chapter 2
981 Words
Sage was wiping down the bar, last call barely in the rearview when she heard the door creak open behind her. She didn’t have to look. She knew that walk, the sound of boots worn by road and rebellion.
Silas.
“You don’t sleep?” she asked without turning around.
“I do,” he said, settling onto the stool at the corner of the bar, “just not when I got things on my mind.”
She tossed the rag in the sink and leaned her elbows on the counter. Her eyes scanned him—cut still on, jaw set tighter than usual. “What kind of things?”
He shrugged. “Club stuff.”
Which, in Silas-speak, meant everything from busted deals to brotherhood drama to someone possibly getting binned on a run. Sage didn’t press. She knew the line—between caring and prying. She walked it often with him.
“You hungry?” she asked, nodding toward the small kitchen in the back.
He blinked. “What?”
“I got leftover grilled cheese from earlier. The good kind. Extra butter, extra sharp cheddar, triple-layer. Real artery-clogging shit.”
His mouth quirked, just a little. “You makin’ that for me?”
“I’m feeding a starving man, not flirting. Don’t get cocky.”
Silas chuckled. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
She disappeared into the kitchen, and he let himself breathe. The Pit Stop after closing was different. Quieter. No music, no eyes watching him like he might snap someone’s neck—which he would, if they deserved it. But here, with her, the noise faded.
He pulled out his Bible—a worn repair manual for a '68 Shovelhead he’d been rebuilding—and started flipping through pages, even though his mind wasn’t on the bike.
It was on her.
The way she called him Silas when everyone else stuck to Ace. The way she challenged him like he wasn’t the enforcer who’d put two guys in the hospital last year for disrespecting a brother’s old lady. The way she made him feel like a man, not just muscle in a cut.
Sage returned with a plate in one hand and a glass of water in the other.
“No beer?” he asked.
“Not when you’re eating my grilled cheese. That’s a sin.”
He smirked and took a bite. “Damn.”
“Told you.”
They sat in comfortable silence for a while. Until she broke it.
“You ever think about leaving it behind?”
He looked up, eyes sharp. “The club?”
“Yeah.”
He chewed slowly. Swallowed. “Every kid born into this life thinks about it. Just once. Maybe twice. Then they remember what loyalty means.”
“So that’s a no?”
“That’s a never could.”
She nodded like she understood. But there was something in her voice when she said, “That’s what scares me.”
He stiffened. “What does?”
“You bleed for this club, Silas. Every time. No matter what it costs you. And I’ve seen what it costs.”
He put the sandwich down. “You think I’m the bad guy.”
“I think you’re the guy they call when things get too ugly for anyone else.”
A pause. Heavy.
“I don’t apologize for protecting my brothers,” he said, voice like gravel. “I do what needs doing.”
“I know.” Her tone softened. “That’s the part that scares me the most.”
She turned away, grabbing the rag again, wiping at nothing. He watched her, felt something clawing at his chest.
“You ever bin a biker before, Sage?”
She scoffed. “You’re seriously asking if I’ve ever been dumb enough to fall for one of you?”
He stood, closing the distance slowly. “I’m not askin’ as a joke.”
She met his gaze then, defiant and soft all at once. “No, Ace. I haven’t.”
“Good.”
“Why?”
“Because if you ever do…” He stepped in, close enough she could feel the heat of him. “He’s gonna be selfish. He’s gonna be overprotective. Jealous. Hard as hell to love.”
“And if it’s you?”
He leaned in, breath brushing her ear.
“Then you better be sure. Because I don’t do halfway.”
She froze. Her heart thudded against her ribs like it wanted out. She didn’t answer.
Didn’t have to.
The bar’s back door swung open with a bang. Brick’s voice thundered into the quiet.
“Ace, we got a problem. Jack needs you at the garage. Now.”
Silas straightened, tension rippling through him like a switch had flipped. Just like that, the softness was gone. The soldier in him reloaded.
“I’ll walk you out,” he said, already moving toward the exit.
Sage followed, grabbing her coat. “What kind of problem?”
“The kind that smells like blood and smoke,” Brick called back.
Out in the cool California night, engines rumbled to life. Brothers mounting up, guns tucked, hearts armored.
Sage stood just outside the bar, watching Silas straddle his bike.
He paused before putting on his brain bucket. “Lock up tight. Don’t let Mason slack on the cameras.”
She crossed her arms. “You think I scare that easy?”
“No.” He met her gaze one last time. “But I sure as hell do.”
Then he was gone, tires burning into the blacktop, the Sovereign Sons MC disappearing into the dark like wolves chasing a storm.
And Sage stood under the flickering Pit Stop sign, heart in her throat, wondering if she had the guts to love a man who belonged to the road more than he ever could to her.
- Writer
