Jace The Devious Men MC

Rumors and Rumbles

Emma

The floor shakes before I even hear them.

It’s a sound I’m starting to recognize — the low, rolling thunder of motorcycle engines echoing off the pines that ring Willow Point. The Devious Men are coming through town again.

I pause at the library counter, glancing toward the wide front windows. Outside, the sunlight flashes across a sea of chrome and leather. A line of bikes rumbles by, their riders marked by the same patch that half the town pretends not to stare at and the other half secretly admires.

Kids from the elementary school across the street press their faces to the fence, cheering as the motorcycles pass. I can’t help smiling. There’s something magnetic about the sound — dangerous and exciting, even if I’d never admit it out loud.

“Emma, dear!” Stella calls from the back. “Are they at it again?”

“Looks like it,” I say, still watching as the last few riders disappear around the corner.

Stella appears beside me, adjusting her glasses. “You know, they might look rough, but they’ve done more for this town than most realize. Ace and Jace helped with the storm cleanup last winter. Strong men, but polite when it counts.”

“Jace?” I ask before I can stop myself. The name sounds too familiar.

She nods. “Vice president, I think. The quiet one.”

My pulse ticks up for reasons I can’t quite explain. I tell myself it’s just curiosity — nothing more.

“Anyway,” Stella continues, “don’t forget the community event this afternoon. The sheriff’s invited a few folks from the club to help with the safety talk.”

Of course he has.

I look down at my outfit — soft blue cardigan, jeans, nothing special — and tell myself not to care. But all through the afternoon, I’m aware of the hum building in the distance, like thunder waiting to roll back through.

⸻

By four o’clock, the library lawn is full. Parents, kids, and townsfolk gather around for the safety fair the sheriff’s hosting. There are fire trucks, booths, and a few motorcycles gleaming in the sunlight.

And standing beside one of them — arms crossed, sunglasses hiding his eyes — is Jace.

Up close, he’s exactly as I remembered from passing glimpses: tall, solid, commanding. His presence seems to quiet everything around him. Kids swarm near the bikes, pointing and laughing, and when he crouches to talk to one little boy, his voice is calm and kind — a surprise against his rough edges.

“Mom! Can I see the bikes?” Dawson tugs on my sleeve.

“Stay where I can see you,” I say, but my voice comes out softer than intended.

He runs off toward the bikes, and I follow at a distance, my tote slung over my shoulder. Dawson stops in front of Jace, wide-eyed. Jace looks up, and when his gaze meets mine, it feels like the air between us changes.

“Hey, little man,” Jace says to Dawson. “You like bikes?”

Dawson nods enthusiastically. “They’re loud!”

Jace chuckles. “That’s part of the fun.”

His smile fades as his eyes shift back to me. “You’re Emma, right? The librarian.”

It’s not really a question. He knows who I am.

“I am,” I say, returning his look. “And you’re… one of the Devious Men.”

“Jace,” he says simply.

It’s a handshake kind of name, but he doesn’t offer his hand. He doesn’t need to. The way he says it carries weight — confident, sure, maybe even dangerous.

“Well, Jace,” I say, crossing my arms, “thanks for not scaring my kid.”

He smirks. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

For a moment, there’s nothing but the sounds of engines cooling and kids laughing. Then someone calls for him, and he steps back, nodding once before turning away.

I tell myself to breathe, but it takes longer than it should.

⸻

That evening, after the fair, the library’s quiet again. The lights hum softly, and I’m finishing up the last of the reshelving while Dawson reads at one of the tables. The town’s power flickers once, twice — then cuts out entirely.

“Mom?” Dawson’s voice wavers. “What happened?”

“Just a power outage, baby,” I say, reaching for my phone’s flashlight. “Stay close.”

We sit in the glow of my phone for a few minutes before I hear the faint growl of an engine outside. My heart skips — half fear, half something else. Then a knock sounds on the glass front door.

I startle, but then a deep voice calls, “Emma. It’s Jace.”

Relief washes through me. I unlock the door, and he steps inside, flashlight in hand, the beam cutting through the dim. The scent of leather and cool night air follows him.

“Whole grid’s down,” he says. “Transformer blew near the highway. You two okay?”

“We’re fine,” I say. “You didn’t have to check.”

He glances toward Dawson, who waves shyly, then back at me. “Yeah, I did.”

For a moment, we stand there, the silence filled only by the sound of rain starting outside. The storm’s come early tonight. Jace looks around the empty library, then at me again.

“I can wait here until the lights come back,” he offers. “Safer that way.”

Part of me wants to say no. To prove I can handle things. But the truth is, I feel safer just knowing he’s near.

“Okay,” I whisper. “Thank you.”

He leans against the counter, arms folded, watching as Dawson dozes off over his book. The storm picks up, wind rattling the windows. Every flash of lightning throws his face into sharp relief — strong, unreadable, and yet somehow soft when he looks at me.

“You picked a quiet town,” he says after a while. “Good place for a fresh start.”

I meet his eyes. “You sound like you know something about needing one.”

A ghost of a smile touches his mouth. “Maybe I do.”

The power flickers back on, buzzing through the lights. Dawson stirs awake, blinking. I turn back toward the counter, but when I glance over my shoulder again, Jace is already heading for the door.

“Thanks,” I call softly. “For checking.”

He stops, hand on the door. “Anytime, Emma.”

And then he’s gone — leaving behind the scent of rain, the echo of thunder, and the uneasy feeling that my quiet life just changed for good.

⸻

Jace

She looked at me like I was trouble — and maybe I am.

But the truth is, I’ve seen a lot of things that deserve to be feared, and Emma Carson isn’t one of them. She’s the kind of woman who softens the edges of a hard place like this town.

As I ride back toward the clubhouse, rain streaking across my visor, my thoughts keep circling to her. The way she looked at me in that flickering light — cautious, curious, brave.

I shouldn’t think about her. The Cobras are still out there, testing us, pushing into our territory. We’ve got bigger problems than a librarian with eyes like summer storms.

But when I picture her standing there, holding her kid close while the world went dark, something in me tightens — something I haven’t felt in a long time.

Maybe it’s the quiet. Maybe it’s her.

Either way, I already know — I’ll be back.