Page 1 of Jace

Chapter 1

Jace

“Another tough night,” I say, my voice low but my spirits surprisingly high. “Hell, I wouldn’t change it for the world though…”

The Rusty Spur smells like stale beer, leather, and regret, but it’s home.

The jukebox in the corner belts out some old hair metal rock tune, half-drowned by the rumble of laughter and clinking glasses.

My boots stick to the floor as I lean against the bar, a glass of Jack in my hand, the burn of it still lingering on my tongue.

Tonight’s been a shitshow—another gun run for the Wolf Rider MC, another deal that went sideways. It’s not all bad, but it’s another situation where people got hurt and it’s debatable whether we came away with the win.

Shit. Maybe I’ve been doing this too long.

And same old same old on our rivals too… The Iron Vipers are sniffing around our territory, and the club’s on edge.

I should be out there, cracking skulls or at least planning our next move, but instead, I’m here, trying to drown the adrenaline still buzzing in my veins.

I scan the room, taking in the usual chaos.

My brothers—Tank, Razor, and a few up and comers—are sprawled across a booth, tossing back shots and eyeing the local boys like wolves circling prey.

The air’s thick with smoke, curling from cigarettes and the occasional pipe. It’s the kind of place where deals are made in whispers and fights break out over a wrong glance.

My kind of place.

Always has been.

School, rules, suits—never my thing.

Out here, I make the rules. Orbreakthem.

Then I see him.

He’s tucked into a corner booth. A book—Jesus, an actual book—sits open in front of him, his fingers tracing the pages like they’re some sacred relic.

The dim light catches his hair, soft brown curtains, and his glasses perch low on his nose, giving him this schoolteacher vibe that’s doing things to me I didn’t expect.

He’s dressed simple—jeans, a cream sweater—but the way those jeans hug his waist and legs makes my blood run hot. He doesn’t belong here, not in this den of outlaws and drunks, and that makes him all the more interesting.

“Well I’ll be…” I mutter, unable to take my eyes off the boy.

I take a slow sip of my whiskey, letting my eyes linger. He’s not just pretty—he’s got this quiet fire, like he’s holding back a spark nobody’s seen yet. My kind of challenge.

I’ve never been one for hesitation. Life’s too short, and I’ve got too many scars to prove it.

So when the boy glances up, catching my stare, I don’t look away. His eyes, big and hazel, widen for a split second before he drops them back to his book.

Oh, young man, you’re not getting off that easy…

I push off the bar, weaving through the crowd. A few of the regulars nod my way. They know who I am, that’s for sure… Jace, the Wolf Rider’s wild card, the guy who’d rather throw a punch than talk it out.

My leather jacket creaks as I move, the club’s wolf skull patch heavy on my back. The weight of it reminds me who I am, what I’m built for.

But right now, all I’m thinking about is him.

The unsuspecting young man doesn’t look up as I slide into the booth across from him, but then I catch the slight tense of his shoulders.

---