Page 6 of Stitch & Steel

Six

LOGAN

The Clubhouse was heating up—literally and figuratively.

Bullet’s been pacing like a caged panther, half the boys are twitchy from back-to-back patrols, and the damn AC in the common room went out again. Heat shimmered off the bikes like mirages, and the air stank of motor oil, sweat, and nerves.

I should’ve been focused. Should’ve been helping Wrench strip down the blown carb or going over route logistics for the charity run next month. Should’ve been running comms for a possible crew creeping across the state line.

Instead?

All I could think about was her.

Bella.

That soft flannel hanging off one shoulder. That sunburn just starting to bloom on the bridge of her nose. That look she gave me—half curious, half furious—when she caught me walking into her kitchen damn near naked after a cold lake shower.

The way her mouth parted just a little when she saw me.

Yeah.

I’d been chasing adrenaline my whole damn life.

But that look? That blush ? It did more to me than any ride ever had.

It’d been four days since I took her fishing.

There was no reason to check on Gran every other day now that she had someone there but damn, I wanted to tease Bella again.

Watch the sweet blush that steals across her cheeks every time I accidentally brush against her.

“You zoning out again, Diesel?”

I snapped out of it, gritting my jaw.

Bullet was watching me from across the garage bay, wiping his hands on a dirty rag. His eyes narrowed, sharp. “You’re not usually this quiet unless someone’s bleeding or dead.”

“Just tired,” I lied.

He didn’t buy it. “Or thinking about someone who makes you tired.”

I didn’t respond.

Didn’t need to.

He smirked and tossed the rag. “You’re not subtle, man. Been riding late, drinking less, staring at your phone like it’s gonna grow legs.”

I ran a hand down my face and grabbed a cold bottle of water from the fridge. “Nothing’s happening.”

“Yet.”

“She’s not like them.”

“I gathered. She’s also not one of us.”

“That’s why I’m being careful.”

“Is that what you call walking around her kitchen half-naked in front of her grandmother? Showing off that biker bod hoping it’ll land you a calendar deal?”

I choked on the water and swore.

Bullet laughed. “Don’t get me wrong—I’m rooting for you. But you’re walking a tightrope, brother. Just don’t fall.”

“Not planning on it.”

But even as I said it, I knew I already thought about her way more than I should.

I thought about riding up the mountain right then and there—Club business be damned. I could’ve told them I needed a break, needed a solo patrol, needed to clear my head. They wouldn’t question it. They’d just nod and let me go.

But Wrench caught my eye across the yard, frowning.

Then Tar pulled in, dust flying behind his tires, looking like a storm cloud with fists.

“Got movement,” he said. “Rival tags spotted near the west ridge trail. Fresh.”

And just like that, I was grounded again. Pulled back into the life that never really let go.

Bella would have to wait.

The second Tar said “movement,” I felt it in my bones—like something old and mean had come slinking through the trees. Something feral.

We rolled out five deep, no lights, no noise.

I rode lead.

The pines swallowed us quick, canopy thick enough to block out even the setting sun. My tires crunched over gravel and pine needles, every sound sharper than usual. Birds had gone quiet. Crickets too. That meant something was out here.

Worse than us.

We reached the west ridge switchback, right above the overlook near the fire trail—and that’s when I saw the glint.

Steel. Chrome. A wheel turning where no bike should be.

I signaled a hard stop with two fingers.

Tar pulled up beside me, his mouth grim. “I count three choppers. Not ours.”

I scanned the ridge. They weren’t hiding. Just squatting there like they owned the place. Tires in the loam. Colors I didn’t recognize. But they had the same look—patched up, grimy, hungry.

New blood. Bad intentions.

“Could be the Red Irons. Or a startup crew from over the border,” Tar muttered.

My hand went to my Glock automatically.

“They picked the wrong fucking hill,” I said.

The first shot cracked through the trees like a whip. Missed us by a foot.

I dove behind my bike, returned fire fast and clean—one in the air to scatter, another low. Tar flanked left. Wrench and Mason took the ridge.

Another shot, closer.

I heard Mason shout something, then curse loud. Someone was hit.

We didn’t wait.

MC protocol in hostile terrain? You finish it fast or you bleed slow.

I charged the trees, boots pounding over the earth, pistol raised. One of them tried to run—skinny, patches half-ripped, meth-jitter in his movements. I clipped him in the thigh.

He went down with a yelp.

I slammed him against a stump, gun to his throat.

“Who sent you?”

He spat blood, sneered. “Just passing through, man.”

“Bullshit.”

He looked past me toward the tree line, eyes widening like he saw something worse behind me than I could ever be.

That’s when I knew.

Someone had put them here. Planted them. Like bait.

My gut twisted.

Bella.

Gran.

Their cabin wasn’t far. Hell, the ridge trail split less than a mile from the path she was clearing yesterday.

“You come near that mountain again,” I growled, shoving the barrel harder under his chin, “I won’t leave you breathing long enough to crawl back.”

He nodded fast.

We let him limp away, stripped his colors, and sent him back to whoever pulled his strings with a message:

The Appalachian Outlaws don’t play defense. We burn it all down.

Back at the Clubhouse, adrenaline still thrummed in my blood.

But I couldn’t shake the thought—they were too close.

Too damn close to her.

Bullet caught my eye when I stormed in. “Everything good?”

“No,” I said, stripping off my gloves. “They were scouting.”

“Territory?”

“Or something more.”

“You thinking Gran?”

“I’m thinking Bella.”

His expression darkened. “Want me to post eyes up there?”

“No.” I grabbed my kutte off the hook. “I’m going myself.”

“In the morning?”

“Now.”

“Logan—”

I didn’t wait.

By the time I crested the gravel road to the cabin, after midnight was crawling over the mountain like a slow-moving shadow. The porch light glowed warm through the trees—safe, familiar.

But I didn’t feel safe.

Not anymore.

I cut the engine and coasted in quiet, headlights off, every sense sharp. The trees felt too still. The wind too quiet.

I knocked once, hard. Old instinct. Let them know it’s me.

Gran opened the door with a tired smile, hair pinned up, flowery nightgown on.

“Well, ain’t you a sight. Come in before the bugs do.”

“Where’s Bella?”

She tilted her head. “Asleep. Why?”

I didn’t answer. Not yet. Just stepped over the threshold, scanned the living room, every window, every door.

Bella appeared from the hallway, sleepy eyes, rosy cheeked with a T-shirt skimming bare thighs.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

I looked at her—really looked. And the tightness in my chest eased just enough to breathe again. “Yeah. Now it is.”

Gran poured tea like it was any old evening, but my hands were still shaking from the ride, still twitchy from the shots fired.

I took a long pull from the glass, then set it down harder than I meant to.

Bella’s eyes narrowed. “Logan…”

“There was a crew on the ridge,” I said, straight up. No sugarcoating. “They’re not from around here. Not just passing through. They were scouting.”

Bella paled slightly, but Gran stayed stone calm. Probably the only one in the room who’d ever seen real war.

I turned to her. “I need you to keep Bella close. No trips to town alone. No wandering up that trail without backup. I’m sending a prospect to stay nearby, watch the place.”

Gran’s eyes twinkled. “You think I can’t handle myself?”

“I think I’ve seen what happens when good people get caught in bad crossfire.”

She didn’t argue. Just walked over to the far wall—an old built-in hutch lined with dusty cookbooks—and flipped a carved wooden trim piece near the corner.

I blinked.

A false panel popped open with a little click .

Out came a 12-gauge shotgun, already loaded, gleaming like it had been cleaned that morning.

She cradled it like a baby.

I damn near spit my tea across the room. “ Jesus , Gran!”

She snapped the barrel shut and gave me a look. “What? You boys think I kept that MC secret all those years with prayers and pie crust?”

Bella was frozen, eyebrows damn near in her hairline. “Gran, what the hell?”

“Honey,” Gran said sweetly, “I raised three boys and patched up more bikers than I can count. There’s a reason I sleep like a rock. ‘Cause if trouble knocks, I know how to answer.”

Before she forgot who I was-I snatched the loaded gun from her arms and emptied the chamber.

I sat back, stunned. “Remind me never to play poker with you.”

She winked.

After the gun show, Bella handed me a towel from the kitchen drawer. Her hands trembled just enough for me to notice.

I took it slow. Careful.

“You okay?” I asked, voice low.

She nodded. “Are you ?”

“No.”

The word came out before I could spin it.

She looked up, surprised. “No?”

“I can handle ambushes. Gunfire. Hell, I’ve handled a knife in the gut and kept riding.” I paused. “But today? With those assholes near your ridge trail? That’s the first time in years I felt scared .”

Her throat worked on a swallow. “Because of me?”

“Because of you , Gran, this cabin… it’s the only part of my life that feels like peace. I don’t want anything touching it.”

The words hung there between us like thick smoke.

Bella broke the silence first. “You sound like a man who’s about to catch feelings.”

I cracked a smile. “I think I already caught a few. For Gran of course, she treats me like her own… kin.’

She looked away, flushed. “ Right, of course.”

I stepped closer. “I think… I should hang onto this.”

The shotgun was heavier than I expected.

Not in weight—hell, I carried heavier every day—but in what it meant. In Gran’s hands, it wasn’t just a weapon. It was history. Secrets. Defiance.

And it scared the hell out of me.

Not the gun. Her memory.

The way her eyes glazed over for a second too long when I teased her. The way she asked me— again —if I’d seen her late husband’s dog tags, even though we buried them with him ten years ago.

I saw the flicker behind her smile. The fear she tried to bury with sass and cast-iron eggs.

It settled like lead in my gut as I rode back down the mountain.

This wasn’t just about club business anymore.

This was about two women in a cabin, too far from help, and one of them already forgetting what safety felt like. The other too stubborn to admit she might need someone.

And somehow, I’d become the only line between them and chaos.

“Go back to bed. I’m going to double check all the windows and doors. I’ll be out front in the truck.”

“You’re going to sleep in there?”

“I’ve slept in worse places.”

“Please, take the couch. I insist.”

“Are you inviting me to sleepover?” I winked despite holding a double barrel shotgun.

“I’ll crack you over the head with a frying pan if I catch you sneaking into my room.”

“Baby, I don’t sneak. When I come, it’s by invitation.”

Her whole face turned red at the double meaning. She sputtered something before turning away.

“Prospect!” I barked the moment I stepped onto the clubhouse porch the following morning.

Tex scrambled out from the back garage, wiping grease off his hands. “Yeah, brother?”

“You got guard duty.”

His eyes lit up. “Finally.”

“Don’t get cocky. You’re not protecting the clubhouse. You’re going up the ridge. Cabin on Harlan’s Peak.”

He sobered fast. “You mean the cabin? Gran’s?”

“That’s right. Sit in your truck. Keep an eye on the place. You see anything strange—any movement, engine noise, animals acting weird—you call me .”

He nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Bring snacks. Stay awake. If I find you sleeping on duty, I’ll gut you with a fishing hook.”

He swallowed. “Copy that.”

I turned to head inside—but I didn’t make it more than a few steps before my boots stopped cold.

It wasn’t enough.

Tex meant well. Kid was loyal. Fierce in a fight. But he wasn’t me.

And if things kept escalating the way they were, if Red Vultures or whoever the hell was sniffing around actually made a move, then Gran and Bella didn’t need a prospect.

They needed me.

I stared at my bike, at the clubhouse I’d called home for the last decade. I had shit to do here… I couldn’t keep going back up that mountain that crept up to feeling like I belonged more there than here.

“Logan, brutha,” Axel, called out a greeting then asked me to help him take a look at the Van’s cracked fan belt. After that it was a new muffler for the F-250. My hands were covered in sweat and grease but the feeling in my gut went unchanged.

And then I made the call.

I rolled back up the mountain by sundown, packed light. A duffel bag slung over one shoulder. Ammo in the saddlebag. No ceremony, no excuses.

Just a decision.

Bella was bent over the garden bed, hands deep in the dirt. Hair twisted into a messy knot. Tank top clinging to her in the late summer heat.

She didn’t hear me right away.

Didn’t look up until I cleared my throat.

“What now?” she asked, brushing dirt off her cheek. “Here to steal Gran’s shotgun again?”

“Nope.” I tossed the duffel on the porch with a thud. “I’m moving in.”

Her eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

“Just until things calm down. Don’t get your flannel in a twist. I’ll take the spare room.”

“I didn’t ask you to move in.”

“I didn’t ask for permission.”

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Then growled, “God, you are such a man.”

“Glad you noticed.”

I stepped past her, boots heavy on the porch, and rapped twice on the screen door.

Gran opened it and grinned. “About damn time. Supper’s in the oven. You’re staying, right?”

I nodded. “If that’s alright.”

“‘Course it is. Just don’t snore. And don’t let Bella talk you into herbal tea, you’ll grow boobs.”

Bella sputtered behind me. “Gran!”

But she didn’t argue when I dropped my bag in the guest room.

Didn’t stop me when I sat across the table for supper, or poured her a cup of black coffee when she looked like she needed it most.

Didn’t say a word when I stood at the window that night, watching the tree line like I was waiting for war.

Because maybe I was.

And maybe I’d finally figured out what I was fighting for.