Page 10 of Gonzo’s Grudge (Saint’s Outlaws MC: Dreadnought, NC #1)

IvaLeigh

T here was something about the man behind the motorcycle.

Not just the roar of the engine or the leather cut stretched across his broad shoulders. It was the way the world seemed to bend when he was near. Loud places hushed. Crowds shifted. Even fear retreated.

I should have been afraid of him. Everything about him screamed danger—the scars across his knuckles, the tattoos winding up his arms, the weight in his voice that told me he had done things most people wouldn’t even whisper about. But every time I was near him, I didn’t feel fear.

I felt safe.

And that was a danger all its own.

Classes were a blur the next day. I took notes, highlighted passages, nodded when professors asked questions.

None of it stuck. My pen scribbled across paper, but my mind wasn’t in the lecture hall.

It was back on the bike, the wind in my hair, my arms wrapped around him, the world shrinking to nothing but the steady strength of the man in front of me.

By the time the last class ended, my chest was buzzing like I’d swallowed a hive. Students poured out, chatter filling the air, but my eyes searched instinctively for one thing.

Surprisingly, I found him.

Gonzo leaned against his motorcycle like he owned the pavement, arms crossed, cut catching the sun. He didn’t look out of place even though he should have, standing among students in sweatshirts and sneakers. He looked like an anchor. Unmovable.

And I felt myself moving toward him before I could think twice.

“You eaten?” His voice was gravel and smoke, low enough only I could hear.

I shook my head. “Not yet.”

His mouth tilted, the closest thing he ever came to a smile. “Then ride with me. Dinner.”

I swallowed hard. Last time, dinner was greasy fries and a milkshake at a diner off the highway. This time, the way he said it felt different. More deliberate.

“Okay.”

The ride was smoother than I remembered, probably because I wasn’t as tense this time.

I was beginning to learn. I knew how to move with the bike now, how to press my knees in tight, how to let myself sink into the rhythm.

My cheek rested against the leather of his cut, and I closed my eyes, letting the wind pull every worry from me.

When we stopped, it wasn’t at a diner or a restaurant. It was his cabin.

Again. I didn’t want to overstay my welcome, but truly I was more comfortable here in his home than my own.

He helped me off the bike, his hand steady at my waist, before he jerked his chin toward the door.

“Dinner’s on me tonight. Not takeout. Not diner food. Real food.”

Inside, the cabin smelled faintly of cedar and coffee. The kitchen was simple but clean, pans hung on the wall, counters worn smooth. He moved like he belonged in the kitchen, pulling out vegetables, a package of chicken, a skillet.

“You cook?” I asked, surprised.

He gave me a look over his shoulder. “You think I live on whiskey and beef jerky?”

I bit back a laugh. “That was my guess.”

He grunted, setting the skillet on the stove. “Pop Squally always said a man who can’t feed himself ain’t worth much.” His jaw tightened slightly, the name slipping heavy into the room. “I listened.”

I settled at the counter, chin propped on my hand, watching him slice onions with surprising precision.

“Where’d you learn?” I pressed gently.

He shrugged. “Chow hall food was shit when I was in the Marines. Ex-wife never let me in her kitchen. When I left, a man needed to eat and my son was used to his mom’s cooking.

Pop Squally put me in the clubhouse kitchen for a bit.

Old ladies showing me how not to burn rice was where I started. Trial and error ever since.”

“You have a son?” I acknowledged looking for confirmation. “How old is he?”

He nodded. “GJ, Gabriel Jr. is twenty-two.”

I fought back the way my heart sank that his son was my age. It was obvious he was older, but the way he kissed me, how I wished he was… mine.

Now it made sense why he could easily let me sleep down the hall in his bed without wanting to test the waters with me. While the disappointment was hard to push down, I still didn’t want to leave and I wanted to learn more about the biker in front of me.

The more he worked in the kitchen, the more natural it seemed. Oil hissed in the skillet, the smell of garlic and onions filling the cabin. It felt relaxed and normal. Like something I’d seen a hundred times in other kitchens, except this man was nothing close to normal.

“So,” I said, twirling a strand of hair around my finger. “If you can cook and fix cars and ride a motorcycle like that… what can’t you do?”

His eyes flicked up, pinning me. “Be good.”

The words landed heavy, deliberate.

I blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not a kind man, IvaLeigh. Not a good man either.” He flipped the chicken in the pan with a practiced flick, the sizzle loud between us. “I’ve done things that’d make you run if you knew half of it.”

My throat tightened. But instead of fear, I felt the strange pull again, deeper than before. “Then why the warning?” I asked softly.

His mouth curved, but it wasn’t humor. It was warning. “Because you’re young. You’ve got a whole world ahead of you that doesn’t need men like me shaking it up.”

I swallowed, staring at the way his hands moved, steady, precise. “And yet you’re the only one who’s made me feel safe.”

That caught him. His shoulders stiffened, his knife pausing mid-slice. He set it down carefully, turning to face me. “Safe doesn’t make me a good man, IvaLeigh.”

“Maybe not,” I admitted. “But sometimes they overlap.”

For a moment, the silence was thick. Then he turned back to the stove, jaw clenched, like he was wrestling something I couldn’t see.

Dinner was simple—chicken, rice, vegetables. But it tasted better than anything I’d eaten in weeks. Maybe because I hadn’t had a meal cooked for me in forever. Maybe because it was him.

We sat across from each other at the small table, the light overhead humming faintly.

“Why the club?” I asked between bites.

His eyes darkened, distant. “Because family isn’t always blood. Pop Squally taught me that. He gave me a brotherhood when I felt like the world would chew me up.”

I nodded slowly. “And loyalty?”

“Loyalty is everything.” His voice was sharp, final. “You give it, you keep it. Even if it kills you. Especially if it kills you.”

His words shivered down my spine. He meant them. Every syllable.

I should have been scared. Instead, I wanted to lean closer. To see the man behind those words.

The more he tried to warn me away, the more the air thickened between us.

After dinner, I helped with the dishes, standing beside him at the sink. My hands brushed his once when we both reached for the same plate, and the shock of it burned hotter than the water. I yanked my hand back, biting my lip.

He noticed. “IvaLeigh.” His voice was low, steady.

I forced myself to meet his eyes.

“You don’t want this. You think you do, but you don’t. You’re young. You’ve got clean roads ahead of you. Me? I’m tainted, baby.”

I should have nodded. Should have stepped back.

Instead, I closed the space between us. My hand trembled as I reached for his face, fingers brushing the rough line of his beard. His breath hitched, almost too quiet to hear.

Then I kissed him.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t safe. It was need—raw and reckless.

His lips were warm, rough, and when he kissed me back, it felt like being caught in a storm I didn’t want to escape.

His hand slid to the small of my back, pulling me closer, anchoring me against him.

The taste of him, smoke, coffee, something darker filled me until I was dizzy.

For a moment, I forgot everything. Collin. Darla. My parents’ weird dynamic. Even the warnings. It was just this man, this moment, this impossible pull I couldn’t deny.

But just when I thought I’d drown in it, he broke the kiss.

His forehead pressed to mine, his breathing ragged. “Enough.”

I shook my head, whispering, “Please, let’s see what this could be.”

He gripped my shoulders, firm but not cruel. “No. Not tonight.”

I blinked up at him, lips swollen, chest heaving. “Why?”

“Because if I start, I won’t stop.” His eyes burned into mine, raw and unflinching. “And you deserve more than being a man’s weakness in a moment.”

The words gutted me. Not rejection—something else. Restraint. Respect.

And it only made me fall harder.

He sent me to bed, tucking the blanket around me like I mattered more than I should. He stayed on the couch again, the bed feeling far too large without him in it. I wondered what that would be like. I lay there, heart pounding, every nerve alive. I shouldn’t want him. He’d warned me enough times.

But I couldn’t stop.

Because behind the motorcycle, behind the leather and the scars, there was a man who could cook dinner, who believed in loyalty above all, who pulled back when it would have been easy to take.

And that kind of man was the most dangerous of all.