Chapter 5
1086 Words
CHAPTER FIVE
LEIGH
The moment the bikes crossed into Iron Hollow territory, the world changed again.
It wasn’t something I could explain in words at first. It was just a feeling that settled into my bones as the road narrowed and the trees gave way to a wide stretch of land marked by noise, movement, and the heavy scent of fuel and metal.
The air here was different here, thicker and lived in.
The bikes slowed as we approached a large compound sitting at the end of a long, uneven road. It wasn’t hidden, but it didn’t need to be. It announced itself without apology.
Iron Hollow MC.
The sign above the entrance was simple iron lettering bolted into concrete like it had survived things most buildings never would. The gate was already open, and beyond it, the place looked less like a clubhouse and more like a controlled chaos that had learned how to function.
Rows of motorcycles lined the yard, each one placed with the kind of careless precision that still somehow felt intentional. Men moved between them in cuts and boots, talking, laughing, arguing like the air itself belonged to them.
And then there were the details.
A truck hood lifted open with two men arguing beneath it in fast Spanish. A dog chained near the garage watching everything without interest or fear. A woman leaning against a railing smoking like she had nowhere else to be in the world.
Everything here had weight.
Everything had rules I didn’t understand yet.
Grave cut the engine.
The sudden silence after the ride felt almost unnatural.
“Stay close,” he said without turning. “Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to. And don’t assume anything here is random. It isn’t.”
I nodded once.
That was enough for him and we moved.
The moment I stepped off the bike, I felt it—eyes shifting toward me from every direction.
Not subtle curiosity but with assessment.
The kind that measured whether you belonged or whether you were going to become a problem.
Inside, the clubhouse was louder than I expected.
The bar stretched across one wall, glowing under warm amber lights that made everything look slightly golden, slightly unreal. The tables were packed with men in cuts, Iron Hollow stitched across their backs with a cracked crown skull emblem that looked more like a warning than a design choice.
Music vibrated through the floor, low enough to feel in your chest rather than your ears.
And the women moved through it all like they understood the rules of this place without needing them explained.
I kept my expression neutral but my senses were not neutral.
Everything in me was alert.
I could feel people before I looked at them. The shift in posture. The change in breathing. The way attention moved.
A few steps in, a man near the bar tilted his head.
“The hell is this?” he muttered to Grave.
Grave didn’t stop walking. “New support staff.”
A low laugh rippled through the room.
“Support staff?” someone echoed. “Grave picking up strays now?”
I didn’t react because that was important.
Reactions were information.
And giving away information in a room like this was dangerous.
We moved further inside.
A woman sitting on a pool table stopped swinging her legs as I passed. She studied me openly, like she had no reason to pretend otherwise.
“Who brought the church girl in?” she called out.
More laughter followed but I kept walking, following Grace like he's my anchor.
Another voice came from the bar. “She talk, or is she just decoration?”
“She talks,” Grave answered before I could decide whether I wanted to.
That made several people laugh harder.
I didn’t look at them.
A man stepped out from a side corridor before we reached the back office.
He was shorter than the others but carried himself like he didn’t need size to take up space. His cut marked him clearly—ENFORCER.
His eyes landed on me immediately and stayed there too long.
“What is this?” he asked Grave, voice low but sharp. “You know what’s going on tonight. Bringing an outsider in now?”
Grave didn’t slow. “She’s not a threat.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“She was on the road,” Grave said simply. “Seems four wolves had her down. I wasn’t leaving her there.”
That sentence changed the room in a way I felt more than saw.
The enforcer looked at me again, this time more carefully. His eyes flicked briefly to my face, my hands, the faint bruising I hadn’t noticed had spread further.
Then something shifted in his expression.
“Is she human?” he asked quietly.
Grave didn’t answer immediately and that pause mattered more than the question.
“I never said she wasn’t,” Grave replied and walked past him, at this point with the way everyone was questioning who, I don't know who is the boss anymore
Silence followed that and we reached the office at the back.
Before we went in, Grave pulled out his phone and dialed a number and the change in him was immediate.
Like there's a powerful presence that needs respect even in his absence.
“Prez,” he said after a beat. “We’ve got someone.”
A voice came through the speaker, rough and distracted.
“Not now. There’s already enough s**t going on. That Markovian bastard’s kid is dead and everyone’s losing their minds.”
Grave’s posture tightened slightly.
“f**k,” he muttered under his breath. “That’s bad.”
“I know,” the voice snapped. “Don’t bring me more problems.”
Grave glanced at me briefly before continuing. “She was attacked on the border near Silver Ash.”
There's a long pause. “Silver Ash?” the voice repeated.
The air shifted again.
“Yes,” Grave said.
“The kitchen needs help,” the voice said abruptly. “Can she cook?”
Grave blinked once. “I don’t know yet.”
“I do,” I said before he could decide for me.
“Fine,” the voice said. “She stays in the Kitchen. No questions or drama. She steps out of line, she’s gone. Understood?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Good.”
The call ended and Grave exhaled slowly.
“Follow me,” he said.
- Writer
