Page 13 of Wings (Heavy Kings MC #5)

Kiara

I was warm. So warm. It was strange, unfamiliar.

My eyes cracked open to filtered morning light leaking through the gap in my blackout curtains, turning everything golden-gray and soft.

Memory crashed back like cold water. The panic attack. The decapitated bear. Gabe.

I froze, barely breathing, as my sleep-foggy brain processed what my body already knew.

I was tucked against Gabe's side, my head on his shoulder, his arm curved around me like a shield.

A blanket covered us both—my grandmother's quilt from the bedroom closet, the one I never used because it smelled like home and made me cry.

He must have gotten it after I'd finally exhausted myself into sleep.

My heart did something complicated in my chest, part panic, part something softer I didn't want to name.

I should move. Should put distance between us before he woke and things got awkward.

But his shirt smelled like laundry detergent and motor oil and safety, and I'd forgotten what it felt like to wake up safe.

Carefully, trying not to disturb him, I lifted my head enough to look at his face.

Sleep had erased the hard edges, the weight he carried.

His jaw was shadowed with stubble, lips slightly parted, breathing deep and even.

He looked younger like this. More like the boy who'd helped me tape butterfly wings back together.

My gaze traveled down, and that's when I noticed—his prosthetic was off, propped carefully against the coffee table where he could reach it. The vulnerability of that hit me unexpectedly.

The trash can by the kitchen was empty. No sign of the mutilated bear, the red cotton, Alex's note. He must have dealt with it while I slept, erasing the evidence like he used to clean up Alex's messes. Taking care of things so I didn't have to see them in the morning light.

God, I'd really let him hold me all night. Let him see me shatter into pieces. Called him "Mister Gabe" in that tiny voice I'd sworn I'd never use again.

The reality of my situation pressed down like a physical weight.

Alex knew where I lived. Had been here, at my door, while I was at the hospital getting suspended.

The anonymous complaint, the investigation—it all crashed together into a picture I didn't want to see.

Three years of running, of careful locks and security codes, and he'd found me anyway.

My body started to tense, the familiar spiral beginning, when Gabe stirred. His arm tightened automatically, pulling me closer before his eyes opened. When they did, hazel meeting green in the morning light, his first words made my chest ache.

"You're safe," he murmured, voice rough with sleep. "I've got you."

I wanted to argue, to insist I didn't need protecting, that I'd been managing fine on my own. But the words died in my throat. Because I hadn't been fine. I'd been surviving, and there was a difference.

"The bear," I started.

"Gone. Dealt with." He shifted, sitting up slowly but keeping me close. "No one's going to hurt you, Ki. Not on my watch."

The certainty in his voice should have scared me. But this was Gabe, who'd never broken a promise to me, even when keeping them meant leaving.

"You can't stay here," he continued, and my stomach dropped. But before I could spiral, he added, "Pack a bag. You're coming with me."

"Gabe, I can't just—"

"You must." He reached for his prosthetic, movements practiced and efficient. "Duke's already arranged it. You'll stay at the clubhouse until this is sorted. Secure, protected, and Alex won't dare come near Heavy Kings territory."

The clubhouse. Bikers and violence and everything I'd run from. But also, hopefully, sanctuary.

"I need to pack." The words came out small, acceptance rather than argument.

"Take your time. Bring whatever you need." He stood, tested his weight on the prosthetic, then held out a hand to help me up. "I'll make some calls."

I retreated to my bedroom, mind racing. What did you pack when you were fleeing your life? The practical things were easy—clothes, toiletries, the folder with my important documents I kept ready for exactly this situation.

But then I stood at my closet, staring at the things I'd hidden even from myself. The soft pajamas pushed to the back. The yellow duck set that made me feel small and safe. The coloring books under the bed, wrapped carefully in my baby blanket.

I was kneeling by the bed, trying to decide if bringing them would be admitting too much, when Gabe appeared in the doorway. I froze, caught with my hand in the hiding place, clutching the worn cotton of my baby blanket.

His expression gentled, and he stepped into the room, crouching beside me despite what it must cost his leg.

"Those too," he said quietly, nodding at the hidden treasures. "Bring whatever makes you feel safe."

"I'm not—I mean, I don't—" The denials tangled on my tongue.

"Ki." He waited until I met his eyes. "There's no judgment here. Pack what you need."

So I did. The coloring books went into the duffel first, then the baby blanket, then the soft pajamas that no grown woman should want to wear. He helped me fold them, careful with each item like he understood their value.

From the living room, I heard his phone calls. His voice carried that military authority I'd glimpsed in the parking garage.

"Yes, sir. Immediate relocation. No, she understands the situation." A pause. "Copy that. Twenty minutes."

I zipped the duffel, hands shaking slightly. Three years of careful independence, packed into a bag. Three years of pretending I was someone harder, stronger, more capable of being alone.

"Ready?" Gabe asked from the doorway.

I looked around my sterile apartment, at the white walls that had never felt like home, the locks that hadn't kept me safe after all.

"Yeah," I said, and was surprised to find I meant it. "I'm ready."

I’d never ridden on a motorcycle before. It was an experience.

I climbed onto the back of Gabe's motorcycle, the rumble of the engine vibrating through my body. The roar of the bike drowned out everything else, filling my ears with a thunderous symphony of power and freedom.

The wind whipped against my face, tousling my hair and bringing tears to my eyes. We shot forward, slicing through the air like a knife through butter. The world blurred around us, streetlights and buildings blending into streaks of color in my periphery.

I clung to Gabe, trusting him completely as we tore down the road. The rush of speed was exhilarating, each curve and turn making my heart leap in my chest. With every twist of the throttle, I felt more alive than I had in years.

The Heavy Kings clubhouse sat in the center of town like some twisted youth club. All brick and steel and bikes lined up like soldiers. Gabe killed the engine of his bike, and I sat frozen.

"Hey." His hand covered mine on the door handle. "No one here will hurt you. You have my word."

I nodded, not trusting my voice. His word used to mean everything. Maybe it still did.

The moment we stepped inside, sensory overload hit.

Cigarette smoke and leather and motor oil created a cocktail that screamed danger to every instinct I'd developed.

Pool balls cracked against each other. Glass bottles clinked.

Male voices rumbled like distant thunder, punctuated by laughter that made me want to run.

It was only ten in the morning, but several men already nursed beers at the bar.

They looked up when we entered—leather cuts, heavy boots, tattoos covering more skin than not.

Their gazes tracked our movement, and I found myself pressing closer to Gabe's side, his hand warm and steady on my lower back.

"Easy," he murmured, just for me. "You're under Heavy Kings protection now. That means something."

Before I could process what exactly it meant, a whirlwind in human form descended.

"You must be Kiara!" The woman who appeared couldn't have been more than twenty-one, all bright smiles and bouncing energy that seemed impossible in this den of outlaws. "I'm Mia, Duke's Little. Oh, you look exhausted, poor thing. Duke said you'd be staying for a while?"

She didn't wait for an answer, just linked her arm through mine like we'd been friends forever. The casual touch made me flinch, but she either didn't notice or pretended not to.

"Come on! You have to meet everyone. Well, not everyone everyone because some of the guys are at work, but the important people.

The fun people." She practically dragged me toward the bar, chattering the whole way.

"Duke said you're a nurse? That's so cool.

I could never do that. Blood makes me queasy, which is weird considering, you know.

" She gestured vaguely at the clubhouse.

My brain struggled to keep up. This bubbly, sweet girl was dating the president of a motorcycle club? It didn't compute until I saw how the men moved aside for her, respectful and protective. Not the deference of fear but of genuine affection.

"Mandy! Thor!" Mia called out. "Come meet Kiara!"

A redhead sat at the bar with markers spread in front of her, filling in what looked like anatomical diagrams in a medical journal with surprisingly artistic flare. The massive blond man beside her read a newspaper, occasionally reaching over to hand her a different color without looking up.

"Hi," Mandy said, green eyes assessing me with sharp intelligence before warming. "I'm Mandy. This grumpy giant is Thor. Don't let him scare you—he's basically a teddy bear."

Thor snorted. "Woman, I am not a teddy bear."

"You bought me three stuffed animals last week," Mandy countered, switching from purple to pink marker.

"That was—those were on sale." His neck flushed red above his beard.

The casual mention of stuffed animals made my chest tight. Here in broad daylight, in front of everyone, they just . . . talked about it. Like it was normal. Like she wasn't risking everything by admitting she wanted soft things.