Page 2

Akira

The bar door thudded shut, severing the raucous laughter and clinking glasses. I leaned against the cool brick, the night air a welcome shock against my flushed skin. The look on Logan’s face before he’d walked away still lingered in my mind.

My boots clicked on the pavement, echoing in the stillness. The streetlights cast long, distorted shadows, giving the night an almost eerie feeling. And then I saw them. Sticks and Viking, two imposing figures astride their motorcycles across the street, their presence a tangible weight in the air.

Shit ! Just what I needed.

My heart hammered in my chest, a frantic drumbeat against my ribs. Had they seen? Had they witnessed the exchange between Logan and me? Seen him step in to save me from the handsy man at the bar? I hadn’t noticed them inside, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t been there. If they had seen what happened, this really wasn’t good. I had no doubt they’d blab to my dad, and then all hell would break loose. Just because the Dixie Reapers had accepted the fact Dawson was part of a club full of first responders didn’t mean my father, Wraith, would let me date someone from that same club. Hell would freeze over first.

Sticks pushed off the bike, his gaze locking onto me. Even from this distance, I could feel the intensity of his stare, the unspoken question hanging heavy in the air. Viking remained silent, his face obscured by the shadows, but his posture spoke volumes.

I quickened my pace, my hand instinctively reaching for the keys nestled deep in my pocket. The metal felt cold and reassuring against my clammy fingers. Just a few steps. Just a few steps to the sanctuary of my car.

But then, Sticks shifted. He straightened, his head tilting as if he were about to speak. My breath caught in my throat, my pulse jackhammering. Akira. Keep your head down and get the hell out of here .

I couldn’t help but steal another glance. Viking revved his engine, the roar shattering the silence. Was it a warning, a threat, or merely a punctuation mark in the unfolding drama? I didn’t stick around to find out.

With a burst of adrenaline, I covered the remaining distance to my car, fumbling with the keys in my haste. The door swung open with a satisfying click , and I slid into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut as if it could shield me from the invisible eyes boring into my back.

As I turned the key in the ignition, the headlights speared through the darkness. In the rearview mirror, Sticks and Viking remained. They hadn’t moved, but I had a feeling they might try to follow me. That was the last thing I needed. Their presence felt heavy and suffocating.

What did they know? What would they do with that knowledge? The questions gnawed at me. One thing was certain: the encounter with Logan would set off a chain reaction if we’d been spotted. I pulled out of the parking space and onto the road, driving home with occasional glances behind me to see if Viking and Sticks were following. It wasn’t that I was scared of them. More that the thought of them tattling to my dad terrified me.

I tried to focus on the road, but my mind kept wandering back to the bar, to Logan, and to the way he made my insides do somersaults. I’d been around attractive guys all my life. But I saw all of them as an extended family. The mere thought of dating Dawson, Owen, or any of the others made me feel ill.

I could still feel the phantom warmth of Logan’s hand on my arm. The gentleness in his touch was a stark contrast to the rough world I called home. And the way he stood up to that drunk, the conviction in his voice -- it stirred something deep within me, a longing I’d tried to bury for so long. Sure, I’d mouthed off a bit and told him I could have handled it, and I could have, but it had still been nice to have him stand up for me.

But I knew my father would never accept a guy like Logan into the family. Not someone with a legit job and part of a completely legal club. While the Dixie Reapers no longer dealt in guns and drugs, they still wouldn’t hesitate to bury a body or three if they felt it was necessary. I sometimes wondered if that wasn’t why Dawson had chosen to be a fireman instead of a cop.

Turning onto the road leading to the compound, I took a deep breath, bracing myself for whatever awaited me. I saw my father’s bike outside the clubhouse as I pulled through the gates, and knew I should stop before heading home. If he’d already heard about Logan, better to find out now than later. I’d had my own place, and wished I still did. But it hadn’t worked out. The other residents complained to the manager about all the Dixie Reapers lurking in the area or hanging out in the parking lot. I should have known my dad wouldn’t let me move out without causing trouble. So, now I lived with my parents again.

I parked my car and sat for a moment, the engine ticking as it cooled. In the stillness, I could almost hear my mother’s voice, urging me to find my own path, to follow my heart. She knew how much I wanted to live a different life from the one I had now. Not that I hadn’t loved growing up here at the compound. But it wasn’t the kind of life I wanted for my children, if I ever had any.

With a sigh, I opened the car door and stepped out into the night, the crunch of gravel beneath my boots a harsh reminder of the reality I couldn’t escape. I squared my shoulders and headed toward the clubhouse, ready to face the consequences of my actions.

As I reached for the door handle, I paused, my mind flashing back to Logan. And in that moment, I made a silent promise to myself -- no matter what happened, I wouldn’t let anyone, not even my father, dictate my life. It was time to forge my own path, even if it meant walking through fire. And knowing my dad, it might very well mean that and so much more.

The heavy wooden door creaked open under my hesitant push, the sound echoing ominously in the shadowy interior of the clubhouse. The air hung thick with a palpable tension, a stark contrast to the usual boisterous camaraderie that permeated these walls. Conversations hushed abruptly, heads swiveled in my direction, their eyes assessing, judging. Yeah, looked like someone had already tattled.

My boots scraped against the worn floorboards as I walked in. The weight of their gazes pressed down on me, but I stood tall, refusing to cower. This was my home, my family, and I wouldn’t let them intimidate me.

As I neared the bar, my gaze landed on my father, his imposing figure seated at the far end of the room. His face was an inscrutable mask, betraying nothing of the storm I knew raged beneath the surface.

I straightened my shoulders and approached him, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. “Dad,” I said, my voice steady despite the tremor of nerves vibrating through me.

He looked up, his dark eyes locking with mine. “Akira.” My name was a warning, a reminder of the boundaries I dared to cross.

I took a deep breath, bracing myself for the inevitable confrontation. “We need to talk.”

He leaned back in his chair, his gaze unwavering. “Damn right we do. I’ve heard some interesting things about you and that Swift Angels pretty boy.”

The disdain dripping from his words stung, especially when referring to Logan. “His name is Logan,” I corrected, my voice laced with a chill.

His eyes narrowed. “I don’t give a damn what his name is. What I care about is you forgetting where your loyalties lie.”

I clenched my jaw, holding back the retort that burned on my tongue. “My loyalties haven’t changed. But I won’t let you control my life, Dad. Not anymore. Besides, Dawson is part of the Swift Angels. He’s their damn VP.”

A tense silence stretched between us, the weight of my words hanging heavy in the air. I watched as his expression hardened, his grip tightening around the glass in his hand.

“You’re treading on dangerous ground, girl,” he growled, his voice a low rumble of threat.

All right, so mouthing off had probably not been the brightest idea, especially since I’d already known how angry he was. But my resolve only strengthened. “I’m not a child anymore, Dad. I can make my own choices, my own mistakes.”

He slammed his glass down on the bar, the sound echoing through the silent room. “Mistakes? Is that what you call shacking up with the enemy?”

Fury flared in my chest, my hands curling into fists. “First of all, I’m not ‘shacking up’ with anyone. And second, Logan isn’t the enemy. He’s a good man, and he cares about me.”

At least, I assumed he did. We hadn’t really come right out and confessed our feelings for one another, but I could see it in the way he looked at me, the way he touched me.

“He’s using you,” he said, his words laced with venom. “Can’t you see that? He’s playing you, trying to get close to the club.”

Seriously? As if I’d be the way in. Like I’d reminded him, Dawson was their VP. His father had once been the VP of this club. If Dawson wasn’t an enemy or a traitor, then why couldn’t I date Logan? The hypocrisy wasn’t lost on me. Because I didn’t have a dick I had to play by different rules. It fucking sucked.

Sometimes my father forgot what kind of daughter he’d raised. I could hold my own in a fight, knew how to ride a bike, and even owned one. Okay, so it wasn’t a Harley Davidson or even an Indian like Pepper rode, but it was mine! I even know how to do the basic maintenance on it.

I shook my head, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “Not everyone has an ulterior motive, Dad. Some people just want to be happy. To be free.”

His features twisted with disgust. “So walking away from your family is what you call freedom?”

I stepped closer, my voice rising with each word. “I’m not walking away from anything. I’m choosing my own path, just like you and Mom always taught me to do. Why does it have to be one or the other? Dawson isn’t banned from coming home. Are you saying if I date Logan I’m no longer welcome here?”

A flicker of pain crossed his face, but it was quickly masked by anger. “Your mother would be ashamed of you. I’m not telling her about this shit,” he said, his words sharp and cutting.

I flinched, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. But I refused to let them fall, refused to give him the satisfaction. I knew why he wouldn’t tell Mom. She’d been sick and we finally found out why. I knew part of why my dad was so tense was because he was scared -- terrified, actually. As gruff as he tended to be, we all knew he couldn’t live without her.

“No,” I said, my voice trembling but firm. “She would be proud of me for standing up for myself, for fighting for what I believe in. And you know it.”

I turned to leave, the weight of the rift between us heavy in my heart. But as I reached the door, I paused, glancing back at the man who raised me, who helped shape me into the woman I am today.

“I love you, Dad,” I said, my voice choked with emotion. “But I won’t let you control me anymore. I have to live my own life, make my own choices. And if that means being with Logan, then so be it.”

I pushed open the door and stepped out into the cool night air, a balm against my flushed skin. I knew there would be consequences, that this was only the beginning of a long and difficult road. But for the first time in my life, I felt truly free.

I climbed into my car and started the engine, my mind racing with the possibilities that lay ahead. As I pulled out of the compound, leaving the only home I’d ever known behind, a flicker of hope ignited in my chest, a whisper of the future that awaited me.

The Dixie Reapers compound receded in the rearview mirror, shrinking to a gray smudge. With each mile that stretched out before me, I felt a weight lifting, a burden loosening its grip on my soul.

I reached up and brushed my fingers against the cherry blossom tattoo etched on my left arm, the delicate pink petals a testament to both beauty and resilience. For the most part, my dad had always protected me. More than he needed to. But I could understand to some degree. There had been plenty of times every woman and child at the compound had been in danger, myself included.

My gaze drifted to the endless ribbon of asphalt unfurling ahead, and my mind raced with questions about the unknown landscape of my future. Would my father chase after me? Would he try to drag me back into the suffocating life he’d woven for me, a life that felt more like a prison than a home some days? Or would he finally accept that I was no longer a puppet, but a woman with her own dreams and desires?

I shook my head, refusing to let the what-ifs drown me in a sea of anxiety. The past was a closed book, its pages filled with chapters I couldn’t change. The present, however, held the pen, and I was determined to write a new story, one where I was the protagonist, not a bystander in someone else’s narrative.

The shrill buzz of my phone jolted me from my contemplation. The screen illuminated, revealing a message from Logan. Hey, you okay? Heard from Dawson there was some commotion at the clubhouse tonight. He said he didn’t catch everything, but he seemed worried about you .

A warm smile bloomed on my face. Even in the midst of my escape, he was a beacon of concern, a constant in the ever-shifting sands of my life.

“Siri, message Logan.”

“What would you like to say to Logan?” Siri asked.

“I’m okay. More than okay, actually. I’ll fill you in later. Can we meet up tomorrow?” Siri repeated it back to me and asked if I wanted to send it. Once the message went through, Logan responded almost instantly.

Of course. Just name the time and place .

The corners of my mouth stretched into a grin, anticipation bubbling in my veins. This was it, the first step toward a future that was truly mine, one painted with the vibrant colors of my own choosing.

The path ahead might be shrouded in uncertainty, but I knew I’d made the right choice. The only choice. But for now, I needed to either crash with Nora and Dawson, or get a hotel room. Tomorrow, I’d return to the compound and pack a bag. Then I’d figure out my next step.