Page 16 of Stitch & Steel

Sixteen

LOGAN

Three days in the desert and my blood was half dust and gas fumes.

The mission was pure hell—just like we expected.

Gunfire. Smoke. Clubs and cartel foot soldiers running dirty payloads through the border scrub.

Biker crews with no code, just blood money in their pockets and bodies on their conscience.

We’d intercepted a drop gone sideways, and now we were the only ones left to mop up the mess before it spilled over state lines.

Every turn brought a fresh knife to the ribs.

“Left flank!” Bear shouted, ducking as a bullet tore past.

I hit the dirt behind an overturned truck, reloaded fast, and fired three shots toward the shadows. The bastard dropped, dust puffing around him like a warning from God.

Edge hollered from a ridge. “We’re clear!”

I didn’t believe him.

The sun was melting into the horizon, turning the sky red and gold—like it was bleeding out too. The kind of sunset that should’ve belonged to a couple tangled in sheets, limbs sweaty, hearts steady.

Instead, I was crouched behind blood-stained steel, my Glock still hot, lungs burning.

And all I could think about… was Bella.

Not the cartel girl who’d tried to drag me behind the bar at the border pub last night. Not the Vegas-groomed sweetbutt flashing her tits in exchange for five minutes of protection. Not the skinny club girl who’d whispered she liked men with scars and pointed at my chest like a menu.

Nope.

Bella Grace.

Tough and stubborn. All flannel and fire. The girl who weeded gardens with dirt under her fingernails and still looked like heaven on earth.

She was probably curled up on the porch with Scout, her bare feet up on the railing, sipping sweet tea while the stars blinked on overhead. Maybe Gran was telling one of her stories. Maybe Bella was laughing—eyes crinkled, nose scrunched.

I missed her laugh like I missed sleep. Like I missed peace .

“Logan!” Wrench dropped beside me, panting. “Intel was wrong. This crew wasn’t just mules. They were armed to the teeth. We almost walked into a f***in’ grave.”

“I noticed,” I muttered.

“You good?”

“I’m fine.”

Truth was, I wasn’t. Not in the ways that counted.

Every fight used to be just another tally on the board. A way to bleed out the rage. But now? Every time I pulled the trigger, all I could think about was getting home . To her.

To that wildflower girl who told me no the first time I offered her iced tea. To the same woman who kissed me like she meant it and made me feel like maybe I wasn’t just a war dog built for mayhem.

Bella changed the game.

She made me crave more than blood and bullets.

She made me want a future.

I wiped my face with a dirty bandana, stood, and scanned the ridge.

We were still breathing. Barely.

“Let’s clear the site,” I ordered, voice hoarse. “And get ready to ride out at dawn.”

Wrench frowned. “We staying the night?”

“Just long enough to refuel and reload.”

Because come morning, I’d be heading back to the only place that mattered.

Back to the mountains.

Back to the cabin.

Back to her .

Bella didn’t know it yet—but this trip sealed it.

I’d danced with death and turned down every dirty temptation it threw my way.

Because there was only one woman who made me feel alive.

And hell if I wasn’t ready to start building the kind of life that didn’t end in war.

By nightfall, the air reeked of diesel, gunpowder, and too much testosterone.

We were riding dead-eyed and half-dead when we rolled up to the Iron Kings charter outside El Paso. Good brothers. Neutral ground. They offered us bunk space, beer, and backup if we needed it.

Their clubhouse was a converted warehouse with a bar along one wall and pool tables scattered like an afterthought. Loud music pounded through rusted speakers, and every woman in a fifty-mile radius with a taste for danger was already half-naked and circling the room like sharks in spiked heels.

I peeled off my kutte, tossed it over the back of a chair, and dropped onto the couch like every bone in my body had finally given out.

It wasn't just physical. Yeah, my ribs ached, my shoulder was bruised, and my knuckles were split from a fight I didn’t even remember starting.

But the bone-deep exhaustion came from the weight in my chest. From carrying the image of her with me through every explosion, every shout, every near miss.

Bella.

Goddamn Bella Grace, with her sarcastic mouth and that flannel shirt she wore like armor. I could still taste the salt of her skin. Still hear her sigh when I’d pushed into her slow and deep, her body welcoming me like we were made to fit. I hadn’t just had her.

I’d claimed her.

And now my soul was hungrier than my stomach for the only woman who ever made me feel clean.

A blonde in daisy dukes straddled the table near me, winking. “You want a lap dance, handsome? Or you just here to watch?”

I barely looked at her. “Neither.”

She pouted. “I do more than dance, y’know.”

“I don’t pay for anything that doesn’t come with a soul,” I muttered, dragging a hand down my face.

The truth was, they could’ve stripped down to nothing, done body shots off each other, and begged for me by name… and I’d still say no.

Because none of them smelled like citrus and chalkboard dust. None of them had dirt under their nails from tending a tomato vine. None of them had challenged me without saying a damn word, just by being .

None of them were Bella.

Bear flopped down beside me with a loud exhale, sipping something darker than sin from a chipped mug. “You good?”

“Still breathing.”

He gave me a look. “That girl’s got you twisted.”

“Yeah.” I nodded, unapologetic. “She does.”

“You think she’s waiting for you?”

I didn't even hesitate. “She is. And I’m coming back better than I left.”

He grunted, then clinked his cup to my beer bottle. “Respect.”

Around us, music boomed. Girls giggled. Shots were lined up. A couple of guys stumbled toward the back room with groupies on each arm like kings of a makeshift kingdom.

But me?

I was dead sober on the thought of one woman in a small cabin, up in the Appalachian pines, probably curled up under a quilt with that damn dog curled at her feet.

Scout’s a smart mutt. He knows what's good.

I sighed and leaned back, staring at the ceiling fan creaking overhead. “I’m gonna marry her,” I said aloud, surprising even myself.

Bear raised a brow. “You ask her yet?”

“Nope.”

“You think she’ll say yes?”

I thought about her eyes the night I left. Big, brave, but scared. Her voice breaking when she asked me to promise I'd come back.

I didn’t answer with words.

Just pulled out my phone and tapped open the last photo I took—Bella grinning shyly in the meadow, sunlight in her hair, wildflowers tucked behind her ear. My home screen.

“Yeah,” I whispered. “She’ll say yes. Even if I gotta earn it.”

Because love didn’t have to be loud.

Sometimes it was just choosing someone… over and over again. Even when the whole world offered you an easier out.

And tonight, with every temptation around me?

I still wanted only her.