Page 1 of Property of Blade (Kings of Anarchy MC: Alaska #1)

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Blade

T he final days of fall cling to the trees, their once-vibrant orange leaves now curling into brittle brown. The air has a bite to it, a chill that carries the first whispers of winter. I tilt my head back, feeling the icy edge of the season’s change, the promise of snow and longer nights ahead.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, yanking me out of my thoughts. I pull it out and glance at the screen. ‘Betty’s Café’ flashes back at me.

“Hello?”

“Is this Blade?” Mandy’s familiar voice greets me, the warmth in her tone a contrast to the cold air around me.

“Sure is. What can I do for you, Mandy? My boys aren’t causing problems, are they?” I ask, a smile tugging at the edge of my mouth.

Being the president of the Kings of Anarchy MC Chapter in Alaska isn’t something I signed up for or wanted.

King, the president of the mother chapter, banished me here.

Me, along with every other misfit, fuck-ups, or loners who didn’t fit the mold.

I’m the best of the worst, so he handed me the keys to this frozen kingdom and told me to make it work.

I’ve got no intention of letting him down, even if it means keeping my boots firmly planted in the snow and ice of this backwater.

“No, no, nothing like that,” she answers quickly, but there’s a shift in her voice as though there’s more. “Old Charlie just came in. He says there’s a woman stuck in a ditch on the west side of town. It’s getting dark, so I thought maybe you and your tow truck could go check on her.”

“Stone Road?”

“Yeah,” Mandy confirms. “Charlie said her car’s not made for dirt roads.”

“Cheechako?” The word comes out before I can stop it, a mix of irritation and resignation.

It’s the term we use for newcomers, those clueless enough to think they can survive out here in the wild without the right gear.

The Tlingit, an indigenous people of the Pacific Northwest Coast, used the word first, and it’s stuck ever since.

Mandy laughs, her voice light. “Sounds like it.”

“I’m going.”

“You sure sound happy about it,” she teases, her laughter echoing in the quiet air.

“Thanks, Mandy.” I end the call, slide the phone back into my jeans pocket, and go back inside. The keys to my tow truck are on the kitchen counter, and as I walk out the door I grab my coat, not that I need it.

It’ll take me thirty minutes to reach her.

The light is already fading fast. The woods come alive after dark, and not everything out here is friendly.

The bears are on the move, looking for food before they hibernate for the winter.

If this Cheechako is still out there in her car, she’s about to find out the hard way that Alaska doesn’t suffer fools lightly.

C harlie wasn’t kidding when he said her car wasn’t made for our roads.

A red and black Mini Cooper sits awkwardly in a ditch, its small tires half-buried in the mud.

It’s the kind of car that screams city life, not rugged Alaskan wilderness.

As I pull up, a woman steps onto the road, waving her arms like she’s hailing a cab.

It’s dark, the temperature is dropping fast, and she should be inside her car where it’s at least warm and safe.

Distracted by her, I climb out of my truck, grab a set of chains from the bed, and sling them over my shoulders. She’s frowning at me as I approach, her breath puffing in little clouds in the cold air.

“You need some help?” I ask, my voice gruff.

She gapes at me, her eyes widening. “Aren’t you cold?”

I glance down.

Dammit.

I’ve left my jacket in the truck and I’m shirtless. She’s bundled up in layers as if she is expecting a blizzard. With an annoyed grunt, I drop the chains and stalk back to my truck. The ground crunches under my boots as I grab my coat off the passenger seat.

“The heat’s on in the truck, so I didn’t realize how cold it is,” I mutter as I shrug on my leather jacket.

She’s still frowning, but then she thrusts her hand toward me, her movements brisk. “I’m Hannah Greer.”

I stare at her gloved hand for a beat too long, then reach out and shake it. Her grip is firm, a little unexpected for someone who looks like they just stepped out of a city boutique.

“Blade,” I reply simply.

Her lips quirk up in a half-smile. “Oh, like Madonna? You only have one name?”

The corner of my mouth twitches before a bark of laughter escapes me, echoing louder than I intended in the still night air. The sound feels strange, almost foreign, but a surprising warmth spreads through my chest. “Something like that,” I say, shaking my head.

Hannah turns to look at her car, her brows knitting together. “I came around the corner and lost control. I guess I was driving too fast on these roads.”

“And in the wrong type of car,” I add, eyeing the Mini skeptically.

Her head snaps back to me, a little defensive now. “What’s wrong with my car?”

I let out a low chuckle. “Nothing if you’re sticking to paved roads in the lower forty-eight. But out here?” I gesture to the muddy path stretching behind us. “That thing’s a glorified toy. You’re lucky you didn’t roll it.”

Hannah crosses her arms, a spark of defiance lighting her eyes. “It’s fuel efficient,” she argues as if that’s going to win her points in the middle of nowhere.

“Not gonna help you much if it’s stuck in a ditch, is it?” I fire back, grabbing the chains again and heading toward her car.

“Do you need help?”

Grinning, I shake my head. “No.”

It takes me no time to hook her car up and pull it out of the ditch.

The Mini looks even more out of place under the glare of my truck’s rear spotlights, its glossy paint smeared with mud.

As I work, Hannah watches me intently, like I’m performing some magic trick.

Every time I glance her way, she flashes me a smile, bright, unguarded, and completely oblivious to the danger of standing out here in the dark.

The woman clearly has no sense of self-preservation.

“How about you jump in my truck, and I’ll tow you into town?” I offer, brushing mud off my gloves as I straighten up.

She practically bounces on the balls of her feet, her excitement catching me off-guard. “Thank you! I’m still trying to get my bearings around here. Things are still feeling new. I’ve only been in town a few weeks. My home is over in the Bear Ridge Estate.”

Bear Ridge. That’s one of those cookie-cutter developments carved into the wilderness, where people from the lower forty-eight think they can get a taste of Alaskan life without actually living it. Still, it’s better than her being stranded out here.

Nodding, I open the passenger door for her, the hinges creaking in the cold. “Hop in.”

She hesitates for half a second, as if she’s surprised by the gesture, then climbs up. I walk around to the driver’s side and slide into the cab, the truck groaning softly under the weight of the cold.

“What’s your street called?” I ask, starting the engine.

“Oh, you don’t have to take me home. You can just unhook me in town, and I can drive myself,” she says quickly, her hands twisting the ends of her scarf.

The warm feeling in my chest grows, unexpected and unwelcome. I shake my head, resting one hand on the steering wheel. “I’d feel better knowing you got home safe.”

Her expression softens, and for a moment, she looks almost vulnerable. “Thank you,” she whispers, her voice softer now.

I pull the truck onto the road, glancing over as she leans back in the seat, finally relaxing. The scent of her perfume is light and floral and fills the cab—a sharp contrast to the leather and motor oil I’m used to.

She looks out the window, her breath fogging the glass. “It’s so different here. I’ve never lived somewhere so... wild.”

I grunt in acknowledgment, keeping my eyes on the road. “It’s not for everyone.”

“Maybe not,” she murmurs, almost to herself. Then she glances at me, her smile returning softer this time. “But I think I’m going to like it. I live on Kodiak Circle.”

The drive into town takes about fifteen minutes, and it should only take another ten to get to her home. I’m concentrating on the roads, enjoying her company even though I’m not much of a talker.

“Have you lived here long?” she asks, breaking the silence.

I let out a quick breath, glancing at her quickly before focusing on the road again. “Five years,” I answer, my tone flat.

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah, it’s quiet,” I reply, my fingers tightening slightly on the steering wheel. “And there’s plenty of wilderness to get lost in,” I add, trying to end the conversation.

She doesn’t seem to notice my irritation as she presses on. “You’re in an MC?”

“Yeah.” I bite out the word, a little sharper than I intended.

Her gaze flicks to me, but she doesn’t let up. “Your patch says president?”

I grunt, my patience fraying. “Yeah.”

“How many members do you have?”

“You ask a lot of questions,” I mutter, more frustrated than I want to admit. I try to soften the tension with a slight chuckle, but it doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “Why did you move here?”

Her hand moves to her face, and I watch her fingers lightly trace the scar. “I got hurt,” she says, her voice soft, distant. “And this seemed like the place to heal.”

I glance at her, really seeing the scar for the first time.

It runs down the side of her face, jagged and bold, but she clearly doesn’t want me to stare.

I didn’t notice it before, but now I can’t look away.

Something in my chest tightens as I realize she’s far more self-conscious about it than she should be.

We pull up in front of her home, the white picket fence standing out against the rugged landscape, a misplaced relic from another world. It seems so out of place here.

“Nice fence,” I say, nodding in its direction.

Hannah grins, a spark of pride in her eyes. “I did it myself.”

I take in the entire street—her house is the only one with a picket fence. Hell, it’s the only house with any kind of front fence at all. The contrast is jarring, but somehow, it works for her.

“Looks good,” I mutter, surprising myself.

It’s not something I’d usually say to anyone, but something about the way she’s sitting there, looking so damn proud of herself, makes me want to acknowledge it. Something deep inside me wants her to like me, even if it’s just a little.

“Thanks,” she says, giving me a small smile as she opens her door.

I get out of the truck and go to unhook her car, the sound of chains dragging over the dirt filling the space between us.

“It’s gonna need a wash,” I add, not sure why I feel the need to say it. “And if you’re intent on driving this thing, maybe get some better tires.”

Her eyes narrow, a scowl pulling at the corners of her lips. “I know how to drive, thank you,” she snaps, her tone sharp enough to make me pause.

I raise an eyebrow but keep my mouth shut. There’s no point in pushing her now. I finish unhooking her car, trying to focus on the task at hand, but my attention keeps drifting back to her.

She walks toward her house, hands tucked into her coat pockets, shoulders stiff. I don’t think she’s used to people telling her what to do, and I get the feeling my words rubbed her the wrong way.

Once the Mini is free, I stand up and dust my hands off, turning to look at her. “Need help getting inside?” I offer, my voice softer than before, trying to smooth things over.

Hannah stops in her tracks, eyes flicking to me, then down to the ground. She hesitates, her lips pressed together as if she’s weighing something before she finally meets my gaze.

“I’ll be fine,” she says, her voice still a little tight, but there’s no more fire in it. She sounds less defensive and more resigned. “Thanks for the tow.”

I nod, taking a step back toward my truck. “You’re welcome. Just be careful next time.”

Hannah pauses, then pulls something from her pocket, stepping toward me. She holds out crumpled bills, her eyes avoiding mine. “Here,” she says, her voice quieter than before. “For the trouble.”

I take a step back, shaking my head, almost amused at her insistence. “I’m not takin’ your money, Greer.”

She doesn’t pull the bills back right away, her expression softening with a mix of gratitude and frustration. “It’s the least I can do. You didn’t have to help me.”

“I know you’re new here, but that’s not how we do things in these parts,” I say, my voice firm but not unkind. “You don’t pay for help in the community, especially not from me. If you were passing through, that’s one thing, but you’re a local now.”

She sighs, a little smile tugging at her lips, but I can tell she’s still not entirely comfortable with it. “Well, I’m not used to this kind of help.”

I give her a half-smile, stepping back and pushing my hands into my pockets. “Consider it a welcome-to-Alaska gift. Just don’t go getting stuck again, or I will charge you.”

She grins, finally tucking the bills back into her coat pocket with a soft huff. “I’ll try not to.”

I take a step back toward my truck, but I don’t climb in right away.

Instead, I stand there, watching her walk up to the porch.

A light comes on automatically as she approaches her front door, the soft glow from her house spills into the night, casting a warmth that makes the cold air feel a little less biting as she disappears inside.

With a shake of my head, I climb back into my truck, pull away from her house, and try to shake off the feeling that’s settled in my chest.

She’s not my problem.

Not yet.