Page 1 of Jace (Wolf Rider MC Daddies #2)

Jace

“Another tough night,” I say, my voice low but my spirits surprisingly high. “Hell, I wouldn’t change it for the world though…”

The Rusty Spur smells like stale beer, leather, and regret, but it’s home.

The jukebox in the corner belts out some old hair metal rock tune, half-drowned by the rumble of laughter and clinking glasses.

My boots stick to the floor as I lean against the bar, a glass of Jack in my hand, the burn of it still lingering on my tongue.

Tonight’s been a shitshow—another gun run for the Wolf Rider MC, another deal that went sideways. It’s not all bad, but it’s another situation where people got hurt and it’s debatable whether we came away with the win.

Shit. Maybe I’ve been doing this too long.

And same old same old on our rivals too… The Iron Vipers are sniffing around our territory, and the club’s on edge.

I should be out there, cracking skulls or at least planning our next move, but instead, I’m here, trying to drown the adrenaline still buzzing in my veins.

I scan the room, taking in the usual chaos.

My brothers—Tank, Razor, and a few up and comers—are sprawled across a booth, tossing back shots and eyeing the local boys like wolves circling prey.

The air’s thick with smoke, curling from cigarettes and the occasional pipe. It’s the kind of place where deals are made in whispers and fights break out over a wrong glance.

My kind of place.

Always has been.

School, rules, suits—never my thing.

Out here, I make the rules. Or break them.

Then I see him.

He’s tucked into a corner booth. A book—Jesus, an actual book—sits open in front of him, his fingers tracing the pages like they’re some sacred relic.

The dim light catches his hair, soft brown curtains, and his glasses perch low on his nose, giving him this schoolteacher vibe that’s doing things to me I didn’t expect.

He’s dressed simple—jeans, a cream sweater—but the way those jeans hug his waist and legs makes my blood run hot. He doesn’t belong here, not in this den of outlaws and drunks, and that makes him all the more interesting.

“Well I’ll be…” I mutter, unable to take my eyes off the boy.

I take a slow sip of my whiskey, letting my eyes linger. He’s not just pretty—he’s got this quiet fire, like he’s holding back a spark nobody’s seen yet. My kind of challenge.

I’ve never been one for hesitation. Life’s too short, and I’ve got too many scars to prove it.

So when the boy glances up, catching my stare, I don’t look away. His eyes, big and hazel, widen for a split second before he drops them back to his book.

Oh, young man, you’re not getting off that easy…

I push off the bar, weaving through the crowd. A few of the regulars nod my way. They know who I am, that’s for sure… Jace, the Wolf Rider’s wild card, the guy who’d rather throw a punch than talk it out.

My leather jacket creaks as I move, the club’s wolf skull patch heavy on my back. The weight of it reminds me who I am, what I’m built for.

But right now, all I’m thinking about is him.

The unsuspecting young man doesn’t look up as I slide into the booth across from him, but then I catch the slight tense of his shoulders.

I take my jacket off. It’s hot as hell in here—and could be about to get hotter too…

Up close, he’s even better—soft skin, a faint flush on his cheeks, and a scent like vanilla and something floral that cuts through the bar’s grit.

I lean forward, resting my tattooed forearms on the table, the ink of wolves and flames curling across my skin…

“Gotta say, boy’,” I drawl, voice low, “You’re the last thing I expected to find in a place like this.”

His eyes flick up, and there’s that spark I knew was hiding. He pushes his glasses up his nose, all prim and proper, but the way his lips twitch tells me he’s not as shy as he seems.

“And you’re exactly what I expected,” he shoots back, his voice soft but sharp, like a blade wrapped in velvet. “Leather, tattoos, and a corny line ready to go.”

I laugh, a low rumble in my chest.

Fuck, I like him already.

“You got me there,” I chuckle. “But a guy’s gotta try when he sees a boy like you. What’s your name, bookworm?”

He hesitates, like he’s weighing whether I’m worth the trouble.

Then, with a small smile that’s equal parts sweet and defiant, he says, “Caleb.”

“Caleb,” I repeat, letting it roll off my tongue like it’s mine to keep. “I’m Jace. And I’m guessing you’re not here for the ambiance or peace and quiet. Unless of course you were looking for the library and got lost…”

He glances around, his nose wrinkling at the haze of smoke and the biker sprawled asleep at the next table.

“Not exactly,” Caleb answer. “Meeting a friend. He’s late.” His eyes meet mine again, bolder now. “And you? Just here to… intimidate the furniture?”

I grin, leaning closer, letting my voice drop to that rough, commanding tone that always gets a reaction.

“Oh, I’ve got better things to intimidate, Caleb,” I say, my voice low but my eyes lighting up. “Like boys who read books in bars and think they can handle a place like this.”

His cheeks flush deeper, but he doesn’t back down. “Maybe I can handle more than you think.”

Well, damn.

That’s a gauntlet if I ever heard one.

My pulse kicks up, and I’m half-tempted to drag him out of here right now, throw him on the back of my bike, and see just how much he can handle.

But there’s something about Caleb—something that makes me want to savor this, not just conquer it. He’s not some club boy chasing a thrill. He’s… different .

And I want to know why…

“Careful, boy,” I say, my gaze locked on his, letting a hint of my Daddy Dom edge slip through. “You keep talking like that, and I might take it as an invitation to warm that ass of yours up with a firm hand on it.”

He bites his lip, and fuck, it’s like a match to gasoline.

I’m imagining that lip between my teeth, him pressed against me, all that quiet fire unraveling under my hands.

But before I can push further, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I ignore it, but it buzzes again—insistent, like the club’s got a leash on me even here.

Caleb notices, his brow furrowing…

“Someone important?” he asks, a teasing lilt in his voice, but there’s curiosity there too.

“Someone who thinks they are,” I mutter, glancing at the screen.

It’s Tank, probably bitching about the Vipers or some other crisis. I shove the phone back in my pocket. Club business can wait. For once, I’m not itching to dive into the chaos. Not when I’ve got him in front of me.

“So, Caleb,” I say, steering us back on course, “What’s a boy like you reading in a shithole like this? Shakespeare? Some sappy romance?”

He laughs, a soft, genuine sound that cuts through the bar’s noise.

“Jane Austen. Persuasion ,” Caleb says. “Ever heard of it?”

“Nope,” I admit, smirking. “But I’m guessing it’s not about bikes or bar fights. Now that’s a book I’d read.”

“ Hmmm . Not quite.” Caleb tilts his head, studying me like I’m a puzzle he’s not sure he wants to solve. “It’s about second chances. People finding their way back to each other, even when the world’s against them.”

Something in his voice—quiet, earnest—hits me harder than it should. I’m not the kind of guy who gets sentimental, but for a second, I wonder what it’d be like to be the guy in his story, not just the outlaw with blood on his knuckles.

I shake it off, leaning back, letting my grin slide back into place.

“Sounds heavy,” I say. “You always this deep, or is it just the whiskey talking?”

He rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe it’s the company.”

I’m about to fire back when my phone goes off again, this time a call.

Fuck.

Why now?

Don’t you assholes know what…

I curse under my breath, checking it—Razor, and he doesn’t call unless it’s bad. The Vipers must’ve pulled something, and the club’s probably gearing up for war.

I want to ignore it, but the weight of the patch on my back pulls me back to reality. This life doesn’t let you walk away, not even for a boy like Caleb.

“Gotta take this,” I say, standing, but I don’t move yet. I lean down, close enough that I can see the pulse jump in his throat. “Don’t go anywhere, young man. We’re not done.”

His eyes flicker with something—nerves, excitement, maybe both. “I’ll think about it,” Caleb says, that spark flaring again and he smiles a mixtures of sweetness and sass.

I chuckle, low and rough, and head for the door, the phone already at my ear. Razor’s voice crackles through, talking about a Viper sighting near our warehouse, but I’m barely listening. My mind’s still on him—Caleb, with his books and his wit and that fire I want to claim.

I step into the cool night air, the neon sign buzzing above me, and I know one thing for sure…

I’m coming back for him. And when I do, he’s mine .