hadn't allowed myself to examine too closely. I buried my face against her neck, breathing in her scent as I pulsed inside her, my body shuddering with release.

We stayed connected, my weight braced on my forearms to avoid crushing her, our breathing gradually slowing in tandem. Eventually, I withdrew and shifted to lie beside her, drawing her against my chest, one arm wrapped protectively around her waist.

The fire crackled in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across the ceiling. Outside, the forest was silent except for the occasional soft hooting of an owl. Inside, a comfortable quiet settled between us, broken only by the sound of our breathing and Diesel's occasional snuffling from his spot near the fire.

Mia's fingers traced idle patterns on my chest, circling the crown tattoo, following the lines of muscle and scar. I watched her face in the firelight, memorizing details—the way her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks, the slight upward curve at the corner of her mouth, the tiny freckle just beneath her left eye.

Something had changed between us, something fundamental that couldn't be undone. Something I hadn't experienced with any woman before, despite years of casual hookups and brief relationships that never threatened the primacy of the club in my life.

The realization should have terrified me. Instead, it settled like a truth I'd always known but only now recognized.

"I love you," I said quietly, the words foreign on my tongue but undeniably right.

Her fingers stilled on my chest, her breath catching. Slowly, she raised her head to meet my gaze, eyes searching mine as if to verify the truth of what she'd heard.

"I love you too, Daddy," she whispered, voice thick with emotion, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes.

I brushed them away with my thumb, then drew her closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead. The intensity of feeling threatened to overwhelm me – protection, possession, tenderness, desire all wrapped together in something I couldn't name but recognized as mine to safeguard.

The firelight painted her skin gold. For the first time in years—maybe ever—I let myself imagine a future beyond the next club vote, the next territorial dispute, the next threat to neutralize. I saw a house built on club land outside Ironridge, something with wide windows and a yard where Diesel could run. I saw Mia there, safe and smiling. I saw myself coming home to her, leaving the weight of the president's patch at the door.

These weren't thoughts I'd allowed before. They weren’t even thoughts I’d had a need for before. Until now, the club had been everything. My purpose, my family, my reason for waking each morning and pushing through whatever shit the day brought. Women came and went, none leaving more than a temporary impression. None making me question my priorities or imagine alternatives.

But with Mia's weight against me, her scent mingling with woodsmoke and the lingering musk of sex, these new possibilities felt tangible. Real. Worth fighting for.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked softly, her fingers tracing the crown tattoo on my chest.

I hesitated, unaccustomed to sharing such personal thoughts. "The future," I admitted finally, my voice rough in the quiet room.

She tilted her face up to mine, curious. "What about it?"

"Building something." My hand continued its path along her shoulder, down her arm, back up again. "A place. For us."

Her eyes widened slightly, hope flickering across her features before caution tamped it down. "You mean after the Iron Serpents . . ."

"Yeah," I agreed, though I'd been thinking beyond that immediate threat. "After we deal with Jesse and Venom." I paused, considering my next words carefully. "The club owns land outside town. Good location, defensible. Could build something there."

"A house?" she asked, the word tentative, as if afraid to believe in such normalcy.

I nodded, surprising myself with how clearly I could see it. "Something with space for Diesel to run. Workshop for me. Whatever you'd want."

Her smile was small but genuine, lighting her eyes in a way I hadn't seen before. "I've never had a real home," she confessed. "Just places to stay. Never anywhere that was mine."

The admission twisted something in my chest. I pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "You will," I promised.

We lay in comfortable silence, watching firelight dance across the cabin ceiling. My thoughts drifted, not to club business or security protocols as they usually would, but to practical considerations of building permits and construction timelines. To what Mia might want in a home. To whether Thor could be convinced to install a security system without asking too many questions about my sudden interest in domestic life.

The fantasy was seductive—a life where Mia was safe, where Jesse Malone was no longer a threat, where I could balance club presidency with something approaching normalcy. I knew better than to fully believe in such possibilities, but for this moment, in this cabin far from Ironridge and its complications, I allowed myself to hope.

Suddenly, I heard a noise. My body tensed before my conscious mind registered what it was—the distant sound of an approaching engine.

In one fluid movement, I was off the bed, reaching for my jeans and the Glock I'd set on the nightstand. Mia sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest, her expression immediately shifting from contentment to fear.

"Stay here," I ordered, pulling on my jeans and grabbing my cut. The engine sound grew louder—still distant but approaching fast along the access road only a handful of people knew existed.

I checked the Glock's magazine, then moved to the window, angling myself to see without being seen. The vehicle was still out of sight, but the engine note was familiar—sounded like a truck.

"What is it?" Mia asked, her voice small but steady.

"Not sure," I replied tersely, eyes still scanning the tree line where the access road emerged from the forest.

A moment later the truck appeared—a Ford, black. Ryder's truck.

I moved to the door, positioning myself to block any direct line of sight to Mia while maintaining a clear shot if needed. Paranoia kept you alive.

Ryder cut the engine fifty yards from the cabin, raising his hands to show he was alone and unarmed—standard protocol when approaching a brother's secure location. I lowered the Glock slightly but didn't holster it.

"It's Ryder," I called back to Mia without taking my eyes off my sergeant-at-arms. A moment later, I saw diesel, in the back of the truck. “And he’s come with a friend.”

I heard the rustle of fabric as she presumably dressed, but my attention remained fixed outward. Ryder approached slowly, hands still visible, expression grim. Diesel walked next to him. This was extremely unusual. He'd come directly to the cabin without calling. That meant whatever news he carried couldn't wait, and couldn't risk electronic interception.

"Prez," he acknowledged as he reached the porch steps, eyes flicking briefly to the gun in my hand before returning to my face.

Diesel rushed in to the cabin, overwhelming Mia with love. My attention was fixed on Ryder, though.

"Talk," I said, not bothering with pleasantries.

Ryder's weathered face was tense, his usually impassive expression strained. "Venom's in Ironridge," he said without preamble. "Showed up at King's Tavern an hour ago with six patched members, demanding to speak with you."

My blood ran cold. Jax "Venom" Malone almost never left Coldwater, never handled business personally. That he'd come into Heavy Kings territory, into our primary hangout, was unprecedented. Dangerous.

"Thor?" I asked, mind already calculating scenarios, responses, risks.

"Holding position at the tavern. He sent me to get you." Ryder shifted his weight, glancing past me into the cabin where I knew Mia must be listening. He lowered his voice. "Venom says if you don't meet with him by midnight, he'll consider it an act of war. Says the truce is already compromised by you 'stealing his property.'"

My jaw tightened at the reference to Mia. "She's not property."

"Of course," Ryder said quickly. "I'm just relaying the message." He glanced at his watch. "It's seven now. Takes three hours back to town if we push it."

I felt Mia's presence behind me before she spoke. "You have to go," she said quietly.

I turned to find her fully dressed, arms wrapped around herself, Diesel pressed against her legs. Her face was pale but composed, eyes clear despite the fear I knew she must be feeling.

"I'm not leaving you unprotected," I said firmly.

"I’ll stay," Ryder offered immediately. "Thor said to tell you he's got the tavern secured, full complement of brothers assembled. They need you, but I can hold position here."

The decision tore at me. Leaving Mia went against every protective instinct that had been driving me since I first found her. But if Venom was in Ironridge, if he was threatening my club, my town, my people—I couldn't ignore that either. As president, my responsibilities extended beyond one woman, no matter how important she'd become to me.

I looked at Mia, searching her face. "I won't leave if you're not comfortable with it."

Her chin lifted slightly, that stubborn resilience shining through. "Diesel and I will be fine with Ryder. This place is secure, you said so yourself." She hesitated, then added softly, "You're the president. They need you."

I moved to her, holstering the Glock and taking her face in my hands. "I'll be back as soon as I handle this," I promised. "And then we're going to end this thing with the Serpents once and for all."

She nodded, leaning into my touch. "I know you will."

I kissed her then, hard and possessive, putting everything I couldn't say into the press of my lips against hers. When I pulled back, her eyes were damp but determined.

"Ryder," I said, not looking away from Mia. "Full security protocol. No one approaches without my direct authorization. Hourly check-ins by text – code phrases only. If I don't hear from you, I'm assuming the worst and responding accordingly."

"Understood, Prez," he replied, the formality of his tone confirming he recognized the gravity of what I was entrusting to him.

I turned to him then, letting him see the threat in my eyes. "She doesn't leave your sight. She's as important to me as the club. Remember that."

He nodded once, solemn. "I've got this, Duke. No one's getting past me."

I pulled Mia against me one last time, inhaling the scent of her hair, committing the feeling of her in my arms to memory. "I love you, baby girl," I said, the admission easier the second time, as if a dam had broken with the first confession.

With a final look at Mia, I stepped out into the night, the cold mountain air clearing my head. The Road King started with a familiar rumble, the vibration traveling up through my body, centering me.

The calm I'd found in Mia's arms gave way to cold calculation. If Venom wanted war, I'd give him war. But it would be on my terms, not his. And when it was over, when the threat to Mia was eliminated once and for all, then perhaps we could build that future I'd glimpsed so briefly—a home, a life, a purpose beyond the endless cycle of violence and retribution.

But first, I had a snake to deal with.