Page 5 of Arch
The way his jaw clenched when I called himDaddy, half-joking, half-daring him to do something about it.
“Hey, you,” a voice snaps me out of it.
It’s one of the locals, a wiry guy with a trucker hat, leaning against a pickup a few feet away. He’s got that nervous look people get around trouble—like he’s half-expecting me to swing again.
“Name’s Keegan,” I say, sharper than I mean to. “What do you want?”
He glances at the bar, then back at me.
“Word of advice? Steer clear of Arch,” he says, a serious expression in his eyes. “And the Wolf Riders. They don’t play nice with outsiders. Especially not hotheads like you.”
I snort, firing up my bike.
The engine roars, a deep growl that vibrates through my bones.
“Thanks, pops, but I don’t scare easy,” I say. “Between you and the other old timer in the bar, I think I’ve had just about enough warnings about Arch and his little wolf posse.”
“Have it your way, asshole,” the older timer fires back, evidently unimpressed with my sass.
I flash a grin, the kind that says I’m more trouble than he wants, and peel out of the lot, leaving him—and everyone else—in a cloud of dust.
Willow Creek’s streets unroll under my tires, dark and quiet except for the occasional streetlight buzzing like a dying insect.
I gun the engine, weaving past sagging storefronts and boarded-up diners, the town’s decay a mirror to the mess inside me.
I’ve been back three days, and already I’m picking fights, stirring shit, trying to feel something other than this gnawing emptiness.
Why did I come back to this place?
I knew I should have headed West.
Or maybe even overseas. But it’s not like I had much of a choice…
Dishonorable discharge. The words burn like acid. Two years in the Army, thinking I’d found a place to belong, only to get kicked out for mouthing off to the wrong officer.
One punch, one bad call, and my life’s in the ditch.
Willow Creek’s got nothing for me—no family, no friends, just memories of being the kid who never fit.
Too loud, too wild, too much for anyone to handle.
I thought the military would tame me, give me purpose—hell, that’s what everyone else said it would do for me.
Instead, it spit me out. And now I’m twenty-two, aimless, with a chip on my shoulder the size of Texas and no clue what’s next.
“Fuck it,” I growl, dropping down a gear and flying around a corner way faster than I should, just for the hell of it.
The road stretches ahead, a long ribbon of asphalt cutting through the outskirts.
I open the throttle, the bike screaming as I push it harder, faster, like I can outrun the mess in my head.
But no matter how fast I go, I can’t shakehim.
Arch.
His face keeps flashing—those gray eyes, sharp as knives, the silver streaking his dark hair, the way his leather jacket hugged his broad shoulders.
He’s old enough to be my father probably, but nothing about him feels safe or soft. He’s danger wrapped in control, and I hate how much I want to test that control, see how far I can push before he snaps…
