Page 22 of Arch
“You mean a triple date,” Jace laughs. “Don’t leave us out.”
I manage a wry smile, the weight on my chest easing just a fraction.
“Thanks,” I say, meaning it.
Clay and Jace have my back, always have, and they see what I won’t admit… Keegan’s not just a prospect, he’s mine, or he could be, if I don’t fuck this up.
I grab my jacket and head out, the clubhouse noise fading behind me as I swing onto my Harley…
I know where to find the boy.
The Ring’s too obvious, too close to the clubhouse where he’d have to face me. There’s another spot, a dive bar on the edge of Willow Creek called Rusty’s, where the locals don’t ask questions and the whiskey’s cheaper than water.
I gun the engine, the roar drowning out my doubts, and ride through the dark streets, the neon signs flickering like ghosts.
The bar is a dump, the kind of place where the floor sticks and the jukebox skips.
I spot Keegan the second I walk in, slouched at the bar, a half-empty bottle of Jack in front of him.
He’s a little tipsy, his dark hair falling into his face, his green eyes glassy but still burning with that defiant spark.
A couple of locals are eyeing him, probably thinking they can take advantage, but one look at my Wolf Rider patch and they back off.
“Keegan,” I say, my voice low, cutting through the bar’s haze.
The boy looks up, his smirk sloppy but sharp.
“Well, look who it is,” Keegan sasses, raising his glass. “Daddy’s here to save the day again.”
“You’re done,” I say, grabbing the bottle and shoving it at the bartender. “Get up. We’re leaving.”
Keegan laughs, sharp and bitter.
“What, you gonna drag me out?” Keegan mocks. “I’m not your fucking boy, Arch. I don’t take orders.”
I lean in, close enough to smell the whiskey on his breath, and grab his arm, hauling him off the stool.
“You’re coming with me, boy, whether you like it or not,” I growl.
He stumbles, but I’m strong enough to hold his weight. I drag him outside, the gravel crunching under our boots, and shove him toward my bike.
“Get on, or I’ll tie you to the damn thing,” I bark.
Keegan glares, but there’s a flicker of something else—want, maybe, or just exhaustion.
He swings onto the bike, his hands tight on my waist, and I ride us to my place, a small house on the outskirts, away from the clubhouse’s chaos.
It’s not much, but it’s mine, and it’s private enough for what’s coming…
Inside, I push him against the wall, my patience gone.
“What the hell’s your problem, Keegan?” I growl, my hands on his shoulders, pinning him. “You saved the shipment, yeah, but you ran off like a kid throwing a tantrum. You got spanked. The men saw. Happens all the time. And you know what, I think you liked it too. So… you think you can handle the Wolf Riders? Handle me? Then stop acting like a brat.”
His eyes blaze, the drunken haze burning off under his anger.
“Maybe I don’t want to handle you,” Keegan spits, shoving at my chest. “You think you can spank me, order me around, and I’ll just fall in line? I’m not Dylan or Caleb. I don’tdosubmission.”
“You did last night,” I say, my voice low, dangerous, stepping closer until our chests brush. “You counted every strike, called me Daddy, and you fucking loved it. Don’t lie to me, boy.”
