Page 7 of Unmasked Anarchy (Fallen Sons MC #3)

M y phone buzzes, waking me from a restless sleep.

I am always shocked when it vibrates because there is nobody to check on me.

No parents. No friends. Gage doesn’t text.

It’s sad, really. That I don’t have a single person in my life to check in on me.

It’s a bitter, empty feeling, like standing in a crowded room and realizing you’re utterly alone.

The silence is deafening, a constant reminder of the void that surrounds me.

Each day blends into the next, marked only by the absence of connection, the lack of a familiar voice to break the monotony.

I watch others with their vibrant lives, their laughter and shared moments, and I feel like an outsider looking in, yearning for something I can’t quite grasp.

The loneliness is a weight on my chest, a dull ache that never truly goes away.

It’s in the quiet moments, when the world slows down, that it hits the hardest. The realization that there’s no one to share my thoughts with, no one to ask how my day was or to simply be there.

It’s a hollow existence, one that leaves me questioning my place in the world, wondering if things will ever change, if I’ll ever find the connection I so desperately crave.

Curious, I reach for it, bringing it up to my blurred vision. I see the name on the screen. Kael.

How in the hell?

How are you, sunshine?

My heart skips a beat.

How did he get my number?

I debate for way too long, knowing I should delete his number, and yet I find myself pressing my fingers to the keypad to reply.

How did you get my number?

His answer comes before I can even put the phone down. Borrowed it in the hospital. Sent myself a text. Sue me.

A laugh punches out of my chest, ragged but real.

Ok, stalker.

I watch the screen, a stupid smile on my face, waiting for his reply.

Not every day you find a girl in a ditch, you know? You good?

My heart skips again.

I’m okay. Alive.

Your old man find out who did it to you?

I hesitate before responding. No.

I know what he’ll think, but it’s the truth all the same.

I want to see you.

Shit. That’s not what I expected. Or maybe it is, maybe I hoped for it. My heart flips then knots tight. I think about Gage, about how last night he made certain I knew what he would do if I spoke to Kael again.

I’m not supposed to talk to you. Gage’ll lose his mind.

He responds quickly. Too late for that.

That stupid smile again.

I pause, not sure how to respond.

Meet me.

Shit. I know I shouldn’t. I know it. But dammit. I can’t stop.

Only once. I can’t risk us both.

7-11. Near your club. Half an hour?

I exhale. Gage is out on a ride. It’s safe enough.

Okay.

Dammit. I’m playing with fire. I know I am.

But I force myself up anyway, taking a heap of painkillers and showering. Then, against doctors’ orders, I get into my car and drive out of the compound, which is quiet with everyone gone. It’s only up the road, surely it’s not that dangerous.

By the time I get there, Kael is already waiting, leaning against his bike like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

His long hair has been cut short, just like he said it would be, and it seems to have made it a shade or two darker, but damn, it looks good on him.

He looks somewhat more dangerous now, with his beard and those striking eyes.

I get out of my car and approach, slow and steady, trying not to limp as much as I am. “That’s a nice bike,” I say, nodding to the Harley he is leaning against.

"I don’t skimp,” he says, a smile breaking over his face.

God, he’s beautiful.

I bite my lip. The silence hovers between us, almost soft. He doesn’t bother stepping away from the bike, just tips his head to the side and watches, like he’s still deciding whether I’m real.

“You cut your hair,” I say, stupidly. But it’s better than standing here in silence.

I’ve never been so nervous in my life.

He runs a hand through the shorter locks. “Told you I would.”

I swallow, hard. I remember his hands in my hair, gentler than anyone ever was, maybe even more gentle than I deserved. “Looks good,” I say, meeting his gaze.

He lifts his chin, those eyes dragging over my face, my hands, then down to my feet. He definitely notices the limp and he offers, “You want to sit down?” He gestures at the curb beside his bike. “They got benches.”

I hesitate only because Gage would lose his shit if he saw me parked on my ass in public.

I nod eventually, and we sit at the bench just in front of his bike.

He sits beside me, and my breath catches.

Being next to Kael is like standing on the edge of a precipice, thrilling and terrifying all at once.

His presence is magnetic, drawing me in despite the chaos it stirs within me.

The air feels charged, every nerve in my body acutely aware of his proximity.

My heart races, each beat echoing the unspoken tension between us.

It’s as if the world narrows down to this moment, the space between us filled with possibilities and unspoken words.

I can feel the warmth radiating from him, a comforting presence that contrasts with the turmoil inside me.

My breath gets stuck in my lungs, a mix of anticipation and fear, as if I’m waiting for something to happen, something that could change everything.

“So, what now?” I ask, staring out at the road. The 7-11 is deserted except for a minivan and some old guy standing on the sidewalk talking on the phone.

He’s quiet a long time, then he says, “What happened to you don’t sit right with me. I want to help.”

“Not sure that’s a good idea,” I say, inhaling and wincing as the pain radiates.

He shifts, pulling a flask from his jacket, unscrews it, and holds it out. “You look like you need it.”

I laugh weakly. “I’m already full of antibiotics and painkillers.”

He chuckles. “I bet.”

He shoots it back then tucks it away.

“I want to find who did this to you,” he continues. “They don’t deserve to breathe another fuckin’ second.”

“Why?” I manage after a long moment. “You don’t even know me.”

He tilts his head. “Somethin’ tells me I will regret gettin’ to know you, but I can’t seem to stop myself from needin’ that.”

I swallow the lump in my throat.

“You’re not supposed to care,” I croak. “Nobody is.”

He shrugs. “Who gives a shit about supposed to?”

Silence falls again, but this time I let it. I catch his eyes, for just a flicker, and feel something that I could so easily get addicted to.

“This is a very bad idea,” I say, my voice hoarse. “I shouldn’t be here.”

I don’t know who moves first. Maybe it’s both of us.

But his hand is up, knuckles brushing my jaw with the kind of tenderness that makes me want to scream.

I lean into it, just a little. He doesn’t kiss me, but his lips are so close to my ear when he says, “Tell me what it is about you I can’t seem to shake. ”

I wish I knew.

My phone vibrates and I know without looking that it’s time to go. I pull away slowly, and Kael lets me.

“I gotta get back,” I say, not just for him but for me too. If I stay, even a second longer, I don’t think I’ll have the strength to walk away again.

Kael nods without a single word.

He walks me to my car and when I get in he places a hand on the roof and leans down, his eyes catching mine. “I’m not done with you.”

That’s what I’m afraid of.

“I’m married, Kael. This is a bad idea.”

“Friends aren’t illegal,” he murmurs. “I’m not finished until I have who hurt you in my hands.”

I hold my breath, wanting to scream at him to just stop and tell him never to leave all at the same time.

“I should go,” I whisper.

“See you later, sweetheart.”

I drive away, forcing myself not to look in the rearview mirror.

I’m afraid that if I do, I might just turn around, and never look back.

~*~*~*~*~*~

A MONTH PASSES.

A long, slow month.

Kael messages me every single day.

At first, I tried to avoid deep conversations with him, but in the end, I found myself sneaking out late at night to sit by an old tree in the compound to talk with him for hours. He tells me about his club, his life, his family, and how he got to where he is. I do the same.

I have never had conversation like it, and the more time I spend doing it, the harder it is for me to walk back through these doors.

I know it’s dangerous, I know it’s wrong, and in my own head I try to justify it by concluding that I’m not cheating, so I’m not hurting anyone.

Yet, deep down, I feel the weight of my choices, the nagging voice that warns me of the consequences.

I am playing with fire, and, eventually, I am going to get burned.

The thrill of it is intoxicating, a heady mix of fear and excitement that pulls me in despite the risks.

It isn’t enough to stop me. It almost seems like I am walking head first into that fire lately, wanting to see how it will feel when the flames rip up my body, burning into my flesh.

There’s a part of me that craves the intensity, the raw, unfiltered emotion that comes with stepping into the unknown.

It’s as if I’m testing my limits, pushing the boundaries to see how far I can go before everything comes crashing down.

The danger is real, and yet, it’s the very thing that makes me feel alive, a stark contrast to the monotony that often surrounds me.

I know I’m playing a dangerous game, one that could leave me scarred, but the allure of the fire is impossible to resist. It calls to me, promising a release from the ordinary, a chance to feel something real, even if it means risking everything.

My days seem to drag by, my body healing slowly.

I can move around now, but there is still a sting of pain if I do too much.

The ugly scar across my abdomen is a problem I am refusing to deal with right now.

I don’t want to acknowledge it or think about how it has ruined my body.

Instead, I choose to pretend it doesn’t exist.

Maturity.

Right?