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Austin Prez King

The door shut behind Emmy, the distant rumble of her car barely audible over the hum of the clubhouse. The instinct to chase after her was strong. I’d spent years trying to shake the grip she had on me, but some chains weren’t meant to be broken.

The moment I saw her, it was like the air got knocked out of my lungs. Emmy. She looked different, but still so damn beautiful it hurt. Her hair was a little shorter, pulled back in a loose knot like she didn’t even realize how effortlessly sexy she was. There were shadows under her eyes, a weariness she hadn’t carried before, but it only made her look stronger—like she’d been through hell and clawed her way out.

And those eyes… fuck, those liquid brown eyes still held the same golden flame that used to light me up from the inside out. One look at her and every wall I’d built over the years cracked wide open. I told myself I’d moved on, that I’d buried whatever I’d felt for her a long time ago. But standing there, watching her walk back into my world like she still owned a piece of me, I knew I had only been fooling myself.

My fingers dug into my palms, tension flaring through my muscles like a slow-burning fuse. I knew her. Knew the stubborn fire in her belly, the reckless way she threw herself into a fight if she thought it was the right thing to do. She’d dig into Grit’s disappearance with both hands, push into places she had no business being.

And that was exactly why I had no choice but to keep an eye on her. She’d get herself hurt.

My jaw flexed. I wouldn’t let that happen. That’s why I gave in and let her believe she was helping, let her think she was taking control. It was easier that way. If she felt like she was in charge, she wouldn’t try to shake me off when I kept a tail on her.

Pulling out my phone, I shot a quick message to Diesel.

Follow her. Make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid.

Emmy Carter. The girl who’d once been everything. Memories hit me like a two by four to the head. Long summer nights sneaking around, her breathless laughter as I pinned her to the seat of my bike before taking her for a ride. The way she used to look at me like I was something more than the brash son of a man who never deserved the title of father.

I scoffed, shaking my head. That was a lifetime ago. Before my old man had driven into a concrete barrier with enough liquor in his system to kill a lesser man. Before I’d stepped up to take over the club, carrying a weight that wasn’t meant to be mine—at least not that quickly—but had landed on my shoulders anyway. I was a King. And Kings ruled the club. They always had. My grandfather had started the club, and I thought I’d have years before the job fell to me. I was wrong.

My father had ruled the Kings of Chaos with a fist as heavy as the bottle he was always drinking from. I swore I wouldn’t be like him. Wouldn’t let power rot me from the core.

But responsibility had a way of eating at a man, forcing him to make choices that left blood on his hands and regrets in his heart. Emmy.

Then there was Luke, the closest thing I had to a real brother. We’d come up together, survived the old man’s wrath together. And now he was gone.

It was suddenly harder to take a full breath. Luke wasn’t dead. Couldn’t be. But there was no doubt something had gone horribly wrong.

Emmy knew it too. She wasn’t gonna let this go. And that’s why I’d do everything in my power to make sure she stayed safe. None of this ugliness would touch her.

With a sigh I made my way through the clubhouse, ignoring the calls from a couple of the guys who were deep in their usual poker game.

The place was a mix of old and new—leather couches that had seen too many late nights and too much sex, a bar that was restocked more frequently than it was cleaned, and walls covered in the history of the Kings of Chaos.

Framed photos of past presidents lined the hallway outside my office, a constant reminder of the men who came before me. The first one, my grandfather, Elias King. Then my grandfather’s brother, Ephrem King, and a few uncles. And the last one before my own—my father. Tate King. A son of a bitch with a mean streak a mile wide.

I shook off the memories and pushed into my office. The second I sat down, a knock sounded at the door.

"Yeah?"

Tank stepped inside, closing the door behind him. The man was a wall of muscle, six-four with a thick beard that hid most of the scars lining his jaw. His real name was Dean Hollis, but no one had called him that in over a decade.

Tank had been my right-hand since the day I took the gavel. He wasn’t just the club’s Sergeant-at-Arms—he was the guy who made sure problems were handled before they ever made it to my desk.

Right now, he looked like he had a problem.

"You got Diesel tailing her?" Tank asked, dropping into the chair across from me.

I nodded. "She’s not gonna back off, so I’d rather have her close."

He exhaled loudly, rubbing a hand over his beard. "Damn shame, man. Luke goes missing, and now we got Emmy digging into shit she don’t need to be involved in."

"She’s smart. She’s got instincts, and she’s got a connection to Luke." My jaw flexed. "She’s gonna be a pit bull on this."

Tank grunted. "Yeah, well, she ain’t club. We both know where this road leads if she starts kickin’ over the wrong rocks."

I met his gaze, unflinching. "That’s why I’m keeping her close. I let her believe she’s running the show, she won’t see me steering from behind."

He let out a humorless laugh. "You really think you can control her?"

Silence stretched between us. I didn’t answer because I knew the truth. He did too. I could watch her, tail her, throw every damn roadblock her way, but Emmy Carter was a force of nature. No one controlled a storm.

Tank eyed me, the tension almost palpable. "This ain’t just about Luke," he said, voice lower now.

I tapped my fingers against the desktop.

"You tell me I’m wrong," Tank continued. "Tell me this don’t have somethin’ to do with what you two had before."

My lips pressed together. Emmy wasn’t just some girl I used to fuck. She wasn’t just some memory I’d buried under whiskey and regret. She was mine before either of us knew what that meant. And then she left.

My mood soured. "It doesn’t matter what we had before. That was years ago."

Tank shook his head, unconvinced. "Ain’t just about the past, Prez. It’s about what she still is to you."

I looked away, staring at the spot on the wall where my cut hung on a hook. The Kings were my family. My responsibility. My life. There had never been room for anything else. Hadn’t I proven that when she walked away when I couldn’t give her more?

Tank didn’t push. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "So, what’s the play? Luke didn’t just up and vanish. You and I both know that. We got enemies out there still licking their wounds from the last war we fought. You think this is about the club?"

"I don’t know yet, but someone wanted him gone. And until I know who, I’m gonna assume everyone’s a threat."

He nodded. "I’ll get the guys on high alert. Start checking in on our usual contacts, see if anyone’s heard something."

"Good. And keep in touch with Diesel. If anyone so much as looks sideways at Emmy, I wanna know about it."

He stood, but before he turned for the door, his gaze lingered. "You say it don’t matter anymore, but if that girl’s got your heart in a chokehold, you best figure your shit out before it’s too late."

Then he was gone, leaving me alone with thoughts I’d rather drown in whiskey. I pushed out of my chair, grabbed the bottle sitting on the shelf, and poured myself a drink. The burn down my throat did nothing to chase away the past. Because no matter how much time had passed, no matter how many women had come and gone, Emmy had always been the one.

She’d been a thorn in my side, a wildfire I couldn’t control, and the only damn person who ever made me feel like the world wasn’t just blood, betrayal, and club business.

I downed the rest of my whiskey, but it didn’t dull the memories that came rushing back.

The first time I saw her, really saw her, not just as Luke’s little sister, she couldn’t have been more than fifteen. Too young. Too wild. Too damn tempting even then.

She was standing outside the clubhouse, scuffed-up Chucks on her feet, torn jeans hugging long legs she didn’t even seem to realize she had. A worn-out band tee hung off one shoulder, exposing smooth golden skin, but it wasn’t her looks that caught my attention that day.

It was the fire in her eyes. That untamed, reckless energy that made her impossible to ignore.

She was mouthing off at one of the prospects, one under the misguided assumption that just because she was a teenage girl hanging around the club, she was an easy target. He never got the chance to finish whatever slick comment he was making before Emmy laid him out with a well-placed knee to the balls. Stupid ass didn’t know she belonged to Grit.

I’d been leaning against my bike at the time, watching the scene unfold with quiet amusement.

"That all you got?" she’d taunted, standing over the poor bastard who was curled up in the dirt, groaning.

I’d chuckled to myself then shook my head.

It didn’t take long before she was everywhere—hanging around the garage, pushing her way into places she didn’t belong. Not as a club girl. Not as a damn groupie. She had too much pride for that.

No, Emmy was there because her brother, Luke, had been patched in as a second generation. Her father had also been a member until losing his life in a war between clubs when Emmy was younger.

Luke had the added responsibility of raising her when he wasn’t much more than a kid himself. And when Luke joined the Kings, Emmy got pulled into my world, whether anyone wanted her there or not. She was a rebellious teen who was too smart for her own good, and Grit had to keep an eye on her.

She was seventeen the first time she really saw me, though.

I still remembered the way she had looked at me that night—like I was someone worth knowing. Like I wasn’t just another outlaw in a leather cut with too much blood on my hands.

I was twenty-three, just before I took over as Prez, already carrying more weight on my shoulders than any man my age should’ve. And she was forbidden. She was off-limits. Too young. Too tied to the club in ways that could get messy fast. So I’d kept my distance. For a while.

But Emmy had never been the kind of girl to let a line stay drawn for long.

She chased me relentlessly, pushing, testing, daring me to see her as something more than Luke’s little sister.

When she turned eighteen, I had no option but to surrender to the attraction. That first night, when I finally gave in, was seared into my brain. The way she’d melted against me. The way she demanded just as much as she gave. She wasn’t some sweet, innocent girl waiting to be led—she was fire, burning me alive.

I ran a hand over my face, exhaling hard.

I had tried to do right by her, had tried to be what she deserved. But I was young, wild, and already married to the club before I even realized what that truly meant. The Kings always came first—that was the way it had to be.

And Emmy? She learned that the hard way.

She had stuck by me longer than I ever expected. Longer than she should have. She had fought for me, for us, even when I made it clear where my priorities lay. At first, she accepted what little I could give her but after too many nights alone and missed times together, she started pushing back, challenging me, refusing to play the part of the obedient, waiting woman any longer.

By then, I was too deep in club business, too focused on proving myself as the new Prez, as the one who could handle whatever the Kings needed. I thought she understood. Thought she’d always understand.

Until she didn’t. Until the day she stopped arguing. Stopped waiting.

I could still hear her voice, the quiet finality in it, the way it cut more painfully than any blade ever could.

“I can’t do this anymore, Austin. I won’t be second to a damn motorcycle club. I’m not built to be some biker’s old lady, content with scraps of your time.”

She hadn’t yelled. Hadn’t thrown anything. She had simply walked away.

And I let her.

Watched her drive off with that determined spark in her eyes, telling myself it was for the best. That she was too good for this life, too smart to waste herself on a man who would never be able to put her first. That she’d be better off without me, and I wouldn’t regret it.

But damn if that wasn’t the biggest lie I ever told myself. Because no matter how much time had passed, no matter how many meaningless hookups I’d used to try to erase her, Emmy had never left me.

Tonight, she’d stood in front of me again, that same flame in her eyes, walking straight into the inferno. No way in hell was I going to let her do it alone.