Page 20 of Hellfire's Mercy

A month later...

After three weeks of living in the Iron & Blood Clubhouse, I'm finally starting to feel at home. It took time to adjust – to fall asleep to the sound of rowdy bikers, to wake up to Angel's cooking, to deal with the suspicious looks that gradually turned into protective nods.

Each member of the MC showed acceptance in their own way.

Butcher, the VP, brings me his mother's cookies every Sunday after his visits, insisting I need to "put some meat on those bones." He's become almost like an uncle, gruff but caring, always making sure I eat properly and checking my car's oil.

Crow and Wrath, the brothers, took it upon themselves to teach me pool and self-defense respectively.

"Can't have the boss's girl not knowing how to throw a punch," Wrath had said, while Crow installed military-grade security on my laptop "just in case."

Ruthless, despite his name, turned out to be quite the handyman, fixing my constantly jamming printer and setting up a proper home office in my room. Of course, his frequent visits might have more to do with catching glimpses of Angel than helping me, but Hellfire pretends not to notice – most of the time.

Maverick, the youngest full member, brings me coffee every morning from the fancy place across town, claiming he "was passing by anyway." We all know he makes the trip because he loves his morning cappuccino, but no one calls him out on it.

And Angel... she's become the sister I never had, teaching me to navigate this new world of leather and chrome, sharing stories about growing up in the MC life, showing me how to handle the constant testosterone surrounding us.

But it's not all domestic bliss.

The article... God, the article. I can still see my editor's face when I presented the evidence.

"Drop it," he'd said. "Pretend you know nothing."

Every newspaper in town gave me the same response – fear masquerading as journalistic integrity.

So, we did it ourselves. The MC members distributed one edition, printed in a shop two towns over, across Cedar Falls.

"HUMAN TRAFFICKING RING EXPOSED: LOCAL LAW ENFORCEMENT SILENT"—the headline still makes me proud.

Butcher handled the printing contacts, Crow and Wrath organized the distribution routes, and Ruthless and Maverick covered the town in a single night. People are talking, demanding answers from the council, but nothing's been decided yet.

The Outlaws circle the bar like vultures, but they haven't made a move. Not with Hellfire always by my side, his protective streak showing in every possessive touch, every watchful glance. He's everything I never knew I needed – strong, caring, dangerous, and completely devoted in his own gruff way.

Some nights, when the bar is quiet and we're alone in his room, he tells me stories about the club's early days. About how each member joined, about their code of honor, about why they choose to live outside the law but never without principles. Other nights, he shows me exactly why they call him Hellfire, leaving me breathless and marked as his.

A knock on my door pulls me from my thoughts.

"What are you doing?" Hellfire's deep voice carries through the wood.

"Writing," I call back, smiling as he enters without waiting for permission. He never does.

He moves behind my chair, his large hands settling on my shoulders. "More exposés?"

"Actually," I lean back against him, "I'm writing about us."

His hands tighten slightly. "Us?"

"The club," I clarify, though we both know there's more to it. "How you protect the town in your own way. How sometimes the line between right and wrong isn't as clear as people think."

"Dangerous story," he murmurs, but I hear the pride in his voice.

"I learned from the best," I tease, tilting my head back to look at him. "Besides, I have a pretty scary biker watching my back."

He leans down, his lips brushing my ear.

"Damn right you do." His hand slides down to rest on my collarbone. "And your front. And everything in between."

I shiver at his touch, my body responding instantly like it always does.

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