Page 4 of Arch
“Get the hell out of here,” I say finally, stepping back, breaking the spell. “Before I change my mind.”
Keegan holds my gaze for a beat longer, then grabs his jacket from the floor, slings it over his shoulder, and saunters out like he owns the place.
The locals mutter, but no one follows.
They all know better.
I turn to Sal, who’s wiping down the bar like nothing happened.
“Keep an eye on him,” I say. “He’s trouble.”
Sal snorts.
“Pot, meet kettle,” Sal says, a knowing look on his face.
I don’t argue.
Sal’s not wrong.
I finish my whiskey, the burn doing nothing to cool the fire Keegan’s lit in me.
Outside, I hear the roar of a bike—not one of ours.
Keegan’s, maybe.
I picture him riding into the night, all wild energy and no direction, and something in me shifts. I’ve spent my life outsmarting traps, but Keegan? He’s a trap I might just walk into.
Outside in the cool night air, the Vipers’ threat lingers in my mind, but it’s Keegan’s smirk, his voice, that follows me onto my bike.
I gun the engine, the roar drowning out everything but the truth…
I’m not done with Keegan. Not by a long shot.
Chapter 2
Keegan
“Fuck. Fuck.Fuck,” I grumble, kicking the dirt beneath me.
The night air bites my face as I take one more kick at the ground and then straddle my bike outside The Ring, the gravel lot lit by the bar’s flickering neon sign.
“That asshole thinks he can push me around…” I growl. “He ain’t seen the last of me, that’s for damn sure.”
My knuckles sting from the fight, blood crusting where I split the skin, but the pain feels good—sharp, real, something to anchor the storm in my chest.
I wipe my lip, tasting copper, and replay that moment whenhestepped in… the so-called Wolf Rider. Arch. The silver fox with eyes like steel and a voice that could make the devil sit up straight.
Damn I wish I didn’t even know his name. I didn’t ask, or want to know. But I wasn’t about to swing at the old timer who gave me the details on the way out like he was trying to help me out.
I should be pissed.
This supposed Wolf Rider called meboy, like I’m some punk who needs saving.
But the way he loomed over me, all six-two of hard muscle and leather, his growl low and dangerous—“You’re in my town, Keegan”—it’s stuck in my head, looping like a bad song.
I hate how he thought he could boss me around, but fuck if I’m not drawn to it, tohim.
That danger, that power.
