Chapter 5
2100 Words
Summer’s POV
I shouldn’t have looked again.
But I did.
The man in the black half mask had disappeared through another doorway, and yet my eyes kept drifting toward the spot where he’d been standing.
“What are you drinking?”
The bartender slid another glass toward me.
“I honestly don’t know.”
She laughed.
“I figured.”
I wrapped my fingers around the cool glass, taking a slow sip.
It burned less than the first.
Or maybe I was simply growing numb.
The music vibrated through the clubhouse, drowning out conversations I wasn’t interested in hearing. Somewhere behind me, someone sank the eight ball and a chorus of cheers erupted. A few bikers slapped each other on the back before returning to their drinks.
Everyone looked… connected.
Like they belonged.
I’d never felt more like an outsider.
“You’ve been staring at that office for almost five minutes.”
I nearly jumped.
The voice came from my left.
Deep.
Smooth.
Unhurried.
I turned.
The masked man stood beside the empty stool as though he’d always been there.
Up close, he looked even taller than I’d thought.
Broad shoulders filled the black leather cut draped over a charcoal T-shirt. Dark ink disappeared beneath rolled sleeves, stopping just before a pair of black gloves.
Only the lower half of his face was visible.
A strong jaw.
A faint shadow of stubble.
Lips curved into the smallest hint of a smile.
“Have I?” I asked, hoping I sounded calmer than I felt.
“You have.”
His voice…
Something about it tugged at my memory.
It was ridiculous.
Impossible.
For one absurd second, it reminded me of Andrew Knight.
My boss.
The CEO of Knight Constructions.
I almost laughed at myself.
As if the most influential developer in Los Angeles would be spending his evening in a biker clubhouse wearing a mask.
Get a grip, Summer.
“I was just curious,” I admitted.
“So I’ve noticed.”
His eyes held mine.
Not intensely.
Patiently.
Like he had nowhere else to be.
“I take it curiosity is frowned upon around here?”
“Only when it gets people into trouble.”
“And does it?”
“Sometimes.”
The corner of my mouth lifted before I could stop it.
“That’s a very mysterious answer.”
“I’ve been told I have a talent for those.”
There it was again.
That voice.
It was familiar enough to unsettle me.
I searched my memory, trying to place it.
Board meetings?
Work presentations?
No.
That couldn’t be right.
“You look like you’re trying to solve a puzzle,” he said.
“I think you sound like someone I know.”
His eyebrow lifted slightly.
“Should I be offended?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
A quiet chuckle escaped him.
The sound was warm.
Unexpected.
“I’ll take that as progress.”
I studied him for another moment.
“If you’re the owner, why the mask?”
He rested one gloved hand against the bar.
“Would you believe me if I said I value my privacy?”
“I might.”
“And if I told you there was another reason?”
“I’d assume you’re trying to keep me guessing.”
“Maybe I am.”
His answers were frustratingly vague.
And somehow…
I didn’t mind.
“You ask a lot of questions,” he observed.
“I’m an interior designer.”
He tilted his head.
“Does that explain it?”
“It means I notice details.”
“And what details have you noticed about me?”
I hesitated.
Too many.
The confidence.
The quiet authority.
The way people seemed to acknowledge him without interrupting him.
Even standing beside me, he wasn’t trying to impress anyone.
He simply… existed.
Comfortably.
“I’ve noticed,” I said carefully, “that everyone in this room knows exactly who you are.”
“And you don’t.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“Does that bother you?”
“It makes me curious.”
His smile deepened just enough to be noticed.
“Curiosity can be dangerous.”
“So I’ve heard.”
For a heartbeat, neither of us spoke.
The music carried on around us.
Someone laughed across the room.
Glasses clinked.
Yet it felt strangely quiet between us.
He held my gaze a second longer before pushing away from the bar.
“I hope tonight gives you whatever you came here looking for.”
Before I could answer, he turned and walked away.
I watched him disappear into the crowd.
My pulse did something completely unreasonable.
I blamed the alcohol.
It was easier than admitting a complete stranger had just made me forget, if only for a moment, the worst day of my life.
He disappeared, yet somehow my eyes kept drifting back to where he’d been.
It was ridiculous.
I didn’t even know his name.
Well… technically, I did.
The Boss.
President.
Neither sounded like an actual name.
I wrapped both hands around my glass and stared into the amber liquid.
It wasn’t even good.
The first drink had burned.
The second had burned even worse.
Yet somehow…
“Another.”
The bartender looked at me for a second.
“You sure?”
I nodded before I could think better of it.
“Please.”
She poured another without another question.
I took a sip.
Instant regret.
How did people enjoy this?
It tasted like liquid fire.
Still…
I drank again.
Not because I liked it.
Because I wanted the noise in my head to stop.
Instead, Ethan’s face appeared all over again.
His smile.
His hand around Natasha’s waist.
The way he’d kissed her.
Right there.
Right in front of me.
As though everything we’d shared had meant absolutely nothing.
I tightened my grip around the glass until my fingers ached.
Two can play this game.
The thought came before I could stop it.
If he could move on that quickly…
Why was I sitting here feeling like my heart had been fed through a paper shredder?
Two can play this game.
Another sip.
Maybe my emotions were the ones drinking.
I certainly wasn’t enjoying any of it.
I looked around for Lena.
She’d said she’d only be a few minutes.
How long had it been?
Ten?
Twenty?
An hour?
Time felt strange tonight.
I twisted on the barstool, trying to spot her somewhere among the crowd.
That was my mistake.
My elbow clipped the side of my glass.
“Oh!”
Time slowed.
The glass tipped.
Amber whiskey spilled straight toward me.
Cold liquid splashed across the front of my burgundy top before crashing onto the wooden bar and dripping onto my jeans.
I froze.
Perfect.
Just…
Perfect.
The alcohol soaked into the fabric almost instantly, clinging uncomfortably against my skin.
For one horrifying second I expected laughter.
Mocking.
Whistles.
Something.
Instead…
Nothing.
A few nearby bikers glanced over.
One looked as though he wanted to ask if I was okay.
Another simply returned to his conversation.
Nobody laughed.
Nobody pointed.
Nobody made me feel any more embarrassed than I already did.
I closed my eyes for half a second.
“This night seriously cannot get any worse,” I muttered beneath my breath.
Apparently determined to prove myself wrong, I dug through my purse searching for tissues.
Lip balm.
Wallet.
Keys.
Receipts.
Finally.
A small packet of tissues.
I dabbed frantically at the stain.
Which only succeeded in spreading the whiskey into an even larger dark patch across my shirt.
“Oh, brilliant.”
I let out a defeated sigh.
“I’ve somehow made it worse.”
Third person POV
Across the room…
He’d noticed.
He wasn’t sure why he’d been watching the woman since she’d walked through the clubhouse doors with Lena.
Maybe because sadness had a way of changing the air around someone.
Maybe because she’d smiled without meaning it.
Maybe because every drink she’d ordered looked more like medicine than celebration.
She drank too quickly.
Not like someone who enjoyed whiskey.
Like someone trying to outrun something.
Then she’d spilled it.
Before he’d even thought about it…
He was already moving.
Patched members instinctively stepped aside as he crossed the clubhouse.
Nobody questioned where he was going.
Nobody stopped him.
Respect cleared a path before he ever reached the bar.
Summer’s POV
I was still losing the battle with the stain when a familiar voice spoke beside me.
“I think the whiskey’s winning.”
I looked up so quickly I almost dropped the tissues.
The masked man.
Again.
Those impossible eyes met mine.
There wasn’t a trace of mockery in them.
Only the faintest hint of amusement.
I glanced down at my ruined shirt.
“I’d say it’s absolutely destroying me.”
His mouth twitched.
Not quite a smile.
Close.
“I’ve seen tougher opponents.”
I laughed.
A real laugh.
Tiny.
Unexpected.
“Believe me,” I sighed, “this has been the highlight of my day.”
His head tilted slightly.
“I doubt that.”
“You’d be surprised.”
Silence settled between us for a moment.
Comfortable.
Not awkward.
He glanced at the untouched drink sitting beside me.
“You’re not much of a whiskey drinker.”
It wasn’t a question.
I looked away.
“What gave me away?”
“You keep making the same face after every sip.”
Heat crept into my cheeks.
“I do not.”
“You do.”
“I was trying to be convincing.”
“You weren’t.”
I sighed dramatically.
“So much for my acting career.”
Another almost-smile.
“You should probably keep your day job.”
“If only today hadn’t gone so terribly.”
The words escaped before I could stop them.
I immediately regretted saying them.
“I’m fine,” I added quickly.
“I really am.”
He held my gaze for a second longer than felt comfortable.
“No.”
His voice remained calm.
“You aren’t.”
I opened my mouth to argue.
Nothing came out.
Because somehow…
He was right.
Instead, I looked down at the whiskey soaking through my shirt.
He followed my gaze.
“There’s a private office upstairs.”
I frowned.
“There’s also a restroom.”
He nodded toward the stain.
“And I think there’s still a spare shirt in one of the cabinets.”
I blinked.
“You keep spare clothes?”
He gave one shoulder a small shrug.
“Accidents happen here more often than you’d think.”
My fingers tightened around the ruined tissue.
“You can borrow one.”
I stared at him.
Every warning my mother had ever given me echoed in my head.
Don’t follow strange men.
Especially masked ones.
Especially ones everyone called The Boss.
I glanced around the clubhouse.
Still no Lena.
The whiskey clung cold and sticky against my skin.
Uncomfortable.
Embarrassing.
And this man…
He hadn’t asked for my number.
Hadn’t flirted.
Hadn’t made me uncomfortable.
If anything…
He’d gone out of his way to make sure I wasn’t.
I found myself studying him again.
His voice.
There it was.
That strange feeling.
Like I’d heard it before.
No…
It couldn’t be.
For the briefest moment, an impossible thought crossed my mind for the second time tonight.
Andrew Knight?
I almost laughed at myself.
That was absurd.
Andrew Knight was the billionaire CEO of Knight Constructions.
The kind of man who attended charity galas, business summits, and magazine interviews.
Not biker clubhouses.
Not places that smelled like leather, gasoline, and whiskey.
Besides…
Why would a billionaire be wearing a mask inside his own clubhouse?
No.
I was letting the alcohol scramble my brain.
It wasn’t him.
It couldn’t be.
After several long seconds, I finally nodded.
“…Okay.”
He stepped back first.
Giving me space.
Giving me the choice.
Then he gestured toward a hallway marked PRIVATE.
“This way.”
I slipped off the barstool and followed him.
Several patched members looked our way.
None of them seemed surprised.
One of them even walked ahead and opened the hallway door before the masked man reached it.
“President.”
He nodded once in acknowledgment.
Nothing more.
As I stepped into the hallway behind him, the music from the clubhouse slowly faded until only distant echoes remained.
The atmosphere became quieter.
More private.
More intimate.
We stopped before a large wooden office door.
He reached for the handle.
The heavy door swung open.
I hesitated for the smallest moment…
…then stepped inside.
- Writer
