chapter 9
1527 Words
Sage woke up at 11:30am, stretched, and was immediately pounced on by Max. “Alright, alright,” she laughed, grabbing her shoes and heading out for a run. The sun was high and hot, and her body still ached a little from the ride, but it was worth it.
After the run, they piled into her truck and headed to the grocery store. Her fridge was pathetic—mustard, expired milk, and three eggs. She loaded up on fruits, protein bars, chicken, and pasta. A quick stop for coffee and she was home, prepping Max’s lick mat for the evening: blended carrots and strawberries, frozen into a satisfying distraction.
She pulled her hair up, slipped into her bar outfit, and by 6pm, she was stepping back into the Pit Stop.
The place was already buzzing. Music, laughter, the clink of pool balls and beer bottles. She took a deep breath, smiled, and made her way behind the bar.
The moment she walked in, a few of the club guys lifted their drinks.
“Look who finally tamed the dragon,” one called.
“Or maybe she’s the one doing the taming,” another laughed.
She rolled her eyes, shaking her head with a half-smile. “You boys need hobbies.”
Throughout the night, they nudged each other, whispered just loud enough for her to catch snippets.
“She left with Ace last night.”
“You see the way he looked at her?”
“Bet she’ll be on the back of his bike a lot more now.”
By closing time, most of it rolled off her back—until one of the older members, Torch, leaned on the bar and said with a crude smirk, “So how was the ride, sweetheart? Bet Ace showed you how to hold on tight, huh?”
The words hit her like ice water. Her blood ran cold. She paled, eyes wide, frozen in place.
“Whoa, easy, was just a joke—” Torch started, but Silas was already there, moving fast, jaw clenched.
“That’s enough,” Silas snapped, stepping between them. “Back off, Torch.”
Torch raised both hands in mock surrender. “Damn, alright. Didn’t know she was delicate.”
Silas’s glare could’ve cut steel. “She ain’t delicate. She’s off limits.”
He turned to Sage, his voice lower now. “You okay?”
She nodded quickly, swallowing hard, but Silas saw it—the tremble at the corner of her mouth, the way her hands suddenly couldn’t stay still.
Later, when the bar was empty and Sage was grabbing her things, Silas cornered her near the back door.
“You didn’t like that joke.”
“It’s fine—”
“No,” he said firmly, “it’s not. I didn’t know... about you.”
She bit her lip, avoiding his gaze. “It’s not something I talk about.”
“I’m not mad,” he said, softer now. “Just wish I knew sooner. I wouldn’t have... pushed like I did last night.”
“You didn’t push. I let you in,” she said quietly.
His fingers brushed her arm, grounding her.
“I’ve been with a lot of people, Sage. But none of ‘em ever mattered. Not the way you do. So whatever pace you need, whatever walls you’ve got—I’ll be here.”
She stared at him for a long moment before whispering, “That scares me.”
The moment her face changed, Silas knew.
Torch’s words hung in the air, soaked in cheap beer and testosterone. Silas saw the exact second Sage’s expression shifted—how the fire behind her eyes flickered out, replaced with something smaller, more vulnerable.
He’d heard worse jokes in the club. Hell, he’d made worse jokes. But when they were aimed at her, something in him snapped.
She wasn’t some bar girl to paw at. Not a hookup. Not even just a ride-or-die. She was his—even if she hadn’t said it yet. Even if she didn’t know it yet.
“Back off, Torch,” he growled, stepping in without hesitation. The others backed up fast. They all knew the weight behind his tone. Silas didn’t lose his cool unless it mattered.
He stayed close to Sage for the rest of the shift. Watched her hands tremble when she thought no one was looking. He didn’t press, but he saw. He always saw.
And it gutted him.
---
Later, when the bar was quiet and the neon signs buzzed softly, Silas leaned against the alley wall, smoking the last third of a hand-rolled cigarette. Sage stepped out a few minutes after close, tugging her jacket tighter around herself.
“You okay?” he asked, voice low.
“I will be.”
She stopped next to him. Silence settled between them—not awkward, but heavy.
“I didn’t know,” he said quietly. “And I wouldn’t have let it get like that if I did.”
Sage hesitated. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Silas.”
“Still. I wish I’d known. You deserve better than crude jokes and s**t-talking behind your back.”
She looked up at him, eyes tired but honest. “You’re not like I expected.”
That made him smirk faintly. “What, you thought I’d be worse?”
“I thought you’d be like the rest of them.”
He flicked the cigarette down and crushed it under his boot. “Nah. When it comes to you? I’m not like any of ‘em.”
And he meant it.
---
Saturday Morning
Silas didn’t sleep much. Dreams were short and sharp—flashes of her laugh, the way her arms wrapped around him on the bike, the pale look on her face after that damn joke.
He spent most of Saturday doing club work—checking in with vendors, following up on a supply issue from their Arizona route, dealing with one of the newer prospects who couldn’t keep his mouth shut.
But Sage stayed in his head.
He scrolled through his phone more than once, thumbs hovering over her name, debating texting. He didn’t want to come off clingy, but he also couldn’t ignore the itch under his skin.
Finally, he sent:
Silas:
If you want another ride tonight, I’m game.
No pressure. Just open.
She didn’t respond right away. So he buried himself in errands—dropping off parts, talking to a contact at a scrapyard who owed the club a favor. The usual chaos.
Around 5:45pm, her text came through.
Sage:
Got Max to settle with his lick mat. I’ll be at the bar by 6. Save me a slow song and no bullshit tonight.
His lips curved. She had fire in her still. Good.
---
Saturday Night
The Pit Stop was busier than usual. Someone was celebrating a birthday. The beer flowed like water, shots lined the bar, and music pounded through the walls.
Silas stayed mostly in the back, watching. Working. But his eyes found her again and again—moving behind the bar, hair tied up, sleeves rolled, eyes sharp and mouth quick.
She belonged here.
But not forever.
He wanted more for her. And even though she never said it out loud, he could tell she did too.
When the slow song finally came on—something old, bluesy, heavy with steel guitar—he found her at the bar.
“Time to make good on that promise,” he said.
She didn’t argue. Just slid out and let him take her hand.
They danced, barely moving. His hand rested low on her back, fingers brushing the hem of her shirt. Her head rested against his shoulder, and he could feel her heart beat in time with the music.
It wasn’t s****l. Not right then.
It was intimate.
That scared him more.
---
Sunday
Silas didn’t see her during the day, but he didn’t mind. Gave him time to think. Cleaned up his bike. Fixed a brake lever. Took a solo ride out to the bluffs. Let the wind clear his head.
When he got back to the clubhouse, a few of the guys were still joking about Friday night. Torch made a snide remark again, softer this time, like he thought it’d go under the radar.
Silas didn’t say anything. Just stood up and stared Torch down until the man backed off and left the room.
“You really got it bad for that one, huh?” Bullseye asked, eyeing him.
Silas didn’t answer at first. Just looked down at his hands. His calloused, scarred, blood-stained hands.
“She’s the only thing that don’t feel broken when I touch it.”
Bullseye whistled low. “Damn. That’s deep for you.”
“Shut up,” Silas muttered, but a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
That night, he sent one more message.
Silas:
Next weekend. No bar. Just you, me, and the road. Deal?
He hoped like hell she’d say yes.
Because for the first time in years, he was starting to want something he couldn’t buy, fight, or steal.
He wanted her.
- Writer
