Page 9 of Unmasked Anarchy (Fallen Sons MC #3)

K ael doesn’t waste any time.

He doesn’t even turn the truck off when he launches out, striding toward me and taking my face in both of his hands, eyes scanning over me as if he is checking I’m all in one piece. I hold my breath, just for a moment, and then the tears fall, hot and heavy down my cheeks.

“Fuck, darlin,” he murmurs, pulling me into his arms. He smells like leather, beer, and a scent all of his own. I crumble into him, letting my arms fall around his waist.

I can’t remember the last time someone held me like this.

Kael doesn’t ask questions, and for that, I’m grateful.

He just holds me until I stop crying, then he gets me the hell out of there. He pulls out of the parking lot, not caring about the speed limit, the traffic, the high-pitched complaints of the old engine. I stare out the window, my eyes scanning the road for bikes, but they don’t come.

We don’t talk.

There’s only the road and the radio murmuring softly, the hum of a world going on like nothing happened.

My teeth are starting to chatter, but I don’t want to ask him to turn the heat up.

I am already asking enough of him tonight.

I must drift off, because when I wake, the truck is slowing down as it pulls into a pair of double gates.

The Fallen Sons’ clubhouse is nicer than ours.

It is so well put together, and most of them live on site, in a bunch of rooms that surround a main outdoor area.

Their sheds are bigger, their garage earning far more than ours, and I know the club itself is a bigger deal than ours. At this stage, anyway.

If Gage gets his own way, it won’t be.

Kael looks over to me once the truck stops and offers a small smile.

“I fell asleep,” I murmur, rubbing my eyes.

“Needed it,” he says, reaching over and sliding a strand of hair away from my eyes.

Then, we get out.

A biker is standing outside, smoke in his hand, watching us approach. He is spectacular, his face sharp but gorgeous. It’s his eyes that give me pause, though. One blue, one hazel, both sharp as hell.

He looks at me, then at Kael, and then back at me. “This her?” he asks, bringing the cigarette to his lips.

Kael nods.

“You’ve been a hot topic around here,” he murmurs. “Sable.”

“I have no doubt,” I murmur. “You are?”

He tips his head to the side. “Steel.”

“Do you have a first name, Steel?”

He stares at me. “Nope.”

I roll my eyes, and Kael grunts. “Call him Talon, he loves it.”

Talon shoots Kael a glare, then he jerks his head toward the door. “Prez is inside. Wants to see you.”

Kael nods, putting his hand on my lower back and guiding me toward the large open garage.

There are people everywhere. Some girls, some old timers, a couple of raw-faced prospects cleaning up broken glass under the pool table. All of them look up as we pass. We end up in a large room with a wooden table in the middle. No doubt where Church is conducted.

I sit down at the end, rubbing my hand over my neck where Gage had me against the truck. Kael comes over, squatting down in front of me, taking my chin in his hand and turning my head side to side. “You hurt?”

I smile, I can’t help it. “No, my hero.”

He grunts, Steel snorts.

“Just checkin’.”

A few minutes later, the president comes in. Wolfe Cross. I know him. Everyone does. He’s even more attractive up close, and I suddenly feel incredibly small in the room.

“You good, brother?”

His attention is on Kael at first, and once Kael nods, he moves it to me.

“Sable?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

He walks over, reaching out a hand, and I take it. He doesn’t shake my hand, instead he pulls me to my feet, as if I am on the same level as him, not just some girl. My heart swells as I stare up at him. “How are you recoverin’?”

“Slowly,” I say, honestly.

“They find who hurt you?”

I shake my head.

His jaw ticks.

“Tell Thorn what you know. We’ll find out what we can.”

“Thorn?” I ask, confused.

Wolfe’s mouth tips up and he nods in Kael’s direction.

I can’t help but smile.

Kael mutters something and just like that, Steel and Wolfe are gone and we’re alone.

“Thorn? Do I ask?”

“No,” he murmurs, but his tone is light, playful.

Eventually, he nods to a bathroom. “Let’s get you cleaned up. You’re a mess.”

“Chivalry’s not dead after all,” I murmur, offering him a smile.

The bathroom is quite large and weirdly clean considering it is in a biker club. Kael turns the tap, runs his fingers under the water to test it, then finds a roll of paper towels. “Sit,” he tells me, and I do, butt perched on the edge of an old bathtub.

He wets a wad of paper towel, thumbs it gently against my skin, clearing away the worst of the dirt and muck on my face from tonight. A few small grazes from the attack have caused dried blood to cake against the wounds. His touch is careful, taking his time, his brows drawn in focus.

“You want to tell me what happened out there tonight?”

I shake my head. “It’s nothing, just club shit.” But I can’t meet his eyes; instead, I look at the wall behind him, at the place where an old, ugly painting is hanging on an angle.

Kael’s gaze lingers, but he doesn’t push. Just keeps cleaning, steady and patient. He pauses and when I look to see why, I can see he is staring down at my shirt. I look down and see a small line of blood against it. My wound must have opened up a little tonight. Shit.

“Lift your shirt,” he says, without thought.

“No,” I say, so quickly it has his eyes moving to mine, narrowing.

“You’re bleedin’, darlin’.”

I look away. “It’s nothing. Just a scratch.”

“We both know it ain’t a scratch. Let me see it, sweetheart.” When I still don’t move, he takes the hem himself, slow and deliberate, giving me enough time to stop him, but I don’t. The thought of him seeing it terrifies me, yet I do nothing to make him pause.

I just close my eyes and let him peel up the fabric, revealing the angry red scar across my abdomen.

It’s jagged and ugly, spread across my stomach in a way that can’t be hidden.

The vulnerability of the moment is overwhelming, a raw exposure that leaves me feeling stripped bare.

Kael’s breath leaves him in a single exhale.

The sound is soft, and it hangs in the air between us.

He doesn’t say anything at first, doesn’t gasp, doesn’t flinch, but his hands are extra careful as he blots at the fresh blood.

His touch is gentle, almost tender, and it sends a shiver through me, a mix of comfort and fear.

I can’t look at it. I can’t even look at him.

The shame and insecurity bubble up, threatening to drown me in their intensity.

I feel the weight of his gaze, the silent understanding that passes between us, and it’s both terrifying and reassuring.

There’s a part of me that wants to hide, to shield myself from the judgment I fear, but another part longs for the acceptance I see in his eyes.

It’s a moment suspended in time, filled with unspoken words and emotions that swirl around us, leaving me breathless and exposed.

He traces his thumb over the raised edge of the healed parts. “You’re a fuckin’ warrior, you know that?”

It’s the last thing I expect to hear. I open my eyes, blinking at him, but his expression doesn’t waver. He looks at the wound, then back at my face. “You’re fuckin’ beautiful, Sable.”

I feel like I’m going to pass out.

His words penetrating right to my core.

He finishes cleaning up the wound, then smooths the shirt back down, letting his hand linger a second. “Don’t ever be ashamed of survivin’.”

I hold my breath, not moving my gaze from his.

He reaches up, tracing his finger down my cheek, and, for a moment, it feels like the world stops.

“I shouldn’t be here,” I whisper.

“I know,” he murmurs, sliding his finger to my lips and tracing them.

“This ... this is dangerous.”

“Know that, too, darlin’.”

“It’s not going to stop you, though, is it?”

He shakes his head.

I hold my breath.

He leans in and, for a second, a blissful second, I think he’s going to kiss me.

Until the door swings open and a girl appears, her eyes widening. She mutters an apology and rushes away, but the moment is gone.

For now, at least.

“I shouldn’t be here,” I whisper, pushing to my feet.

I came way too close then.

I’m afraid next time there will be no stopping us.

~*~*~*~*~

G UILT CONSUMES ME.

The entire way back to Gage, I feel horrible.

I didn’t do anything, I know that, but the feelings swirling angrily in my chest are too much to handle. Gage might not be the world’s best husband, but he saved me when no one else did and for that I at least owe him my loyalty.

I shouldn’t have gone to Kael.

Even though everything inside me leads me that way.

It’s wrong.

Arriving back at the club, I climb out of the cab Kael called and tiptoe through the front gates. I don’t even want to know the kind of fee he must have paid for that cab driver, but he did it, without hesitation.

Everything is quiet, and it must be about two in the morning.

It doesn’t seem like only hours ago this place was being shot up.

Instead, it is deserted and almost like nobody is here.

But I know that isn’t true. I saw three bikers appear the moment I got out of the cab, and they only retreated when they saw it was me.

They’re on high alert.

I step into the main house and tiptoe past sprawled out bodies, bikers and girls, most of them naked. A couple is tangled up on the pool table, a bare bum on display for the world to see. The rough sounds of snoring travel through the room. I shake my head, moving forward.

The hallway smells like gunpowder, and I can see they have put large boards where the windows were shattered. I creep down farther until I reach the bedroom where I carefully push the door open. Gage is asleep, sprawled out on top of the sheet like he fell there and simply never moved.