Page 16 of Riding the Line (Steel Saints MC #1)

“Oh mija , look at you, you poor thing,” Maria said, as Holly added, “Damn girl, you look like shit.”

I must have given them a pitiful look because, in a flurry of movement, they both rushed in and guided me to the couch. Maria sat down with me while Holly went towards the kitchen.

“We heard what happened between you, Dalton, and Mac.”

“And we’ve heard that you haven’t been answering their calls. Mac is going insane—he’s been biting everyone’s heads off. Dalton looks like… well, he looks even worse than you.”

This morsel of information came from Holly, who had come back from the kitchen with a couple of wine glasses.

Maria shook her head. “Jackson and Diego somehow convinced them to stay put and let us come to you. So, here we are. We should’ve come sooner. What is going on? Those two… they have walls. I should know. They don’t let just anyone in. After everything they’ve been through… this is killing them.”

I looked between these two women, both of whom cared for me deeply in their own way.

I felt the moment my own walls crumbled, and I started sobbing.

Without a word, they enveloped me in a hug, one on each side of me.

They didn’t push me to talk. Didn’t do anything other than hold me as I cried like a baby.

Every doubt. Every fear. Every uncertainty since I had started this assignment was finally let loose—like a dam bursting open, giving in to the pressure at its cracks.

I couldn’t tell them what was going on in my head. I couldn’t ask if they thought I was failing those little girls. I couldn’t ask them if I was betraying who I was. I couldn’t tell them the turmoil my heart was in, and why. But I could cry. I could let myself feel. So, I did.

For the next several hours, we sat on that couch until the pain started to fade.

They told me stories between bites of pizza that had been delivered shortly after their arrival, and spoons of half-melted ice cream.

Holly told me about her messed-up childhood, how Jackson healed a part of her that had been broken for so long, she had forgotten what it felt like to be whole.

Maria reminisced about growing up with Diego, and how long it took both of them to finally admit their feelings for each other.

We laughed, cried, and drank more wine until the sun set in the sky.

When they finally said goodbye, I felt about ten pounds lighter. After one last group hug by the door, they headed towards the elevator as I stood in the doorway watching them leave.

Maria turned to me before they got on. “Whatever it is, it’ll be okay. We’re here for you, chica .”

I smiled at her and hoped she was right.

As I was getting ready for bed, I texted Mac and Dalton: “I’m okay, it’s okay. I just needed time. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Then I silenced my phone and went to sleep.

The next day, I pulled into the clubhouse parking lot around 7:30.

I was determined to make a big breakfast, having missed the last four days of work.

But when I walked into the kitchen, Dalton was waiting for me.

Before I could speak, he covered the ground between us and wrapped his arms around me.

“Baby girl, don’t ever ghost me like that again. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to spook you or upset you—whatever I did, tell me, and I’ll never do it again.”

I stepped back and gently grabbed his face between my hands.

“Dalton,” I said, trying to calm him. “Dalton, stop. You didn’t do anything.

” His blue eyes were damn near frantic. This wasn’t the kind of fear that came from a bruised ego or romantic fallout—this was something deeper. More painful. Darker.

I had been told his dad had died of a heart attack.

Or a broken heart, right after their mother died.

After doing a little digging on my part, I learned that it had been Dalton who found his father in the garage, his body cold.

It had been Dalton who had tried to support his brother through the abrupt change in leadership and, months later, after a supply run had gone bad, it had been Dalton who had woken up from injuries of his own to find his brother in a coma.

In one way or another, people kept leaving him. It had broken a part of him. The sudden understand came crashing down on me and, in a second, I understood. I had been a cop long enough to recognize a trauma response.

He shook his head, dismissing my words and dislodging my hands.

His breath came rapidly, and I realized he was about two seconds away from a panic attack.

I stepped towards him and wrapped my arms around him.

Holding him like he held me. I stood on my tiptoes and tucked my head into his neck, wishing he wasn’t so damn tall.

“It’s okay. I’m fine. We’re fine. Just breathe. I’m here now.”

Slowly but surely, I felt the tension leave his body, and he embraced me again. We stood there for a minute, and he rested his chin on the top of my head.

Finally, he took a step back, and I looked up at him. He pressed a kiss to my forehead and gave me a sad smile. “I’ll let you get to work, Vixen. I need to talk to Mac.”

With that, he headed towards the motel rooms. I also knew a retreat when I saw one. I wanted to stop him, realizing I wasn’t the only fucked-up one reeling from this mess.

After the door closed behind him, I got to work making breakfast. I settled on one of my favorites—homemade quiche.

Shelly used to make it for me whenever we had camped out at each other’s places, working a case or celebrating a closed one.

She made one with bacon, ham, spinach, tomatoes, cheese, and onion.

I swear I could eat the whole thing. And I could use a little piece of home right now.

With three of those in the oven, I added eggs to the growing list of groceries.

I went to the store twice a month, and it was getting close to time.

A few of the guys had been adding things they wanted on there, too, in my absence.

I sipped at my coffee and went through the cabinets. I wondered if I could ask Mac for a chest freezer. A local butcher sold whole cows, and while I didn’t mind grocery-store meat, it had nothing on something straight from the source.

Maria and Holly had helped me create a text group with almost all of the guys on it, so I checked on the quiche and sent out, “Breakfast will be done in about ten. If you want anything else from the store, get it on the list by the end of the day.”

My text was met with a flurry of smiley faces and thumbs-up emojis.

They started pouring into the dining room as I was pulling the quiches out of the oven to cool.

Two of the guys, Rodney and Clint, came up behind me, and I turned to them.

Rodney surprised me with a hug, and Clint, one of the older bikers, pressed a kiss on my cheek.

Clint was kind of like the grandpa of the group; a lot of the guys called him Pops.

“What was that for?” I asked with a smile.

Rodney shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets. “We were all kind of worried about you.”

Clint leaned over the stove, sniffing at breakfast, and said, “You can’t just disappear like that, sweetheart. Mac and Dalton were ornery bastards these past few days, and it wasn’t just your cooking that they missed…”

I shooed him away from the stove. “Oh, it was just Mac and Dalton that missed me then?” I teased.

Clint grunted and wagged a finger at me. “You gave us all quite the scare. You’re a part of the family now.”

Before I could respond, he and Rodney both rejoined their friends at the table. I cut the quiche up and started making plates. There was some leftover fruit salad in the fridge that was a day shy of turning, so I grabbed that and served it next to the quiche.

“Alright, everyone, come grab a plate.”

I stepped back and made room for the throng of hungry people.

I smiled a little as I watched them, realizing I had missed this more than I cared to admit.

Dalton came through the door, and when our eyes met, I grinned at him.

He winked at me, and that simple gesture let me know everything was alright.

There was no sign of Mac, though. I kept an eye on the door, waiting for him, but Dalton came up beside me.

“He’s not coming, Vixen.” I frowned, then glanced at the door again, and he rubbed my back. “Just give him time.”

I nodded, and stepped forward to grab two plates. I handed one to him and took the other to the side. Grabbing a pen and a Sharpie, I wrapped the plate in Saran wrap, then wrote “Mac’s” on it before sticking it in the fridge.

After breakfast, I rinsed off the dishes and handed them to Dalton, who put them in the dishwasher. He came up behind me, kissed me on the neck, and said, “I’ve gotta get going, Vixen. Got something I need to do.”

I leaned into him and said, “You got my head all twisted around, you know that?”

He wrapped an arm around my waist. “The feeling’s mutual, but we’ll talk later, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow.” He pressed another kiss to the spot he seemed to favor, and I hummed my pleasure. I had pushed all my doubts firmly to the back of my mind. For now.

I gathered my cleaning bucket and headed towards the rooms. I had a single earbud in, listening to music yet trying to stay alert.

When I heard the door open behind me, I turned, worried Silas had come back from wherever he disappeared to all the time.

Instead, it was Mac leaning against the doorframe.

The way he was looking at me made me feel about ten inches tall.

“Mac, hi. Is everything okay?”

I watched as he clenched his jaw so hard I thought it was bound to break. He took a step toward me, and I took a step back.

“Mac?”

He still didn’t say a word—just stepped into the small room with me, then turned and locked the door behind him.

“Okay, you’re freaking me out. What are you doing?”

“Four fucking days.” He took a step towards me with each word. “You just vanished for four fucking days. And you ask me if everything is okay?”

He wasn’t shouting; his voice was so low and deadly calm that I didn’t dare take my eyes off him. I thought back to Dalton’s reaction when he had first seen me. This was also a trauma response, just one on an entirely different end of the spectrum.

I did my best to keep my voice smooth and gentle. “Mac, please, let me explain. I was scared, okay?”

He laughed, but it was a sound completely devoid of humor. “ You were scared? And how exactly did you think I felt, how Dalton felt? The only fucking reason we didn’t come after you is because your girlfriends stopped us. But, please. Tell me how scared you were.”

I’d never seen him like this. This raw. This wasn’t just anger—it was grief, twisted into fury.

The only way he knew how to be. I remembered a little of what Maria had told me—losing his mother, then his dad, before being expected to jump into leadership like Superman.

No time for grief. No time for pain. Mac hadn’t been allowed to fall apart.

The club needed him. He’d been barely twenty, and they expected so much from him.

And when he finally did break—when someone put a pipe to his skull and left him in a coma—he woke up to find Silas wearing the crown.

Ever since, Mac had clung to control like it was armor.

Armor that protected his brother. His club.

Himself. But lately… he had started to let his control slip.

Started to let me in. And I had run away.

I had burned his trust like it didn’t cost him everything to give it in the first place.

I shook my head. “Mac, please. Don’t be like this.” I reached for him, but he grabbed my wrist and yanked me towards him. I fell against his chest and said, “Jesus, Mac, I thought you said you didn’t hurt women. What the fuck was that?”

He made an angry sound and grabbed my jaw. He tilted my head back until I was looking into a pair of the stormiest blue eyes I had ever seen.

“Vixen, I’m not trying to hurt you. But you damn sure keep hurting me.”

“That’s stupid—I haven’t done a thing to you!” I protested, and he stared down at me.

“Not all wounds can be seen.”

I blinked at him and whispered, “Mac, I never meant to hurt you. I just needed space.”

He traced my jawline with his thumb, then rubbed circles on my cheek. “Four days, Vixen. You were killing me for four days.”

I leaned into his touch and then stiffened in surprise when he leaned in and kissed me.

He tasted like mint and smoke, and I found myself relaxing into him.

He kissed me slowly, like he was savoring the feel of my lips on his.

I tucked my hands into the back pocket of his jeans, and pulled him closer to me.

When he groaned, I shivered, and he wrapped his hands in my hair.

He bit my lip gently, and I opened to him as he deepened the kiss. He groaned again and then pulled away.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Vixen.”

I kissed him once more, just a whisper of a touch, relishing the feel of his five o’clock shadow.

“I don’t want to be,” I said quietly, and rested my forehead against his chest. But I already was, or would be. However, in that moment—standing in his arms—I found myself not caring so much. As selfish as that made me.

His phone started to ring, and he pulled it out of his jacket, still holding me to his side with his other arm. “Mills.” A few seconds later, he rolled his eyes. “Yes, sir, I’ll get it done.” He ground his jaw again, and I kissed the tense muscles there.

“Greyson?” I asked.

He nodded. “Fucker is coming back to town.”

As much as I hated to do it, I pressed gently for any information I could get. “Where does he run off to all the time?”

He sighed. “Our supplier. Bunch of scumbags I wouldn’t share a fucking urinal with. But he thinks… well, honestly, I don’t know what he’s thinking. He’s an idiot.”

“An idiot who is somehow your boss. How did that happen, Mac? ”

He looked down at me and pulled me into him. “Another time, Vixen. I’ll see you at dinner—Greyson needs me to take care of something, and I won’t make it to lunch.”

He kissed me goodbye, and I watched him go, trying to ignore the voice of reason screaming in the back of my mind.