Page 3 of Festive

She smiles wide. “Love you more.”

I place my hand on her stomach and lean down to place a kiss on her belly. “Keep safe in there, little man.”

Rebel smiles as I stand, and then I send a whistle through the main room. “I’m heading off for a cruise to dust out the hangover cobwebs. Anyone who wants to come with, I’m leaving now.”

A bunch of washed-out-looking brothers trying to eat their breakfast tacos nod and move to stand.

Looks like we’re going to have ourselves a bit of good old-fashion fun.

I turn back to Rebel and dip my head. “We’ll probably be out all day. You need me—”

“I’ll call. Go. Enjoy your ride.”

I grab my cell from the table and turn toward her, the noise in the clubhouse doing nothing for the pounding in my head. Last night’s whiskey still lingers, but when Rebel stepscloser, everything else fades. Her eyes lock on mine, and for a moment, the world slows. I lean in, brushing my thumb over her jaw before capturing her lips in a kiss. Soft, familiar, but still electric—like the very first time. The kiss erases the ache of my hangover, grounding me in her warmth. Her lips part just enough for me to taste the faint sweetness of her morning coffee, and the scent of her perfume, subtle but intoxicating, fills my lungs. I stay there, letting the pressures of the club, my duty, the fucking world disappear, knowing I need to go but not quite ready to leave this moment behind.

Even after all these years, kissing her feels like coming home.

I fucking love this woman.

Pulling back, I smooth my hand over Kinzley’s hair, wink at Rebel with a promise of more for us later tonight, then turn, walking out of the clubhouse to my ride.

I need to feel the open road and the wind in my hair.

Time to get rid of this fucking hangover.

Throwing my leg over my bike, Texas, Neon, Chains, Wraith, Slick, and Phantom all join me. The roar of the engines echo through the parking lot. The sound hitting my soul—deep, rumbling, like the earth waking up. It starts as a low growl, then builds as more engines fire up around me. Harley after Harley, the chorus grows, each adding its raw, mechanical heartbeat to the mix. It’s not just noise—it’s power, freedom, and grit all rolled into one. The roar grows louder, filling the air, vibrating through my chest until it’s a symphony of metal and throttle. To some, it might sound chaotic, but to me, it’s pure beauty—perfectly tuned, every engine in sync, like they’re speaking the same language. It’s a sound that gets under your skin, makes your pulse quicken, reminds you why you ride. There’s nothing like it. And when we’re all together like this, you know nothing and no one can stop us.

As we ride out of the clubhouse gates in formation, a sense ofcalm immediately washes over me, the engine’s rumble soothing my soul.

This is what I need.

To be one with my bike.

And I plan on making this a day trip, so we’ll be gone for a while.

I open my throttle and take off for the highway.

It’s time to ride!

***

It’s getting close to dusk, and even though I enjoyed the unwind, and the fresh air has helped with the hangover, we have to return to the clubhouse.I need to see my girls.But I am running low on gas, as I’m sure the other guys are, too, so I signal for us to ride toward a Buc-ee’s. The procession of bikes pulls up to the pumps. I slide off my ride, finally stretching my tired legs and letting out a yawn.

Glancing over to Wraith, I dip my head. “How’s your head now?” I ask my VP.

He lifts his chin while pumping his gas. “Better. I swear Advil wasn’t even touching the sides this morning.”

“Same, brother. It’s amazing what some fresh air will do.” Picking up the nozzle, I swipe my card, eyes unfocused as I stare off into the distance at nothing in particular. The rhythmic clicking of the pump is the only sound that cuts through the quiet. But something pulls at the corner of my vision—a flash of blonde hair. My gaze shifts, landing on a woman by her car, talking to a guy. Except it doesn’t look like a casual conversation. Her posture is tense, arms crossed tight, while his gestures are wild, heated. Even from here, I feel the shift in energy, though I can’t make out their words.

I glance over my shoulder to Wraith, who’s leaning against his bike, watching the same scene unfold. “Hey, you seeing this?”

He frowns, tilting his head. “Yeah, doesn’t look too friendly.”

After stowing the nozzle in the pump, I turn my attention back to the couple. The guy is storming off now, his fists clenched, shoulders stiff. Relief washes over me, and I nod, ready to write it off. “Well, that was short-lived,” I mutter, feeling my muscles loosen.

But then a scream slices through the air, sharp and piercing. My blood runs cold, and I whip around in time to see the ass shove the woman against the hood of her car with a violent thud. The panic in her eyes is unmistakable, and my heart slams against my ribs. The distance between us feels like miles, but I don’t think. Instinct takes over. Without a word, the guys and I are already moving, rushing toward the scene, boots pounding against the pavement.

Her screams are frantic, desperate, while she fights to push him off. He’s yelling, too, his face twisted in fury, hands gripping her wrists, pinning her down. Every second feels like an eternity as we close the gap, but I can feel the adrenaline surging, fists clenching, ready to tear him off her.

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