Chapter 7: The Party
1476 Words
The MC clubhouse sat on the edge of town, a converted warehouse surrounded by a chain-link fence and about fifty parked motorcycles. Music pounded from inside—heavy bass that I could feel in my chest from the parking lot.
I sat on my bike, engine idling, seriously reconsidering every decision that had led me to this moment.
The building was exactly what I'd expected: dark, loud, and full of people who looked like they could break me in half. The patches on their vests—skulls, serpents, the words Iron Serpents MC in red and black—marked them as something I wasn't. An outsider. A civilian. A girl who didn't belong.
But I'd been called worse.
I killed the engine and swung my leg over the bike. My hands were steady. My heart wasn't.
Bruiser met me at the gate. `Max! You made it!'' He grinned, pulling me into a hug that lifted me off the ground. `I wasn't sure you'd come.''
`I wasn't sure either,'' I admitted.
`Eh, you'll be fine. Just stick with me, and---''
`She's not sticking with you.''
The voice came from behind us. Deep. Quiet. My whole body knew who it belonged to before I turned around.
Tank stood in the doorway, backlit by the party lights. He was wearing the same black t-shirt and jeans, but something was different. Maybe it was the way he held himself—shoulders back, chin up, eyes fixed on me like I was the only person in the world.
Maybe it was the way my stomach flipped when he looked at me like that.
`Hey,'' I said, trying to sound casual. Failing completely.
Tank's eyes moved from my face to my bike, then back. `You rode here alone.''
`I know how to ride.''
`That's not what I---'' He stopped. Took a breath. `Never mind. Come on. I'll introduce you to everyone.''
Bruiser raised his eyebrows but said nothing. He just gave me a little shove toward Tank and disappeared into the crowd.
Tank and I stood there for a moment, the music thumping between us. Up close, I could see the details I'd missed before—the scar through his left eyebrow, the way his jaw was clenched like he was fighting something.
`You don't have to do this,'' he said quietly.
`Do what?''
`Pretend. With me. With them. If you're not comfortable---''
`I'm not pretending.'' The words came out before I could stop them. `And I'm not uncomfortable. I'm just... figuring it out.''
Something in his expression softened. `Fair enough.''
He stepped aside and gestured toward the door. After you.
I walked past him, close enough to feel the heat of his body, and stepped into the lion's den.
---
The inside of the clubhouse was exactly what I'd pictured: a long bar along one wall, tables and booths scattered around, a stage at the far end where a band was playing. The ceiling was low, the lights were dim, and the air smelled like beer and leather and something sharper underneath.
Every head turned when I walked in.
I kept my chin up and my eyes forward. I'd learned a long time ago that showing weakness to these people was like bleeding in shark water.
Tank moved beside me—not behind me, not in front of me. Beside me. Close enough that I could feel his presence like a shield.
`That's Tank,'' someone whispered.
`Who's the girl?''
`Never seen her before.''
The whispers followed us through the room. I ignored them. Tank ignored them. We walked to the bar like we had every right to be there.
Which, I was starting to realize, we did.
---
The first hour was actually... nice. Tank introduced me to MC members and their partners. There was Prez, the club president, a grizzled man in his fifties with a silver beard and kind eyes. There was Sarge, the road captain, who looked like he bench-pressed trucks for fun. There was Razor, the club's tech guy, who shook my hand and immediately started asking about my custom paint techniques.
And there were the women. The old ladies. The sweetbutts. The ones who watched me from across the room with expressions ranging from curious to hostile.
One woman in particular kept staring. She was tall, blonde, wearing a crop top and a leather skirt that could've been painted on. Her eyes followed Tank every time he moved.
`Who's that?'' I asked, nodding in her direction.
Tank glanced over. His expression didn't change, but something flickered behind his eyes. `Raven. She's... around.''
`She wants you.''
`I know.''
`And?''
He looked at me. `And nothing. I'm not interested.''
`Why not?''
`Because she's not---'' He stopped. Shook his head. `Doesn't matter.''
But it did matter. I could see it in the way he held himself, the way he kept his distance from her even though she was clearly available. Something was holding him back. Something that had nothing to do with attraction.
I wanted to ask. Wanted to push. But the moment was broken by a commotion near the door.
---
A man stumbled into the clubhouse. Big guy—not Tank-big, but close. He was drunk, swaying on his feet, and his eyes were locked on me.
`Well, well, well,'' he slurred. `What do we have here? Fresh meat?''
I'd dealt with enough drunk guys in the garage to know where this was going. I straightened up, squared my shoulders, and prepared to handle it myself.
`Back off, Drake,'' Tank said. His voice was quiet, but it carried.
`I'm just saying hello to the new girl,'' Drake said, ignoring Tank completely. He stepped closer, and I could smell the alcohol on his breath. `What's your name, sweetheart?''
`My name is Max,'' I said. `And you're standing too close.''
Drake laughed. `She's got a mouth on her. I like that.'' He reached out, like he was going to touch my face.
He never got the chance.
I caught his wrist, twisted, and used his own momentum to redirect his arm behind his back. It was a move Mike had taught me—simple, effective, and it didn't require a lot of strength. Just leverage.
Drake yelped and dropped to one knee.
`I said,'' I repeated, leaning down to speak directly in his ear, `you're standing too close.''
The room went silent.
I released Drake and stepped back, my heart pounding but my hands steady. Drake scrambled to his feet, his face red with humiliation and rage.
`You little---''
`That's enough.'' Tank moved between us, his massive frame blocking Drake completely. `You touch her again, and I'll break every bone in your hand. Understood?''
Drake's eyes darted between Tank and me. For a second, I thought he was going to swing. But something in Tank's expression must have convinced him otherwise, because he backed off, hands raised.
`Whatever, man. She's not worth it.''
He stumbled back toward the bar, and the tension in the room slowly dissolved. The band started playing again. People went back to their conversations.
I stood there, adrenaline still coursing through my veins, and tried to process what had just happened.
Tank turned to face me. `Are you okay?''
`I'm fine.''
`You didn't have to do that.''
`Yes, I did.''
`Max---''
`I can take care of myself, Tank. I've been doing it my whole life.''
He stared at me for a long moment. And then, slowly, a smile spread across his face. A real smile. The first one I'd ever seen.
`Yeah,'' he said quietly. `I'm starting to figure that out.''
---
The rest of the night was a blur of introductions and conversations. I met more people, learned more names, and slowly started to feel like maybe—just maybe—I belonged here.
But the real moment came near midnight, when the party was winding down and most people had either left or passed out in their booths.
I was sitting at the bar, nursing a soda, when Raven appeared beside me.
`You're the girl,'' she said. Not hostile. Just... curious.
`I'm Max.''
`I know who you are.'' She sat down, crossing her legs. `Everyone's talking about you. The girl who put Drake on his knees. The girl who's got Tank's attention.'' She paused. `Do you know why Tank doesn't get involved with women?''
`No,'' I admitted.
`Because he hurt someone once. Three years ago. A sweetbutt who came onto him. He pushed her away, and she hit the wall. Broke her arm.'' Raven's eyes were steady on mine. `He's been afraid of his own strength ever since. Afraid he'll hurt someone again. Someone he cares about.''
I looked across the room. Tank was standing by the stage, talking to Prez, but his eyes kept drifting back to me. Watching. Making sure I was okay.
`Why are you telling me this?'' I asked.
- Writer
