Steal Vows

Chapter Eleven ~The Hardest Question

He released her jaw, stepped back just enough to let her breathe, and winked.

“The fish is smoking. You need to flip those packets,” he said with a smirk, like he hadn't just undone her.

She narrowed her eyes at him, thinking he knew exactly what he just did, and said,

“Hmm, ok. So why don't you? Aren't men supposed to do this anyway, bossy?” She chuckled softly and motioned for him to take over and stepped aside...

Adrian took over at the grill without argument, as he flipped the foil packets with the practiced grace of someone who was just put in their place. Heat rose from the flames, casting his bare chest in orange light, and with it came the smell, and she moaned.

“Smells amazing.”

“Thank you, it's a recipe my aunt taught me when I was a kid,” she said, reaching for something to drink.

He glanced back at her as she reached for the Kahlua and cream. He watched as she poured. There was something very domestically appealing about this moment that caught him off guard. Then she asked him if he wanted a drink while he was tending to dinner. The roles felt natural despite her earlier comment about men leading.

“Yeah,” he answered.

He turned back to the grill and adjusted the packets. The smell of butter, onions, and fish filled the evening air. Marcus stayed invisible at the property line. He respected the boundary that Knox had set and stayed out of sight.

He took the glass when she offered it. Their fingers brushed briefly. He drank it quietly as the sweetness mixed with the heat from the grill in front of him and the fire at his back, setting a comfortable feeling in his chest... one that was as foreign as another country.

“This works,” he said quietly, almost to himself, his voice so low.

“I guess we should get you some beer or whiskey or something more to your liking,” she said as she curled up into the bohemian swing chair he bought her.

He watched her settle into that swing chair, the fabric cradling her as she rocked slightly. The Kahlua sat in his hand, half-empty as the condensation slowly slid down the glass.

“Beer's fine. But this is good too.”

He took another drink, the sweetness coating his tongue. The grill crackled softly behind him. In the distance, the lake reflected the firelight like scattered diamonds.

“Tomorrow I'll bring some whiskey from the clubhouse. The good stuff.”

He watched the swing move gently beneath her weight, her body relaxed in a way he hadn't seen before. No tension and no walls.

“You comfortable?”

“Yeah. I have to admit that this place is exactly what I've been dreaming of, but I have a question about why. Why are you so paranoid? What is so dangerous here? Are there a lot of rivals that have it out for you?” She needed to know so she didn't have a false sense of security when she was alone. She thought that this information could make or break her.

He set the glass down on the table, his expression shifting into something harder. He didn't answer immediately, just tended the grill, turning the packets one more time before he faced her.

“Nightmare has territory. Three states. Other clubs want it. Want the routes, the money, the power. Most clubs only have territory inside of a state. Nightmare is way bigger.”

He leaned back against the table, arms crossed over his chest.

“There is always someone watching for weaknesses. Always someone willing to bleed for a shot at what we built. You were in that warehouse because a rival crew thought they could take ground. They were wrong.”

His face took on a more serious expression as he looked directly at her.

“I keep security here because you matter now. And anything that matters to me becomes a target. That's the reality that you're choosing.”

“Hmm. That's what I thought... I had to know the truth. Thank you for your honesty. Now the hardest question... how bad are you? I mean, how dirty are your businesses? I don't need to know everything. It's none of my business, but I don't want to get involved in the bad s**t like fentanyl and trafficking... that I couldn't live with.”

Adrian went still. The question hung between them, direct and unflinching. She didn't hold back... admirable. She was not asking for reassurance. She was asking for the line. And it was a clear one.

He uncrossed his arms and turned to face her fully, the firelight cutting shadows across his chest in the moonlight.

“Weapons, stolen goods, protection rackets, some pharmaceutical distribution, but nothing that kills people on the first use. No trafficking, no kids, those lines don't get crossed in my crew. We actually serve the community, not the other way around. That's why we have so much.”

His voice was clean, flat, and matter-of-fact. There was not a trace of lying or stretching the truth.

“I'm not clean. Never will be. But I'm not a monster either.”

He paused as he watched her absorb his truth.

“You stay on this property, and you don't ask questions about club business. That keeps you safe, legally and physically. Plausible deniability is important.”

The fire crackled, and the packets steamed gently on the grill.

“Can you live with that?”

“Yes. I can, but I'm here for you and the crew if they need my services. I'm very good at it and I can help. I also would want to.”

Adrian studied her for a long moment, reading the sincerity in her eyes. She was offering herself, not just her body, but her skills, her profession. A drug and alcohol counselor embedded in an MC is valuable, useful, but it also means deeper entanglement.

He walked to the grill and pulled the packets off, setting them on the tray. The fish steamed, ready, and he thought to himself, Could I let her help? I could see her helping being a good thing. Yeah, I could. Some of the prospects need it. Addiction runs through the club like everything else runs through it.

He turned back to her, his expression unreadable, as he asked,

“You would do that? Counsel my men?”

There was something in his tone that was unsure but something else that sounded almost like respect. He was not used to women offering to integrate into his world on their own terms.

“Yes. I would. Isn't that kind of an ol'lady kinda thing? I suppose it's my way of supporting the club... at least in my own way. Giving back, so to speak, for all my protection.”

Knox nodded slowly. Something in him felt lighter. His expression shifted as he realized she was committing in her own way. Respect and acceptance- that was the kind of thing that mattered in his world, and she was offering hers.

“That's exactly what an ol'lady does.”

He moved to the table, setting the steaming packets down beside the salad and the corn. The food smelled incredible when they all mixed together like that. He couldn't wait to dig in.

“I'll set it up. You work remotely anyway. We can arrange sessions at the clubhouse or here, whatever works. The men need to know you are serious, though. Not charity. Not just my woman playing counselor.”

She responded to his message that they wouldn't trust her. In a way he least expected.

“You can post my professional history someplace so they know I am not just playing counselor... that I am a counselor with years of experience under my belt.”

He pulled out a chair for her, a gesture that felt deliberate in its formality as he moved his head in her direction. She rose carefully, not looking away from him, as she took her seat.

“You'll earn their respect the same way I did... by being better than everyone expects.” He smiled, knowing that this was true.

The torches flickered around them in their wavering light. The lake stretched dark beyond the firelight as they sat together in agreement.

“Eat. Then we can talk details later.”

“Alright.” She picked up her fork when she heard her phone ring. She grabbed it to see who was calling and it was her daughter. She answered happily.

He watched her face light up as she answered the phone, recognizing the shift immediately as the maternal warmth replaced the earlier vulnerability. He didn't move away, just settled into his chair across from her, fork in hand, giving her space while he remained present.

The fire crackled softly. He ate slowly, methodically, listening to her voice change. Lighter, happier, the kind of tone reserved for people who matter beyond the immediate moment.

He had never heard her like this before. His dark eyes tracked her movements, the way her body relaxed into the conversation. Family. She has roots somewhere else, people waiting. The realization settled in his chest, not welcome, just present. She was not entirely his yet. Part of her still belonged to that other life.

He took a bite of fish, patiently waiting for her to finish. When she was done with her call, she smiled and said,

“Sorry. I don't get to talk to her much. We usually just text, so when she calls I try to always answer... She said she was willing to help me drive everything down here and that my pets miss me.”

Adrian cut into the fish, processing what she had said. A daughter willing to help, pets waiting. The other life she built back in Washington didn't disappear just because she was here with him. Yet the underlying message was also present. She told her daughter about moving things down here. That was progress.

He set down his fork and asked, “How many pets? What do you have?”

His tone was neutral, but there was calculation behind it. More animals means more commitment to the property. More reason she stays. He was already thinking about fencing, shelter, feed costs, logistics of integration.

She smiled and saw his brain was just thinking in overdrive; she giggled and said, “I have 3, and they are like my children.”

“Your daughter know where you are? What you're doing?”

He took a drink of the Kahlua as he watched her over the rim of the glass. The question wasn't casual. If family was involved, he needed to understand the situation. Understand her and, most importantly, that Tess wasn't leaving.

“Not fully. I mean, I told her about your property, but not everything. I didn't know if we were a real thing or just skirting on it... like discussing the possibilities. So I didn't talk that much about that. She does know that you saved me and she is grateful for that, of course... but us, I haven't gotten there yet.”

He nodded once, accepting this. Her daughter knew enough of the essentials. Saved her, the property. The rest would come when Tessa was ready. He understood that.

He ate in silence for a moment. The fish was tender and perfectly cooked. When he spoke again, his voice was soft.

“Your pets. Bring them down when your daughter comes. This property's big enough. Fenced section we can build out for their protection.”

He looked up from his plate directly into her eyes and said,

“Tell her the truth when she gets here. About us, about what this is. She needs to understand you are not temporary. That you are staying.”

He turned back to his plate, a boundary laid out in front of her, as he cut through the trout again.

“And Tessa. When is she coming?”

She put down her fork and looked back, bewildered by his question.

“Umm. Babe, she's not just coming. I have to go back home and pack. Deal with my things. I don't want to bring everything. I have another trailer up there. I'll have to clean it out and sell it. I have 3 storage units of stuff. I've been preparing for this enterprise for years. I will have at least a truck and car plus the other things that will need to be brought down. That's why she said she would help me drive them down here, her in the car, me in the truck pulling a trailer behind it.”

He stopped eating. Set his fork down deliberately. The information settled over him, not a small logistical detail, but a full life being dismantled and relocated. Three storage units, multiple vehicles, animals. The weight of it registered across his face.

He leaned back in his chair as he processed the magnitude of the logistics.

“How long?”

His voice was measured, but there was tension underneath. She was not staying. She was uprooting everything. That took time. That meant she would leave, go back to Washington, handle the details alone... the thought didn't sit well with him.

“Two weeks?... Maybe three?” she said with a questioning expression, not sure, for it might take longer.

He watched her. He was already calculating her security arrangements, already thinking about her driving cross-country solo with that much cargo. He knew he wouldn't like it... Then she said, pulling him out of his thoughts,

“Do you want to come with?” she stuttered. “You could meet my family and see where I'm from?”

He went still. The fork rested against his plate. He looked at her across the firelight as he processed the invitation, not just to visit, but to meet her family. To step into her world. To be seen as more than the MC president who found her in a warehouse.

It was not a small ask...