Angels Don’t Ride

chapter 8

The meeting at the table was tense but necessary. The Sovereign Sons didn’t waste time with pleasantries—when Jack called church, it meant business. The patched members gathered in the chapel behind the bar, a room thick with the scent of motor oil and aged leather, surrounded by faded flags, road maps, and their club Bible—a worn repair manual from decades past that held more meaning than scripture ever could. Silas, road name Ace, sat to the right of his father, Jack, the president.

Brick gave the update on a recent run—smooth delivery, no tails. Paul, the VP, pushed for tighter control on their new real estate front, but Jack shut him down with a glare sharp enough to silence the room. They discussed an issue with a rival crew sniffing too close to their Northern territory—talk that left tension in the air as thick as smoke.

By the time church was dismissed, the sun was slipping lower in the sky. Silas needed the wind. He straddled his bike like it was an extension of himself—his Harley Dyna Wide Glide, matte black with custom crimson accents that shimmered in the right light. Chrome ape hangers stretched wide and tall, and the thunderous growl of the engine echoed freedom and fury. She was fitted with performance pipes, a solo seat, forward controls, and just enough scars from the road to prove she’d seen some s**t. He kicked it into gear and took off, the wind rushing past his face as the weight of the world momentarily lifted.

The ride was everything he needed—twisting roads, open fields, long stretches of silence and throttle. By the time he got back, dusk had kissed the sky purple and gold. He parked the Harley outside the Pit Stop, nodded at a couple of the guys, and headed in for a beer. He grabbed a pool stick and joined Brick and Owen for a few games, ignoring the flirty touches and hungry stares from the club girls. They didn’t do it for him—not anymore.

Tuesday and Wednesday disappeared into club business. He was gone, the kind of gone that didn’t leave a trail. Dirty work. Necessary work. The kind that didn’t belong in daylight or in front of women like her.

Thursday, Sage finished her diner shift at A Place at the Table and went home to her usual routine. She walked Max, fed him, showered, and grabbed a snack along with a Full Throttle from the fridge. There was comfort in her pattern—it kept her steady, even when her heart started slipping in dangerous directions.

When she walked into the Pit Stop bar that night, her hips moved to the rhythm of a song that felt too much like her own life. I kept my whole life in a suitcase... She smiled to herself. Music was her therapy. And the bar, for all its chaos, had started to feel like hers too.

“Angel,” Silas’s deep voice cut through the low hum of conversation like a blade.

She turned, arching a brow. “Angels don’t ride,” she teased, flicking her ponytail over her shoulder.

Silas smirked, stepping closer, close enough that the scent of motor oil and cedar clung to him. “You sure about that? 'Cause I swear I saw a halo when you walked in.”

She laughed softly, brushing her fingers against his chest. “You’re trouble.”

“You have no idea.”

They moved in sync the rest of the night, orbiting each other like magnets, heat buzzing beneath every glance and touch. And by the time the bar was clearing out, the air between them was practically molten.

Sage had just flipped the bar’s CLOSED sign when Silas stepped behind her, hands sliding around her waist. “Let’s ride,” he whispered against her ear.

“Now?” she asked, breath catching.

“Yeah. Right now. Just you, me, and the road.”

She turned in his arms, eyes searching his face. “And if I say yes?”

He didn’t answer with words. His mouth crashed into hers with a hunger that had been building for weeks. Her hands gripped the front of his cut, fingers curling in the leather. He lifted her onto the bar counter without breaking the kiss.

From the doorway, Mason and Brick paused, then smirked.

“About damn time,” Mason muttered.

Brick chuckled. “That boy’s gonna get himself wrecked.”

Inside, Sage's thighs wrapped around Silas’s waist, his hands gripping her hips as they deepened the kiss. Her breath hitched when his lips traced down her neck, and she gasped his name.

“Say it again,” he growled.

“Silas,” she whispered, voice heavy with want.

The world spun around them, the only anchor was each other. Every inch of her melted under his touch, and for the first time in a long time, neither of them held back.

Eventually, they came back to reality, breathless and dazed.

“Still think angels don’t ride?” he asked, brushing her hair back from her flushed face.

She grinned, tugging him closer. “Only the fallen ones.”

And God help her, she was already falling fast.

The night air was warm with a light breeze, and the hum of engines echoed into the distance as Silas guided Sage to where his bike was parked behind the bar. The Pit Stop had mostly emptied out, but the energy still clung to the gravel and metal like static.

“This one’s mine,” Silas said, nodding toward the matte black Harley with brushed chrome accents and low-slung pipes that gave it a deep, guttural growl when started. Every inch was customized—black leather seat, ape-hanger handlebars, and a wide rear tire that made it look as menacing as it did beautiful. It was a bike that demanded respect and whispered danger, and yet, next to Silas, it looked right at home.

Sage stared, heart thudding. “It’s... intense.”

“Like me,” he said, cracking a half-grin as he swung a leg over the saddle. “Climb on, Angel.”

“I still hate that nickname,” she muttered, stepping closer. “And I told you—angels don’t ride.”

“You just haven’t learned how to fall yet,” he said, looking over his shoulder at her. “Trust me, it’s a good kind of fall.”

Something about his voice—low, rough, almost tender—loosened her resistance. She climbed on, settling in behind him. Her hands hovered awkwardly for a second before she gripped his sides.

“Nah,” he said, reaching back to grab her wrists and pull them around his waist. “You gotta hold on tight.”

The engine rumbled to life beneath them, vibrating through her chest. As they pulled onto the highway, the wind caught her hair, and Sage let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She felt free. The world blurred around them, lights streaking by as they sped through the backroads. The noise, the stress, even her thoughts—all silenced by the ride.

She buried her face slightly into his back, inhaling the scent of leather, smoke, and something purely Silas. For the first time in what felt like years, she felt calm. Safe.

They rode for almost an hour, no destination—just motion and wind and a growing sense of something that felt like freedom.

When they returned, he parked near her truck. The lot was quiet now, a few bikes scattered, muffled laughter still drifting out from the back door.

She slid off the bike slowly, legs a little shaky. “Okay… I get it now. That was incredible.”

Silas leaned back against the bike, arms crossed as he watched her. “Told you. There’s nothing else like it.”

“Thank you,” she said, brushing hair from her face. “For that.”

He nodded, then reached out, his hand curling lightly around her jaw, thumb brushing over her cheek. “You looked good back there. Like you belonged with me.”

She tilted her face up to him, lips parting, heartbeat picking up. He didn’t kiss her—not yet—but his mouth hovered close, as if waiting for her to bridge the gap.

“I’m not ready for this,” she whispered.

“You don’t have to be,” he said softly. “I’ll wait. But I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

The promise in his voice made something flutter in her chest.

She drove home on a quiet high, arriving close to 4am. Max greeted her at the door with a sleepy tail wag. She let him out quickly, then headed for a shower. The hot water beat down on her skin, and she leaned into it, thinking about the ride, about Silas’s touch, his words.

Back in the kitchen, she popped a frozen pizza in the oven and wandered around in her oversized shirt and fuzzy socks. Max trotted in just as she was slicing it up, and she handed him a frozen puzzle treat before heading to bed.

Just as she settled in, a crime show playing quietly in the background, her phone buzzed.

Silas: You still feel it?

She smiled, fingers dancing over the keyboard.

Sage: Yeah. Still riding it in my head.

Silas: Good. I’ll give you something else to hold onto next time.

She flushed, even though she was alone, and quickly set her phone down.