Page 14 of Wolf at the Door

I tense, unsure how much Bella has shared. But Gran just nods, her expression softening. “Good. She needs someone strong.”

"Which is why we need to talk about your safety," I say, my voice firm but gentle. "Dylan's not going to stop. He's already shown he's willing to target you to get to Bella."

Gran's eyes narrow, her weathered hands gripping the arms of her rocking chair. "I've lived in this house for forty years. I'm not about to let some thug chase me out."

Bella kneels beside her grandmother's chair, taking one of those weathered hands in hers. "Gran, please. They destroyed the porch just to send a message. Next time..." Her voice cracks, and I step closer, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder.

"We have rooms at the clubhouse," I explain. "Security. Brothers on watch twenty four seven. It would only be until we deal with Dylan."

"The clubhouse?" Gran's eyebrow arches sceptically. "With all those rough bikers?"

Finn, still standing guard by the door, lets out a quiet chuckle. "Ma'am, I guarantee you'll be the toughest one there."

A ghost of a smile crosses Gran's face, but she looks at Bella, really looks at her. "You trust these men? This club?"

"Yes Gran, I do." Bella answers without hesitation.

Gran is quiet for a long moment, her sharp eyes studying each of us in turn. Finally, she sighs. "Well, I suppose I could use a change of scenery. But I'm bringing my own tea. That stuff you young people drink these days tastes like dishwater."

Relief floods Bella's face as she hugs her grandmother. I motion to Finn to help gather some essentials while I make a call to Cutter about preparing a room.

"And young man," Gran calls as I pull out my phone. I turn to find her fixing me with a stern look. "I expect you to make good on that promise about dealing with this Dylan character. Nobody threatens my granddaughter and gets away with it."

"Yes, ma'am," I say, meaning it with every fibre of my being. "That's a promise."

As we help Gran pack a small bag and escort her to the waiting vehicle, I can't help but admire her spirit. She's worried, I can tell, but she's handling it with a grace and strength that makes it clear where Bella gets her resilience from.

The ride back to the clubhouse is quiet, with Bella and her grandmother in the SUV ahead of us, Finn driving, and two more brothers flanking them on bikes. I follow close behind, watching for any sign of trouble, but my mind is already racing ahead to what comes next.

Back at the clubhouse, the pack was already assembling. Razor stood at the head of the table, his presence commanding as always. The brothers were keyed up, their energy electric with the promise of retaliation. This wasn’t just about me or Bella anymore. Dylan had made it personal for all of us.

“We’ve got eyes on him,” Rocco says, his voice grim. “He’s holed up in a warehouse on the east side. Looks like he’s got a dozen guys with him, maybe more. They’re armed, but they don’t know we’re coming.”

Razor nods, his gaze shifting to me. “This is your fight, Wolf. You lead the charge.”

I meet his eyes, my wolf stirring with approval. “We hit them fast and hard,” I state. “No mercy. Dylan doesn’t walk out of there.”

The pack growls their agreement, the sound low and feral. This wasn’t just a fight. It was a hunt.

Before we leave, I find Bella waiting for me by the bar. Her arms are crossed, her face pale but determined. “You’re going after him, aren’t you?”

“I have to,” I say, stepping closer. “He won’t stop, Bella. Not until I make him.”

She nods, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Just…be safe, okay?”

I cup her face in my hands, my thumbs brushing over her cheeks. “Always.”

And with that, I turn and walk out into the night, my pack at my back and vengeance in my veins.

Riding into the night with the pack at my back, my mind drifts to the road that had brought me here. To Bella, to the club, to the man I’d become—hard, dangerous, unrelenting. It hadn’t always been this way. But life had a way of carving a man down to his core, stripping away anything that couldn’t survive the fire.

I wasn’t born into the club. I found it the way a stray finds shelter: broken and looking for purpose. Before I earned my place with the Road Killers, I was just a kid from nowhere, bouncing between foster homes and trouble. My fists did most of my talking back then, and the world taught me that if you weren’t strong, you were prey.

By the time I was eighteen, I had a rap sheet longer than most men twice my age. Petty theft, brawling, worse. I didn’t have anything to lose, so I fought like it. That was what caughtCutter’s attention. He saw me fight in a bar one night, fists flying, blood on my knuckles.

Cutter came up to me after, calm as you please, slapped a hand on my shoulder and grinned. “You’ve got some fight in you, kid,” he said. “Ever thought about putting that to good use, you hit like a wolf. You ever think about running with a pack?”

At first, I thought he was just another guy looking to use me, but Cutter wasn’t like that. He didn’t make promises he couldn’t keep, and he didn’t offer charity. What he did offer was a chance—a way out of the spiral I was stuck in. All I had to do was prove I had what it took.

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