Page 47 of Havoc

“Exactly. Taking care of our cuts shows respect for the club, for each other, and for ourselves. It might sound strange, but it’s not to us.”

“No, I get it. Kind of like how firefighters take extra care with their uniforms and gear. Makes perfect sense.”

He jerked his chin at me. “You getting cold, sweetness? We can go in and start a fire in the fireplace if you want.”

I immediately sat up. “That actually sounds amazing.”

He chuckled as he stood and reached down for my hand. “All finished admiring nature?”

I nodded and slipped my fingers into his. “Yeah, maybe we can do it again sometime. But for now, it’s definitely getting cold.”

Havoc tucked me under his arm and led me to the cabin. Inside, he got me settled on the sofa and went about building a fire in the hearth. Watching him stoke the kindling and arrange the logs made something soft bloom in me. There was just something about watching a hot guy build me a fire that made me feel... cared for.

It occurred to me how far outside my own box I was operating. Normally, I was guarded—constantly scanning for red flags, constantly evaluating whether I could trust a guy. But with Havoc, it felt different. I already knew his flaws. He didn’t hide them. He wasn’t shy about talking about his mistakes, his past, or his goals. And if I trusted him to stand between me and a dangerous man like Slater, it didn’t make a lot of sense to feel awkward just being alone with him.

He brought me a cup of hot chocolate, and we curled up on the sofa and talked until my cup was empty and my eyelids were heavy. I must’ve actually drifted off at some point because I felt his arms sliding around me as he carried me up the stairs.

I was vaguely aware of him removing my shoes and tucking a blanket over me. When he started to walk away, I grabbed his hand and scooted back to make room for him in the bed.

I felt him climb in beside me, still fully dressed, just like I was. Neither of us said anything more. The warmth of his body beside mine was comfort enough.

And for the first time in what felt like ages, I slept like I didn’t have a care in the world.

***

The next morning, I woke up in an empty bed, making me wonder if I had imagined Havoc taking me up on my offer to sleep together. Stretching my arms above my head, I reveled in how good it felt to have rested. Before I could sit up, the scent of fresh coffee and bacon reached me.

For the first time in days, I didn’t feel tense or worried about Slater jumping out at me. I sat quietly with the blankets wrapped around me, listening to Havoc move around downstairs. I pictured him frying bacon in a cast iron skillet while coffee dripped in the background.

When I pushed myself out of bed, I noticed a neat pile of fresh clothes on the nearby table and a note that read:Bathroom’s on the right. Making breakfast.

I rushed through my morning routine and padded downstairs barefoot. My eyes nearly popped out of my head when I saw Havoc cooking shirtless, his tattooed muscles flexing with every movement.

He must’ve sensed me standing there, because without turning around, he said, “Good morning, sunshine. Hope you slept well.”

“Yes, yes, I did. Morning,” I stammered, still very much distracted by the view. “What about you? Did you sleep well, or were you standing at the window like the Terminator scanning for danger?”

He turned with a grin. “This day just keeps getting better and better. I love that series.”

I laughed and grabbed a mug from the counter, pouring myself a cup of coffee and feeling a warm sense of belonging settle into my chest.

“I hope that means you’re a sci-fi fan too,” he added, flipping a piece of bacon with flair.

“Hell yes, I love it all. You name it—I probably love it.”

I held back a giddy smile, quietly thrilled that we shared that in common.

Havoc jerked his chin towards the kitchen table. “Grab a seat. Breakfast is almost done. Hope you brought your appetite, ‘cause I made a big one.”

“I’m starving. That’s secret code for ‘I might arm wrestle you for the last piece of bacon.’”

I dropped into a chair with my coffee and noticed the table was already set. “How did you learn to do all this?” I asked.

Havoc brought over a huge platter in one hand and his own mug in the other. He set the food down, and my mouth watered instantly. I pointed to one end of the platter, wide-eyed. “Those look like homemade biscuits. Please tell me you made those yourself.”

He chuckled as he sat down. “No can do. One of the old ladies makes ‘em for us. She freezes them half-baked so we just pop ‘em in the oven. Try one—I fuckin’ live for these things.”

He grabbed three with one hand and tossed them onto his plate. I scrambled to claim two before he could devour the rest. We helped ourselves to hash browns, eggs, and bacon. From the looks of it, the hash browns were the boxed kind, but done well—crispy and golden.

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