chapter 7
1388 Words
Sage stepped into the house and glanced at the clock on the wall.
2:30 a.m.
She sighed, bone-deep exhaustion weighing down every step. Working two jobs with barely a full day off wasn’t for the faint of heart.
Max, her loyal black-and-white mutt, greeted her at the door with a happy tail thump and a soft whine. Sage bent down, rubbing behind his ears. “Yeah, buddy. I missed you too.”
She grabbed his leash and, like clockwork, they headed out for their usual five-mile walk. The cool night air hit her face like a balm, but her legs ached with every step. Still, Max trotted happily beside her, unaware of how close she was to collapsing.
Back home, she fed him before trudging to the bathroom. The hot water in the shower was her one sacred ritual, and tonight, she needed it more than ever. She leaned against the tile, letting the steam soak into her sore muscles.
Of course, thoughts of Silas Creed slipped in, uninvited but persistent.
His voice.
That gaze.
The way he looked at her like he already knew the storm inside her.
Why is it always him?
She dried off and slipped into her comfort clothes: an oversized gray T-shirt and a pair of soft shorty shorts that had seen better days. She threw on the fan, turned on the TV for background noise, and collapsed into bed. Max hopped up beside her and curled into her side, his warmth grounding her.
Sleep found her quickly.
---
3:45 p.m.
Her stomach roared like an angry beast, dragging her from sleep. Sage blinked against the fading afternoon light pouring through the curtains. Max sat at the back door, waiting patiently to be let out.
“Alright, alright,” she mumbled, stretching as she shuffled toward the door. She let him out, then made her way to the bathroom to brush her teeth, still half-asleep.
With a yawn, she wandered into the kitchen to fix herself a sandwich. The fridge was almost empty—she really needed to make time for groceries—but she found just enough for a ham and cheese on wheat. She ate in silence, savoring every bite.
The rest of the day was spent on the couch, curled up under a throw blanket with Max. Old comedies played on the TV, their laugh tracks muffled as Sage drifted in and out of sleep. She didn’t check her phone. Didn’t answer any messages. For once, she let herself just be.
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Midnight
She dozed off again sometime around midnight. The couch was still warm beneath her when the shrill sound of her backup alarm dragged her out of another dreamless sleep.
“Crap,” she muttered, blinking at the time. 3:20 a.m.
She threw her hair into a quick bun and slipped on leggings, a hoodie, and sneakers. “Sorry, Max. Short one today.”
They headed out for a brisk twenty-minute walk. The moon was low, and the streets were still wrapped in quiet. Max sniffed every bush like they were brand new, while Sage moved on autopilot.
Back home, she handed him a frozen lick mat from the freezer—peanut butter and yogurt, his favorite—before she hurried through her morning routine. She double-checked her bag, locked the door, and drove to work.
She slid through the diner's back entrance just in time, clocking in at 3:59 a.m. sharp.
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The Diner – A Place at the Table
The day passed in a blur of clinking plates, shouted orders, and endless coffee refills. Regulars came and went. A few truckers left her generous tips. By the time the clock hit 1:00 p.m., Sage peeled off her apron and practically floated out the door.
---
Home Again
She tossed on joggers and a sports bra, laced up her running shoes, and whistled for Max. His tail wagged furiously as he trotted to her side.
“Let’s run it out,” she said, stretching her arms over her head.
Together, they hit the pavement.
The rhythm of her steps.
The panting of Max at her side.
It was the one thing that made her feel truly in control.
What she didn’t know was how fast that control would soon begin to slip.
---
Silas sat on the edge of his bed above the club, elbows resting on his knees, hands scrubbing over his face. He’d gotten in late—close to 3 a.m.—after another long night of handling club business. The kind of business that never really ended.
Loyalty kept him here. Loyalty to the Vultures.
To his brothers.
To the life he was born into.
He’d wondered, more than once, if this was really the life he wanted to keep living. But walking away? That wasn’t just difficult—it was damn near impossible. This life wasn't just blood and bullets. It was family. It was code. It was the only thing he'd ever known.
And, if he was honest, this life brought her into it.
Sage.
Two years ago, she walked into The Pit Stop bar like a secret meant just for him. Some people might chalk it up to coincidence, but Silas never believed in that kind of thing. Not with her. It was like the universe—or something darker—had steered her there. Like maybe she’d been meant for that stool and that drink and that stolen glance across the bar.
She started off working one night a week. Now she was up to three. Truthfully, he wanted her there all the damn time. But she kept a foot out the door, like she needed to know the exit was always there—like she didn’t trust anything enough to stay.
She didn’t talk about her past much. Hell, barely at all. All he really knew was she was born in Minnesota, carried a kind of quiet pain in her eyes, and kept her guard up like it was stitched into her skin.
---
Silas had fallen asleep somewhere around dawn, sprawled across the bed, boots still on, leather cut draped across the back of a chair. The room was dark and warm, quiet except for the hum of the ceiling fan above.
He dreamed of her. Again.
But this time… it felt real.
She was there—in his bed. Wearing one of his T-shirts and nothing else. Her hair was loose, messy from sleep, and those sharp, thoughtful eyes softened just for him. She looked up at him like she could see every shadow he carried and didn’t flinch.
His hands gripped her hips, fingers digging into bare skin as she arched beneath him. Her mouth on his neck, her breath hot against his ear. She whispered his name like it meant something. Like he meant something.
Her body molded to his like she’d been made to fit him. Like she belonged nowhere else.
You’re not good enough for her, a voice in the back of his head hissed.
But in the dream, it didn’t matter.
In the dream, she chose him.
---
He jerked awake, breath ragged, body tense, the image of her fading but the heat she left behind still burning under his skin.
"f**k," he muttered, dragging a hand over his face. His sheets were tangled. His body still humming like it hadn’t caught up to the fact it had only been a dream.
A sharp knock rattled the door.
“We’re at the table, Ace!” Brick’s voice cut through the silence.
“I’m coming!” Silas shouted back, already moving. “Down in a second.”
He swung his legs off the bed, jaw tight, that familiar weight settling back on his shoulders. There was no room for fantasy in his world. Dreams didn’t mean s**t when reality was riding up your back like a loaded gun.
Still… the way she looked at him in that dream.
Like he wasn’t a mistake waiting to happen.
He shook it off and grabbed his cut, slipping it on like armor. It was time to get back to the real world—club business, deals, protection runs, and the mounting storm they all knew was coming.
But even as he headed for the stairs, he couldn’t get the feel of her out of his hands.
- Writer
