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4

EMBER

I pull up at the clubhouse and scan the lot, grateful when I don’t see Atom’s bike. The takeout container has stunk up the inside of my car, but Dad asked if I wouldn’t mind dropping some food from the bar for him, and I really felt like taking Lemmy out for a ride.

Two birds, one stone.

When I walk in, I find Dad sitting by the bar, nursing a beer while he studies his phone.

Nolan “Butcher” Deeks is a handsome man. With hair that seems whiter every year and a boyish twinkle in his eyes, he’s used his looks for most of his life. It’s how he was able to convince my mom to take a chance on a biker with a no-good reputation. And it’s how he blew his marriage apart because there were so many women willing to replace his old lady.

I’d like to say my father is a good man, but it wouldn’t be true. He’s occasionally loyal, mostly honest, and has provided for me financially, which is more than some men do. But his morality is the darkest gray.

“Hey, Dad,” I say.

He glances my way. “Hey, Spitfire. Thanks for bringing it. I’m starved.”

I place the container on the bar. “It’s quiet in here.”

“Everyone just left. Long meeting. Some of them have driven into town to get food.”

Even better if one of them was Atom. If I’m quick, I can get to the stables and be out on Lemmy before Atom returns.

“Well, I’m gonna leave you to eat. I want to get in a ride before my shift in the bar.”

I turn to leave, but Dad reaches for my wrist. He tips his chin to the neighboring bar stool. “Sit for a minute. Wanna talk to you about something.”

The leather is cool as I pull the stool out from the bar. “What’s up?”

“Heard you had a little trouble last night.”

I’ve never considered myself an easily enraged person, but I swear my blood pressure doubles. “Atom.”

That’s all I manage, because my brain is already calculating the three hundred and twenty-five ways I’m going to kill him.

“My enforcer shouldn’t have to be telling me things like this. You should.”

“Your enforcer has no business saying anything at all. It’s part of the job. Guys come to the bar, get drunk, overstep boundaries. Men are the problem. Not me. Not my bar. And if Atom had waited two seconds before pounding on the guy, I would have had him and his friends ejected.”

“I’m not talking about the fight. I’m talking about the guy who was bothering you.”

“Nothing happened, Dad. A guy flirted. And for both of your information, I happened to like it. He has my number, I hope he calls it. Might even sleep with him.” I jump from the stool.

“You gotta be safe, Ember. You can’t just be giving out your?—”

“Dad! Stop. I’m old enough that I could fuck everyone who walked into my bar. Train-style and in front of witnesses if I want to.”

“For fuck’s sake, Em. I’m your dad. I don’t need to hear that.”

“I think you do. I’m not clueless. I’m not na?ve. I’m a woman. I run a business and grew up within a motorcycle club.”

Dad rubs his hand across his trimmed beard. “I didn’t say you were clueless.”

“So, I’m just na?ve then?”

“Stop twisting my words around. You need to be careful out there. We know what happened to Margie’s place.”

Even thinking about how Wraith’s mother-in-law’s diner got torn up doesn’t temper my frustration. Although it does explain Dad’s sudden interest in my life. God forbid he loses more ground to the Russians he thinks I don’t really know about. “And you need to stop listening to your enforcer, because the guy last night? He was being playful. Flirty. And I didn’t mind his hands on me. Enjoy your food.”

I stomp out of the clubhouse before I say anything else. That was probably way too much to say to my dad. But if I see Atom again, I can’t be held responsible if I swing for him.

It takes a few minutes to drive up the dirt road to the stables. When I step out of my car, I force myself to take three deep breaths and look at the mountains.

Wiggling my toes in my boots, I spread them wide and press them into the sole, practicing something I learned in yoga about grounding myself firmly to the earth.

None of it helps. My mad is just too riled up.

There’s a ludicrous hands-off clause to stop me dating anyone in the club. But it’s not safe for me to date anyone outside it. It’s misogyny. It’s patriarchal. It’s control. I can date who I goddamn well please.

The loud whinny of Lemmy breaks through my mood and makes me smile. It’s like he knows the sound of my tires on the gravel outside the stable and knows it’s me.

I’m here to ride. I’m here to let go of my father’s words and Atom’s interference.

When I enter the stable, Lemmy tosses his mane around in joy. He’s genuinely happy to see me, and I feel the same about him.

“Hey, boy,” I say, attempting to stroke his nose while he butts his head up against me. I let his strength and warmth and love envelop me.

Some days, it feels like there is nothing a ride on Lemmy can’t cure. He’s getting older now, which means we’re unable to push each other as hard as we once did. And I can’t bring myself to think about the day when I take my last ride with him. But when my mind is frazzled, and my body is the kind of tired that comes from a lack of sleep, he somehow has a way of grounding me and bringing me back to life.

As if knowing my patience is thin today, he stands perfectly still while I ready him.

The slow and steady preparation of saddle and bit.

The soft pats and nuzzles of affection connecting us both in a way that goes beyond words.

He trusts me to take care of him.

I trust him to take care of me.

He fishes for the apples I store in my pockets.

Dust dances in the beams of midday sunlight that crack through the open doors of the stables. Somewhere in the distance is the rumble of a tractor.

Makes me think of Atom, and I wish it didn’t.

As Quinn would say, if he doesn’t feed me, fuck me, or fund me, he has no say in my life. And yet, there he was, in my bar, telling me my beer was warm, using the business I built from the ground up to prey on young college students, and attempting to cockblock a patron from getting to know me.

Like I’m somehow not capable enough to make a good decision about men myself.

Hell, the reason I’ve been single for so long is because I’m too picky when it comes to dating. And I actually liked Rocco.

He had a tall, athletic build, dark hair that was a touch too long, and a kind smile.

I check the buckle of the stirrup one last time before I head to the rack to grab my helmet. Once upon a time, I was reckless enough to ride without one. I still miss the feel of the breeze lifting my hair off my neck on a hot day. But I’m old enough now to consider my safety.

As I return to Lemmy, helmet in hand, the crunch of boots on gravel outside the stable causes my stomach to flip. I know who it is before I see him and refuse to turn around. The crunch turns to a clap as the boots hit the rubber flooring that make standing comfortable for the horses.

“Ember,” Atom says. He’s not addressing me per se. It’s just a good morning the way he says it. An acknowledgement I’m here, but not an invitation to conversation.

And even though it’s the absolute bare minimum of a greeting, those five letters rumble through me like the pound of hooves on dirt.

No one has ever said my name quite the way he says it. Dad once said I was named after the campfire I was conceived by. Mom said it was because I was the spark that turned them both into parents. Neither made the name feel like mine. It felt like it belonged to them, until Hudson Addams said it.

I hate that I like it when I’m so mad at him.

So, I say nothing.

I don’t even turn around to acknowledge his presence.

Instead, I give Lemmy an extra stroke and pat. I fiddle with the strap of my riding helmet like it isn’t perfectly set up already. All in the hope that when I turn around, he won’t be there.

But time drags on. Each second ticks and tocks by as if it were swimming through a vat of molasses. Every breath takes a minute.

When I finally turn, he’s leaning back against one of the posts in the stable, eyeing me carefully. One booted foot is up on the post as he leans back against it. He’s wearing one of those plaid shirts, missing the sleeves, and his leather cut. His Stetson is tipped low. The man has a perpetual farmer’s tan from being out in the fields and riding his bike.

And suddenly the stable isn’t big enough for the both of us.

The tension between us always struggled to fit in one room. It was always bigger than the sum of us, no matter how hard we tried to ignore it.

But I have to pass him to lead Lemmy out.

“You got something you want to say to me?” he asks.

When we were younger, he was always a straight shooter. He hated dancing around a topic. Once, I told him about a girl at school I thought had taken a dislike to me for no reason at all. He told me I should walk straight up to her and ask her why she was being that way.

No point worrying about something for weeks when you could get an answer in five minutes.

The next day, I did. Turned out, she’d overheard her ex-boyfriend saying I was cute. I told her I had zero control over what he said, but she could have my word that I would never respond if he came on to me.

He did, the following week.

And I stayed true to my word, even though the boy was so handsome and popular, it twisted my teenage heart up for days.

“Stop interfering with me and my life. You have no say in what I do,” I say. The words feel good as they leave my chest. A weight lifts. “And stay out of my bar if all you’re gonna do is pick up co-eds and report back to your boss.”

But before I can untie Lemmy, Atom pushes off the post and walks over to me so slowly, I swear it’s like he’s trying to calm a wild animal. “You’re gonna have to be a bit more specific than that, Ember. Because I wasn’t interfering in your life. I put an end to sexual harassment happening in real time. And as for you, I saw a woman who didn’t look like she was enjoying the attention she was getting. So, I stood up to give her a hand getting rid of the problem. And if you want your bar to just be like any other bar, then single guys like me are going to come to it, have a few beers, and talk to some pretty girls. And, just to punctuate the hypocrisy, why am I not allowed to use your bar to pick people up, when you clearly are?”

Two things strike me:

One, that’s the longest paragraph Atom has said to me in a good long while, and I probably watched his lips the whole goddamn time.

And second, his words make sense, but I still want to fight, even though I’ve got nothing.

“I want women to feel safe in my bar.”

He crosses his arms; the move makes his thick biceps pop. “What have I ever done that has made you or any other woman feel unsafe around me?”

“You started a fight in my place of work. One that could end up with pressed charges, and the police, and you getting arrested.”

“So, this is about me, now, is it?” He raises an eyebrow. “And for the record, I didn’t start a fight, I stepped in to help a girl end it.”

I look up at him. Despite me being tall for a woman, he is still a good seven inches taller than me. I try not to notice how good he smells, or how green his eyes are today, or how the cords of muscle in his neck tense. “Stop trying to tie me up in knots, Atom. You always could, and you know it. And don’t pretend like you don’t understand what I’m saying.”

There’s a twitch in his jaw. “If you made a goddamn kernel of sense, maybe I would understand you. Protection is what I do, Em.”

I hate when he shortens my name to Em.

It’s a lie. I don’t. It feels personal. Like we are still somehow tethered to each other. Maybe that whisper of thread is what keeps us in place to prevent us moving forward.

Or backwards.

Or in any damn direction.

My breath comes in sharp, staccato punches, and I swear my hands tremble.

“I don’t need you to protect me. That’s all you need to know. I don’t need you to protect me from some guy flirting with me, and I don’t need you protecting me by showing up in my bar. I don’t need you running to my dad, telling stories like we’re in kindergarten. Your boundary for protection is the Iron Outlaws, Colorado chapter. You can enforce there all you like. But that’s the boundary. I may be the daughter of the president, but I am not the daughter of the club. So, back off.”

His eyes drop to my chest, and he runs his tongue along his lower lip. I wish I’d never learned that it was possible to feel attraction like this for someone else. He’s the reason I can’t find a boyfriend because no one ever tilts my world like he does.

Then his eyes, filled with all-consuming heat, meet mine.

I don’t know what changes.

Maybe Mercury goes into retrograde or something.

Or hell freezes over.

But it’s my final thought before Atom closes what is left of the gap between the two of us and kisses me. His lips are firm against mine. The kiss veers angry. I can’t decide if I’m punishing him or I’m the one being punished. Like a horse that’s been spooked, I find myself kissing him back at an unrelenting pace.

When his tongue brushes mine, it’s unlike any kiss I’ve ever experienced before. It consumes me.

My body comes alive as though I’ve been plugged into a power socket. It’s a feeling I’ve sought all my life. And I found it in my first ever kiss with Hudson.

I drop the helmet I was holding as his hands cup my cheeks and his long fingers slide into my hair. I can’t breathe as I fall into whatever this is, unable to rip myself away, even as I know it’s nothing more than an illusion.

“Em,” he murmurs against my lips, and there’s a softness to it that cracks through the recklessness of this. It brings a sob to my throat I can’t escape.

Firmly, I shove my hands against his chest. “How dare you kiss me?”

I can’t say it was not consensual. I met him halfway. But now that the proverbial cold water has been thrown over the two of us, I can see the shock on his face and feel the blast of shame on my own.

“You didn’t want me back then,” I say. “So, you can’t have me now.”

I snatch up my helmet, grab Lemmy’s reins, and lead him out of his stall toward the stable exit.

“Ember. That’s not what it was, and you know it.”

I turn on my heel and glare at him. “You finally ready to step up and claim me?”

I see his confusion, which matches my own churned-up emotions. It’s etched in the lines around his eyes and the stiff set of his jaw.

He removes his Stetson, runs his hand through his hair, then replaces it before looking at me again.

And I don’t need words when the answer is written on his face.