Page 12

Havoc

T he minute we hit the bottom of the stairs, Riley looked around at the few people in the bar—mostly club girls. I wondered if she was trying to figure out whether any of them were aware of what she had just endured. I didn’t want her to feel embarrassed, because she hadn’t done a damn thing wrong. It was that asshole cop who should’ve felt shame.

To ease her worry, I told her quietly, “Only the brothers involved in helping us bring Slater down will know what he did to you. We don’t talk about club business to the old ladies or club girls.” Clearly, Zoe and Ali were exceptions, but we’d already talked about that. She’d seemed grateful for Zoe’s support, so I didn’t bother going over it again.

She glanced around once more, like she was trying to ground herself. “I don’t care who knows what happened. The more women who know, the better. They need to be aware of what he’s done to stay safe.”

Shock rolled through my gut. “You sure about that, Riley?”

“Yeah. Pass the word that he’s a stalker who isn’t above trying to rape someone in broad daylight.”

I gave her a nod of understanding. A knot of tension I hadn’t even realized I’d been carrying loosened in my chest. That was the Riley I knew—strong, resilient, and unafraid. I slipped my arm around her and murmured, “We’ll make sure they all know he can’t be trusted.”

A look of gratitude flickered across her face, and she moved a little closer to me. I guided her to my room on the first floor. Unlike the suites we reserved for guests and special occasions, my room was a simple one-bedroom space with a tiny semi-private bathroom. Storm had the place built with practicality in mind—most rooms shared a connecting bathroom. Nothing fancy, but it was clean and comfortable.

I hung my cut on the back of the door and kicked off my boots. Riley wandered the room, exploring like she was trying to learn me through my things. She ran a hand over the folded clothes sticking out of my duffel bag and lingered a moment by my bookshelf, fingers brushing the worn spines. Eventually, she dropped down on the edge of the bed and slipped off her shoes. After nudging them under the bed, she shifted until her back rested against the wall.

“This is a big bed for such a small room,” she remarked.

I wheeled my desk chair closer to the bed. “Yeah, we’re big guys who value comfort when we sleep.”

She gave a faint laugh. “I don’t believe I’ve thanked you for coming when I texted. I hate making my problems your problems.”

“Are you kidding? We love dealing with dirty cops. When I brought it up to Storm, his voice lit up like it was Christmas morning. You already know Zoe runs that vlog about local government corruption and unsolved local crime. This is their idea of a good time.”

I popped open the mini-fridge under the desk and grabbed two cold bottles of water. When I handed one to her, she accepted it with a steady hand—a good sign. A vast improvement from earlier.

“Yeah,” she replied, twisting the cap. “I was one of her first subscribers. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad I could make Storm and Zoe’s day. I just hate that you’re stuck dealing with all this.”

“I don’t mind,” I said, taking a long pull from my water.

“Don’t you have a job to get to? I remember you said something about running a construction crew—and how you couldn’t leave them to run amok.”

“Damn, woman, you’ve got the memory of an elephant.”

She smiled faintly. “No, you’re just memorable.”

Hearing that from her? Yeah, that hit somewhere deep. I cleared my throat and explained, “I’ve got a club brother who renovates old houses. He’s meticulous and knows how I run things. He’s filled in for me before when I was short-staffed. He agreed to cover until further notice.”

She sipped her water, then looked over the bottle at me. “You and your club brothers are tight. You have each other’s backs, huh?”

“Of course. That’s what the brotherhood’s about. It’s what drew me in.”

“Tell me more about what drew you to the club.”

I figured she needed a break from thinking about the attack, and talking about something else was probably what she needed. So, I obliged.

“I was a grunt in the Marine Corps for ten years. Went in at eighteen. Did two tours in Afghanistan. Survived a bunch of shit that others didn’t. Messed me up for a long time. Storm ran a support group for vets with PTSD. I rolled up on my vintage Harley, and to my surprise, all the guys there were bikers. The more I learned about the Dark Slayers, the more I wanted in. I saw it as a chance to be part of something bigger again—just like the Corps. The brothers were good to me when I prospected. Took me under their wing. Made me feel like I belonged. And here I am.”

She didn’t interrupt, just kept sipping from her water, eyes fixed on mine, like every word mattered.

Then she asked, “Go back to the part about you surviving situations many of the others didn’t. What do you think gave you a survival advantage?”

I hesitated. Of course she asked that. After what she went through this morning, she wanted to understand how to stay alive—how to outmaneuver someone with power and no conscience.

“I’m not gonna pretend like we were smarter or faster,” I told her. “We all had our own strategies for staying alive. Training helped. But I think I had certain traits that worked in my favor. The biggest one? Caution. Relentless caution. I followed safety protocols to the letter. Double-checked everything. Ammo counts, fuel gauges, made sure everyone understood the mission before we moved out. I was always the guy fixing things during downtime, even when it wasn’t technically my job.”

She leaned forward a little. “So, your attention to detail—the constant checks, the planning—that’s what helped keep you and your team safe?”

I nodded. “That and the fact that I couldn’t stand the thought of losing a man because I didn’t catch something. That’s what drove me—protecting the guys around me.”

Her eyes lit up with understanding. “Do you see any parallels between the behaviors that kept you alive when deployed—and the things I was hired to work on with you?”

I blinked. She’d caught me off guard with that one.

I just stared at her for a long moment because—hell—I hadn’t seen it before.

But now that she’d said it, I wasn’t sure I could unsee it.

She began talking in an excited voice. “Think about it for a minute. Why did you leap into action at the nightclub? Why did you prioritize fixing that flickering light?” Before I could answer, she rushed on. “You kept a bunch of innocent people from getting arrested at the nightclub—and me from being abused by Slater—because you’re used to worrying about the people around you. And that flickering light fixture drew your notice because it posed a potential fire hazard. Don’t you see? You’re on autopilot, just doing now what you did then because it kept you and your unit safe.”

Fuck me, when she explained it like that, I could see she was right. That still didn’t explain how something that had kept me alive for years in extremely harsh conditions was now turning me into a complete fuckup.

“Yeah,” I admitted, “I can see how that might be true.”

“There is no ‘might be’. We’re onto something here, Havoc.”

“Still doesn’t explain why everything I touch goes to shit.”

She pulled me over onto the bed and turned to face me. “It explains it perfectly. Hear me out. You’re always on high alert, looking for danger, acting when anything out of the ordinary happens that might endanger or inconvenience the people you care about. It’s not that everything you touch goes wrong. You mess up exactly the same percentage as everyone else. It’s just that you’re always vigilant. Your brain is constantly scanning for danger. You’re always picking up the slack, fixing things, intervening when things start to go wrong. If you’re doing ten times more than everyone else around you, then naturally things are gonna go wrong more often.”

Something clicked in my brain, and a new world opened up in my mind. “I remember one of my old drill sergeants saying, ‘If you’re not making mistakes, it means you’re not doing enough.’ He used to say making mistakes was a natural part of living, working, and learning new things. He had this whole spiel about how fear of failure or looking foolish keeps us from doing what needs to be done—and he equated that fear to being a coward.”

Riley smiled and nodded, her face glowing with understanding. I was feeling a lot of things—relief, clarity—but mostly pride. She had helped me reframe something I thought was broken. This woman took so much pride in helping others, it was clear to me now why being a life coach was her calling.

Unable to contain the emotions swelling in my chest, I reached out and gave her a quick hug. “Thanks for that insight. It changed how I’ve been thinking about this situation.”

When I pulled back, she crawled closer until she was right in my lap. I’d held her back at her apartment, and I knew it helped her. Now, she climbed into my arms like she belonged there. I wrapped her up and settled us down for a quiet moment.

“You’re good at what you’re good at, sweetness,” I murmured. “I feel pretty damn lucky that I ended up with you as my life coach.”

She turned her head to look up at me. “Do you really mean that?”

“Yeah, of course I do. I can see now part of what went wrong was me always jumping too fast to fix things. We’re not at war. Everything isn’t a fuckin’ immediate danger. I can afford to slow down and prioritize things. You know, decide what needs to be done right away and what can wait long enough for me to think things through and talk to everyone involved. It’s more important to operate as a team than a lone wolf. I think that’s a big part of what I was missing.”

The soft smile she gave me was warm and real. “I’m glad to hear you say that. I feel like I might have made the connection, but once you saw it too, you ran with it, putting all the pieces of the puzzle together. It just goes to show you know yourself better than anyone else.”

Emotions of caring and respect multiplied in my chest. I realized, I didn’t just want this woman in my life as a coach. I wanted her for my own.

“You make me feel clever, though I know I’m not,” I told her. “I don’t know what Storm is paying you for this gig, but it ain’t nearly enough.”

She startled a little in my lap. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly accept money from your club. Not after you came for me when I needed you most and your club closed ranks around me and Dae in our time of need.”

Pride surged in my chest. I couldn’t help teasing her. “Storm will be thrilled to hear that. I wouldn’t describe him as stingy by any stretch, but he fuckin’ loves bartering.”

“Who doesn’t?” Riley replied, grinning. “It’s a win-win.”

Gazing down at her, I felt my arms tighten around her. “You’re a woman after my own heart.”

She responded softly, “Well, if I wasn’t before, I certainly am now.”

I jerked my chin at her in invitation, and to my surprise, she understood without needing words.

“How about we cuddle up and get some sleep,” she said, “then see what things look like when we wake up?”

“You got it, beautiful.” I wasn’t sure if she was being serious or just reaching for the only steady thing in her chaotic world right now. Either way, I was there for it. She was in danger, and whatever decision she made to feel safe was the right one. There was no wrong answer when it came to surviving.

She lay down, still in her jeans and t-shirt. I settled in beside her and wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her back against my chest.

“Thanks for not letting me go. I hate being this needy,” she whispered, a little embarrassed.

“This ain’t just for you, darlin’. It’s for me too. I need to have you near—need my hands on you to make sure you’re safe.”

She shifted closer, burrowing deeper into my arms. Her hand rested over mine. We stayed that way until her body softened and started to relax. Something about having her warm and peaceful against me allowed me to relax too. We were surrounded by my club brothers. No one could get to us here.

Just when I thought she’d fallen asleep, she murmured, “I feel safe with you, Havoc.”

I didn’t think, just answered, “I’m a natural-born protector, and I know how to fight fire with fire. You don’t have to worry about being safe as long as I’m on the job.”

She turned slightly, peeking over her shoulder. When our eyes met, I saw a world of doubt there, heavy and real. “Don’t let go. Promise me.”

I didn’t know whether she meant physically or metaphorically, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t about to let her go in any way. I pulled her tighter and whispered, “You’ve got nothing to worry about. Slater will get you when he pulls you from my cold dead hands. And trust me, that fucking asshole’s fighting skills are a joke compared to mine.”

“Alright,” she said, steady and soft. “I’m gonna trust you on that as well.” After a pause, she added, “If it comes down to me or you, pick yourself, okay?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to lie to her. She might be used to men who’d leave someone behind to save their own skin, but that wasn’t me. There was no version of reality where I would let her be harmed while I made a clean getaway. She didn’t press the issue, and I was grateful for that.

As we lay there, wrapped up together, she grew quiet. Her breathing slowed, deepened, and eventually became a soft, rhythmic hum. Knowing she could fall asleep like that—peaceful and protected—just made me fall for her harder.

I drifted off sometime later, right in the middle of planning the kind of hell I was going to rain down on the dirty cop who thought raping my woman was a clever idea. He’d regret the day he set eyes on Riley Dalton. And I’d make damn sure he wished he never messed with the Dark Slayers MC.