Ride me like you stole me

4

Dec Rourke looks nothing like a killer.

That's the first thing I notice. He's handsome in that weathered way that makes women trust him and men follow him. Silver-streaked hair swept back. A tailored black shirt under his leather cut. Rings that catch the floodlights as he spreads his arms wide like a preacher welcoming sinners.

But his eyes. His eyes are dead. Flat and pale blue, like winter sky with nothing behind it.

"Raven," he says again, stepping closer. "You look just like your mother. God rest her soul."

My grip tightens on the ledger. "You knew my mother?"

"Everyone knew Elena Mitchell." His smile widens. "She was the heart of this club before she passed. And your father..." He shakes his head slowly, mourning a man he probably murdered. "Silas was a brother. His loss cut us all deep."

Liar.

The word screams in my skull, but I keep my face blank. Jax's warning echoes: Don't trust anyone.

"Thank you," I manage. "For your condolences."

Dec's gaze drops to the bundle in my arms. "And what do we have here?"

My heart stops.

Jax steps forward, half-blocking me. "She was attacked. Two men hit the garage while I was there. I got her out."

Dec's expression doesn't change, but something flickers in those dead eyes. "Attacked? By who?"

"Didn't get a good look. They were gone before I could ID them."

"Convenient."

"Not really. They put a bullet in my fence post."

Dec studies Jax for a long moment. The air between them feels charged, like the second before lightning strikes. Around us, the club members have gone quiet, watching. Waiting.

Then Dec laughs, warm and easy, and the tension breaks like a soap bubble. "Well, hell. You always did have the worst luck with timing, Jax." He claps him on the shoulder. "Get her inside. She's shaking like a leaf."

I am shaking. But not from cold.

Dec turns to address the crowd. "Brothers, sisters! We have a guest tonight. Raven Mitchell, daughter of our fallen brother Silas. She's been through hell, and she's family. Anyone who touches her answers to me."

A murmur of assent ripples through the group. Some of them nod. Some of them stare at me with open curiosity. One woman, blonde and sharp-eyed, doesn't look away from the bundle in my arms.

"Tank!" Dec calls. "Get the girl a drink. And find her some dry clothes."

A massive man detaches himself from the crowd. Shaved head, a beard that could hide small animals, arms like tree trunks covered in tattoos. Cole "Tank" Brennan. Jax's brother in all but blood.

His eyes meet Jax's. Something passes between them, wordless and heavy.

"Come on," Tank rumbles. "Let's get you inside."

---

The clubhouse is bigger than it looks from outside. A long bar runs along one wall, bottles gleaming under amber lights. Pool tables. A jukebox. Women in tight jeans and men in leather cuts fill the space, drinking and laughing and pretending not to watch me.

Tank leads us to a back hallway, away from the noise. Jax stays close, his hand hovering at my lower back but never quite touching.

"Bathroom's there," Tank says, jerking his thumb at a door. "I'll find you something dry. Jax, we need to talk."

"I'm not leaving her."

"Didn't say you were. But Dec's gonna want a full report. You know that."

Jax's jaw tightens. "Give me five minutes."

Tank nods and disappears down the hall.

Jax turns to me. His grey eyes search my face. "You okay?"

"No."

"Yeah. Stupid question." He runs a hand through his wet hair. "Listen to me. The bathroom has no windows. It's the safest room in this building. Lock the door. Don't open it for anyone but me or Tank. Understand?"

"What about Dec?"

"Especially not Dec."

I clutch the bundle tighter. "What are you going to tell him?"

"Nothing. Not yet." He glances at the ledger. "You still have it?"

I nod.

"Good. Keep it hidden. Don't let anyone see it. Not even Tank."

"You don't trust him?"

Jax hesitates. "I trust him with my life. But he's loyal to the club first. And right now, the club belongs to Dec."

The implication lands like a punch to the gut. "You think he'd take it?"

"I think he'd do what he thought was right. Even if it wasn't what I wanted." He steps closer, his voice dropping low. "Rae. If something goes wrong tonight, if Dec gets suspicious, I need you to promise me something."

"What?"

"Don't run. No matter what you hear. No matter what you see. If you run, they'll catch you, and I won't be able to help. Stay put. Let me handle it."

"And if you can't?"

His hand finds my chin, tilting my face up to his. The touch is gentle, but his eyes are fierce.

"Then you fight like hell. But you don't go down easy. Not for them. Not for anyone."

The bathroom door closes behind me. I lock it. My hands are trembling so badly I can barely manage the deadbolt.

For a moment, I just stand there, breathing. The room smells like cheap soap and old cigarettes. A cracked mirror hangs above the sink, and I catch my reflection: wild-eyed, rain-soaked, hair plastered to my face.

I look like my mother.

I don't remember much about her. She died when I was six. But my father had pictures, and in every one, she had the same dark hair, the same determined set to her jaw.

Keep this safe, Raven. Don't sell it. Don't scrap it. Promise me.

I set the bundle on the edge of the sink and unwrap it with shaking fingers. The ledger emerges, thick and worn, its leather cover stained with oil and age. My father's handwriting on the front: S.M. Property of no one.

I open it.

The pages are dense with figures. Dates. Names. My father's neat, careful script fills every line. At first it looks like nothing—just accounting. Payments and receipts. Vendors and shipments. But as I flip through, a pattern emerges.

Columns that don't add up. Money going out that never comes back. Shipments with no destination. Payments to names I don't recognize, routed through shell companies.

And there, in the margins, my father's notes. Small, cramped warnings written in pencil:

Dec's boys took the guns again. Told him. He laughed.

$50K missing from the offshore account. Dec says I lost it. I didn't.

Found the buyer. Not the club's usual. Eastern Europe. This is bad.

He knows I know. I have to get out.

My throat closes. I can barely breathe.

My father didn't just keep records. He kept evidence. Years of it. Enough to take down Declan Rourke and half his operation.

Enough to get him killed.

A knock on the door makes me jump.

"Rae? It's Tank. I got clothes for you."

I slam the ledger shut and wrap it back in the oilcloth. My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears.

"Just leave them outside," I call, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Can't. Dec wants you at the bar in ten minutes. Says he wants to get to know his new guest."

Guest. The word feels like a trap.

"I'll be out in five."

"Take your time." A pause. "And Rae? Whatever Jax told you about staying quiet? He's right. But if you need anything—anything at all—you come to me. Understand?"

I don't answer. I don't know what to say.

Footsteps recede down the hall.

I stare at the bundle in my arms. The book that could destroy everything. The book that could save me.

Or get me killed.

I need to hide it. Somewhere they'll never think to look.

My eyes scan the bathroom. Cracked tile. Rusted pipes. A drop ceiling with water stains.

The drop ceiling.

I pull a chair over, climb up, and push one of the tiles aside. The space above is dark and dusty, full of cobwebs and old insulation. But there's a gap between the ceiling and the roof, just wide enough to fit my hand.

I shove the bundle into the darkness. It disappears.

For a moment, I just stand there, breathing hard. Then I fix the tile, step down from the chair, and study my reflection.

Wild-eyed. Rain-soaked. Terrified.

"Fight like hell," I whisper to the girl in the mirror.

She doesn't look convinced.

I straighten my shirt, finger-comb my hair, and open the door.

Jax is waiting in the hallway. Alone. His jaw is tight, his eyes dark with something I can't read.

"Where's Tank?"

"Dec called him away." He steps closer, studying me. "The book?"

"Hidden."

"Where?"

"Somewhere safe."

He nods, but his eyes flicker with worry. "We don't have much time. Dec's in a mood. He's been drinking, and that makes him unpredictable."

"What does he want?"

"To size you up. Figure out what you know." Jax's voice drops. "Rae, you have to be careful. Dec is charming when he wants to be. He'll make you feel like he's on your side. He'll ask questions that seem innocent. But he's looking for cracks. Give him one, and he'll tear you apart."

"I know how to handle men like him."

"Do you?"

I meet his eyes. "I handled you."

Something shifts in his expression. A flicker of heat. A shadow of the night in the garage.

"Fair point," he murmurs.

The barroom is louder now. Someone's put on a Guns N' Roses record, and the music thumps against the walls. Men and women cluster around the pool tables, laughing, drinking, pretending not to watch as Jax leads me through the crowd.

Dec sits at the end of the bar like a king on a throne. A bottle of whiskey at his elbow. That warm, empty smile on his face.

"Raven!" He pats the stool beside him. "Come, sit. Let me get to know your father's little girl."

I sit.

He pours me a glass of whiskey and slides it across the polished wood. I don't touch it.

"Not a drinker?"

"I'm a mechanic. I prefer my hands clean."

Dec laughs. "Silas used to say the same thing. Man couldn't hold his liquor worth a damn." His smile fades. "I miss him, you know. Every day."

You killed him.

"I miss him too," I say.

"Of course you do. And you must have so many questions about what happened. The accident. The funeral. Things the club handled."

"I do."

"Then ask me." He leans closer, his voice dropping to something that might pass for gentle. "Whatever you want to know. I was his best friend. I owe it to him to take care of his girl."

The words are honey. But underneath them, I hear the trap.

"I appreciate that," I say carefully. "But I'm still processing. My father was everything to me. His death..." I let my voice crack, just a little. Just enough. "I don't even know where to start."

Dec's eyes soften. Or at least, they pretend to. "Take your time. You're safe here. No one's going to hurt you while you're under my roof."

Except you. Except the men you sent.

"Thank you."

His hand lands on my knee. Warm. Heavy. Possessive.

I don't flinch. But I want to.

"If you need anything—a place to stay, some money to get back on your feet—you tell me. Silas was a brother. That makes you family."

"I'll keep that in mind."

We talk for another twenty minutes. He asks about my mother, my childhood, the garage. I give him careful answers, nothing that reveals too much. He listens, nods, laughs in all the right places.

But the whole time, his eyes are calculating.

Testing.

At last, he pulls away. "You're tired. I can see it. Tank, take her to one of the guest rooms. The one at the end of the hall."

Tank appears at my elbow. "Yes, boss."

As I stand, Dec catches my wrist. His grip is tighter than it should be.

"One more thing, Raven. The men who attacked you tonight—did they say anything? Want anything?"

My blood freezes.

"They didn't say much," I manage. "They just... attacked. I think they were trying to rob the place."

Dec watches me for a long moment. Then he releases my wrist, and the smile returns.

"All right. Get some sleep. We'll talk more tomorrow."

Tank leads me down the hallway. Jax follows behind, silent as a shadow.

The guest room is small but clean. A bed. A dresser. A window that looks out over the parking lot.

"The door locks from the inside," Tank says. "You'll be safe."

"Thank you."

He lingers in the doorway, his eyes moving between me and Jax. Something unspoken passes between them.

"I'll be right outside," Tank says.

The door closes.

Jax doesn't move.

"I thought you weren't supposed to be alone with me."

"I'm not." He stays by the door, his back against the wall. "But I'm not leaving you with Dec on the other side of that door either."

I sit on the edge of the bed. The exhaustion hits me all at once—the storm, the attack, the chase, the interrogation. My whole body aches.

"Jax."

"Hmm?"

"In the garage. Before the phone rang. Was any of it real?"

He's quiet for a long moment. Then he crosses the room, kneels in front of me, and takes my hands in his.

"I lied to you about a lot of things," he says. "About why I was there. About the ledger. About what I was supposed to do. But what happened between us? That was the only real thing in my life in years."

I stare at him. The scar through his eyebrow. The darkness in his eyes. The man who's supposed to be my enemy but might be the only one on my side.

"I don't know if I can trust you," I whisper.

"I know."

"If you betray me—"

"I won't."

"You can't promise that. You're a Saint. Your loyalty is to them."

"Not anymore." His voice is rough. "You asked me if I could win a fight while you were standing there. I said no. But that's the truth. I can't fight them while you're in the way, Rae. Because if something happened to you—"

He stops.

"What?"

"Because it would break me." His hand cups my cheek. "And I've been broken before. I don't want to be again."

I don't know who moves first.

Maybe him. Maybe me.

But suddenly we're kissing, slow and desperate and wrong, and his hands are in my hair, and my fingers are gripping his cut like it's the only thing keeping me from drowning.

A knock on the door makes us break apart.

"Jax!" Tank's voice, low and urgent. "Dec's calling a meeting. Now. All senior officers."

Jax swears under his breath.

"What does that mean?" I ask.

"It means Dec's making a move." He stands, his jaw tight. "Stay here. Lock the door. Don't open it for anyone but me."

"What if you don't come back?"

His eyes lock on mine. "Then you find Tank. You tell him everything. And you run."

"Jax—"

"I'll be back." He kisses me once more, hard and fast. "I promise."

The door closes behind him.

I'm alone.

And somewhere in this clubhouse, the men who killed my father are deciding what to do with me.

I climb off the bed and check the lock. Then I cross to the window and stare out at the parking lot.

A black truck is idling by the gate.

Waiting.

---

To be continued...