chapter 1
The Pit Stop wasn’t just a bar. It was a rite of passage. A line in the sand between civilians and the patched-up men who ran this town’s shadow.
It was early Friday night, but already the place buzzed like a hornet’s nest. The smell of beer, leather, and faint smoke lingered in the air like a memory that wouldn’t wash off. Laughter cracked through the space, rough and raw, layered over the thrum of a live band warming up. Under the neon sign that flickered with stubborn grit, the doors swung open and in walked Silas Creed.
Ace, the brothers called him. Enforcer of the Sovereign Sons MC. Born into it, branded by blood and oath.
He wore his colors over a black tee that stretched over his thick chest and arms like it was holding on for dear life. His cut was faded around the edges, worn in all the places that told stories no one dared ask about. Hockey haircut, stubble catching the light, and those ice-blue eyes—cold enough to freeze a man’s courage, unless you looked close enough to see the grief buried in them.
People moved out of his way without a word.
He scanned the room. Prospect Mason was juggling beer pitchers like it was a circus act. Brick Malone, the Road Captain, sat at the corner booth with a half-grin and two empty glasses in front of him. Sanders, old as the road itself, nursed a whiskey like it owed him rent. This was home.
But Ace wasn’t looking for brothers tonight.
He was looking for her.
Behind the bar, Sage Wilder moved with a rhythm that wasn’t meant for this place. Blonde hair tied back, soft curves hugged by worn denim and a simple tank top that said she didn’t need flash to draw stares. But it wasn’t her looks that held him.
It was the way she didn’t look at him.
Sage poured a shot of tequila, slid it across the bar without missing a beat, and nodded politely at the guy trying to flirt with her. She didn’t flirt back. She never did. Not here. Not with them.
Not even with him.
“Angel,” Brick called, grinning as she rolled her eyes. “You know I only say it ‘cause it pisses you off.”
“I know,” she replied, unfazed. “And yet, here you are—still trying.”
Ace watched her with the kind of stillness that made men nervous. He didn’t speak until he was standing across the bar, her eyes finally meeting his. Blue on blue. Fire meeting glacier.
“Sage,” he said, voice low and rough.
She paused. “Silas.”
Only a few people ever used his real name anymore. Fewer still made it sound like it mattered.
“You working late?” he asked, even though he already knew.
“Thursdays to Saturdays. Same as always.” She wiped down the counter. “You asking because you’re bored or because you want something?”
The corner of his mouth twitched. She was good at that—keeping him off-balance, poking where it hurt just to see if he’d flinch.
“Maybe both.”
She slid a glass of water toward him. “Well, I’m not on the menu. And I’m not in the mood.”
He didn’t touch the water. Just looked at her. Really looked.
There was something about Sage that didn’t belong here. Not because she wasn’t tough enough—hell no. She stood her ground better than half the prospects. But because she had light in her, even when she didn’t want anyone to see it.
“You ever think about takin’ a break from this place?” he asked.
“I take Sundays off.”
“I mean this life. The bar, the club, the bullshit.”
She gave him a look. “You’re standing in it, Ace. You were born in it.”
He didn’t have a comeback. Instead, he looked away just long enough to notice a scuffle at the door.
Three cagers, rough-looking, walking in like they owned the place. Loud. Drunk. Not locals. One bumped Mason hard enough to spill beer down his shirt.
“Watch it, prospect,” the guy sneered, not realizing Mason wasn’t alone.
Ace’s voice was sharp and deadly behind them. “You wanna step back and try that again?”
The tallest cager turned, eyes locking on Ace’s cut—and froze. Silence fell over the room like a dropped hammer.
Ace didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to.
“You bin a brother,” he said evenly, “you’d know what it means to wear colors. You’re in our house. You treat mine like that again and you’ll be pickin’ your teeth out of the concrete. You understand me?”
The men backed off, muttering apologies as they stumbled back toward the door. No fight. No weapons. Just the weight of reputation and a look from a man who wasn’t bluffing.
Sage watched it all. Watched him.
When it was over, Ace turned back to the bar. “They bother you?”
“No.” Her voice was quieter now. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
He leaned on the bar. Not close enough to touch. Just enough to make her heart stutter.
“You gonna let me walk you out when your shift ends?” he asked.
She didn’t answer right away. Just met his eyes again. “You always come in here to play knight in a leather cut?”
“No,” he said, voice low and honest. “Just for you.”
Sage looked away, biting back a smile she didn’t want to admit to.
Outside, the rumble of bikes echoed in the distance. Another night in a town ruled by steel and scars, where the only law that mattered was loyalty.
And inside the Pit Stop, two people stood on the edge of something dangerous.
Neither one ready.
Neither one willing to walk away.
