Page 5

Birdie

If I had any sense left in me, I would’ve stayed home with a face mask and a glass of rosé. Especially after the last time I was at the clubhouse, a week ago, when Rocky stomped off after threatening to ruin me. But Eliza texted with that cutesy schoolteacher guilt trip, complete with heart emojis and a “Just come hang out, it’ll be fun!” like I wasn’t stepping into the damn lion’s den.

The Wild Dog wasn't my usual scene. I mean, I’d been there plenty, briefly, when Eliza insisted I meet Knox’s biker family. I’d smiled, said all the polite things, and left with a racing pulse and the distinct feeling that someone might get stabbed near the pool table at any moment.

But tonight, I told myself, was different. Tonight, I wasn’t coming for my friend.

I was coming for him.

Not that I’d admit that out loud.

I pulled into the gravel lot wearing the only leather jacket I owned, pink and cropped. Hadn’t worn it since college. Smelled like discount vanilla body spray and regret as climbed out of my shiny Camary. The bass inside the clubhouse was already rattling the windows, and laughter rolled out like fog from the front doors. I hesitated, smoothing my hair and checking my reflection in the rearview mirror like some nervous date .

Eliza met me at the door with a grin and a drink already in hand. “You came!”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” I smirked, accepting the drink and hugging her. She smelled like grease and bourbon, Knox’s signature combo, and I couldn’t help but feel that warm ache in my chest. She was glowing lately, happier than I’d ever seen her. Love looked mighty fine on her.

“What’s in this?” I asked, sipping the drink. It burned like bad decisions and promises I probably wouldn’t keep.

“Don’t ask,” she said with a wink. “I told them something fruity, so who knows. But I tasted it. It’s good. Come on, sit with me. I want you to meet some of the girls.”

The next half hour was a blur of introductions. Women with names like Cinnamon and Sparrow. All beautiful, all sharp-tongued and fierce in a way that made me feel like a kitten in a lion pride. I laughed when they laughed. I sipped when they sipped. But my eyes? They wandered.

To him.

Rocky stood across the room like sin dipped in ink, tattoos scrambling up his arms, a cut stretched over broad shoulders, and those dark eyes scanning the room like he was hunting something. Or someone. He hadn’t looked at me once, but I felt him. Like a current under my skin.

He was talking to another club member. Bandit, I think his name was, and from the tense body language and clipped tones, it wasn’t a friendly chat. A second later, Rocky shoved the guy. Hard. Chairs scraped back. Someone cursed. I straightened, adrenaline flooding me as I instinctively took a step forward.

The guy swung, wild and sloppy.

Rocky ducked it and slammed his fist into the guy’s gut like he was knocking on a goddamn door. The man doubled over. The room erupted into shouts, but no one stopped them. They just watched. Like it was entertainment.

“Holy hell,” I breathed.

“Should we do something?” I asked Eliza, who was still sipping her drink like this was just Tuesday night.

“That is something,” she said, nodding toward Rocky.

He caught me watching then.

And it wasn’t a glance.

It was a drag.

His eyes swept down my body like a slow burn, and I swear I felt it in places I had no business feeling anything for an outlaw. My breath caught. He didn’t smile. Didn’t nod. Just stared at me like I was both the problem and the answer.

Then he turned and walked away, leaving the other guy coughing up blood behind him.

I waited a beat before following.

I found him outside, shirtless, leaning against a post like some muscly storm cloud. He didn’t look up when I stepped out. Fuck, the wolf tattoo on his chest caught my eye. That was quite the coincidence. I had to fight the visions of that night in the woods. That creature in dark.

“You okay?” I asked, wrapping my arms around myself. The night was cooler than I expected, and the wind tugged at my jacket like it had secrets to spill.

He shrugged. “Just club shit.”

“That didn’t look like just anything,” I replied, stepping closer. “You could’ve killed that guy.”

“He deserved it. Because of what he said.”

Rocky finally looked at me, and I swear my knees gave out just a little. His eyes weren’t just dark. They were deep. Like if you fell into them, you might never come out.

“Because he don’t know when to shut the fuck up about things that ain’t his business,” he said.

I cocked my head. “And what business is that, exactly?”

“You,” he said, his voice rough. “You are none of theirs.”

My breath hitched. “I’m not yours either, Rocky.”

He stepped in then, closing the space between us. His scent hit me first, smoke, spice, and something wild. Something that made my pulse throb in my throat.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “But that don’t stop me from thinkin’ about it. ”

I swallowed hard.

For a second, neither of us moved. We just stood there, too close, too hot, too damn aware. His hand lifted, just brushing my jaw with his knuckles.

“You don’t belong here, Birdie,” he said, low and almost pained. “You’re sunshine. This place eats sunshine.”

He didn’t kiss me.

Not quite.

But his mouth hovered close enough that I tasted the promise.

“Go back inside,” he said, pulling away with effort. “Before I do something real stupid.”

I watched him disappear into the dark, my whole body buzzing from the almost.

And the ache in my chest?

It wasn’t just want.

It was the growing sense that if I kept dancing around this biker, I’d either get burned. I’d be the one holding the match.