Chapter 16
1221 Words
Biker’s POV
I had been awake for almost twenty-four hours.
The previous two days had been spent in another state handling a problem that had required my presence, my signature, and far more patience than I had been willing to give it.
The problem had finally been resolved.
The meeting was over.
The private jet had landed less than an hour ago.
And instead of going home, taking a shower, eating something that did not come in a paper box, and sleeping for twelve uninterrupted hours…
I walked into the airport parking garage and climbed onto my motorcycle.
Because the club was expecting me.
And when the club expected me, I showed up.
The black motorcycle came alive beneath me with a deep, controlled growl.
I adjusted the gloves covering my hands and pulled the helmet over my head.
The familiar weight settled around me.
The world became quieter.
The noise of the airport disappeared behind me.
The endless questions.
The business calls.
The flight.
The meeting.
The men who had spent three hours trying to convince me that a problem could be solved by throwing more money at it.
All of it faded the moment I pulled out of the parking garage and onto the highway.
There were few things I trusted completely.
My instincts were one of them.
My motorcycle was another.
The road had never asked me to explain myself.
It didn’t care where I had been.
It didn’t care where I was going.
It simply waited for me to choose a direction.
Tonight, I chose the clubhouse.
The meeting had been scheduled for seven.
It was already after six.
I was late.
Not enough to cause a problem.
Enough for Mason to complain about it.
I knew that because Mason complained about everything.
The traffic was heavier than usual.
A delivery truck had stalled two lanes ahead, forcing cars into the remaining lanes.
I moved through the traffic carefully, never rushing when rushing would be stupid.
I had no interest in dying because some i***t in a sedan decided a yellow light was a personal challenge.
The city moved around me.
Cars.
Buses.
Pedestrians.
Noise.
Movement.
Rain clouds gathered in the distance, darkening the sky even though the sun had not completely disappeared.
I was approaching an intersection when I saw her.
At first…
She was only another person moving through the city.
A woman standing near the corner, one hand wrapped around the strap of a handbag while the other held a phone against her ear.
She was in a hurry.
That was the first thing I noticed.
Not her face.
Not her body.
Her urgency.
She kept glancing toward the road while speaking into the phone.
Her expression was tense.
Not frightened.
Impatient.
The kind of impatience that came from being late for something important.
I slowed slightly.
The traffic light ahead was red.
The line of cars had stopped.
I had no reason to look at her.
I did anyway.
She turned her head.
And for one brief second…
I saw her face.
The world did not stop.
I had never believed in that kind of nonsense.
The light remained red.
Cars continued moving in the opposite direction.
Someone behind me honked.
But my attention remained on the woman at the corner.
She was beautiful.
Not in the polished, artificial way of the women who occasionally found their way into expensive restaurants and assumed a man was obligated to be impressed by them.
There was something unguarded about her.
Her hair had been pulled back, though several strands had escaped around her face.
She looked like she had started the day intending to be perfectly put together and had eventually given up on the idea.
A small black hair tie sat around her wrist.
A tiny silver bead was attached to it.
I noticed that too.
I noticed everything.
The way she pressed her lips together while listening to whoever was on the phone.
The way her brows drew together.
The way she shifted impatiently from one foot to the other.
The way she looked toward the road again.
Then she said something into the phone.
I couldn’t hear her.
A second later, she ended the call.
The pedestrian signal changed.
She stepped forward.
At the exact same moment, a car turned sharply into the intersection.
Too fast.
The driver had clearly been trying to beat the light.
My hand tightened around the throttle.
The woman stopped abruptly.
The car passed in front of her.
She took one step backward.
A man beside her said something.
She turned toward him.
I couldn’t hear that either.
The light in front of me changed.
Green.
The cars began moving.
I had two choices.
Continue toward the clubhouse…
Or stop.
I glanced toward the woman.
She had already started walking.
Fast.
She crossed the street and disappeared into the crowd.
I remained still for half a second longer than necessary.
The driver behind me honked again.
This time, I moved.
I continued through the intersection.
I did not look back.
I told myself that was because there was no reason to.
I did not know her.
I would probably never see her again.
The city was full of beautiful women.
I had met hundreds.
I had forgotten most of them.
I would forget this one too.
That was what I told myself.
By the time I reached the clubhouse…
I had already thought about her three times.
By the time I parked my motorcycle…
Five.
By the time I stepped through the heavy wooden entrance of the clubhouse…
I had decided I was being ridiculous.
The familiar noise of the clubhouse swallowed me immediately.
Classic rock played from the speakers.
The pool table was occupied.
Someone was laughing loudly near the bar.
The smell of grilled meat, leather, engine oil, whiskey, and cigar smoke hung heavily in the air.
This was home.
Not the house I rarely visited.
Not the hotels I stayed in while traveling.
This.
The clubhouse.
The place where no one expected me to explain the silence on my face.
Mason spotted me before I had taken three steps.
“There he is.”
I kept walking.
Mason fell into step beside me.
“Do you know what time it is?”
“Yes.”
“You were supposed to be here forty minutes ago.”
“I know.”
“You could have called.”
“I could have.”
Mason stared at me.
I continued walking.
Mason followed.
“Did you just get back?”
“From the airport.”
“And you came straight here?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because there’s a meeting.”
Mason stopped walking.
I didn’t.
“You’re aware you have a home, right?”
I turned my head.
“Do you have a point?”
“Several.”
“Keep them.”
Mason grinned.
“There he is.”
I entered my office and closed the door behind me.
The room was exactly as I had left it.
Dark wood.
A large desk.
Two leather chairs.
A wall of files.
A cabinet containing bottles I rarely touched.
The city outside the window had already begun to darken.
I removed my jacket and placed it over the back of my chair.
Then I stopped…
- Writer
