Page 22 of Damascus & The Wildfire
When we pulled up to the clubhouse, the sun cast a sharp reflection across the chrome and polished paint on the bikes lined up outside. I helped Kenna off my Harley, my hand lingering on her elbow, steadying her as she found her footing. She was still a little shaky, and I wanted to make sure she was ready to face the group of concerned Mavericks waiting inside.
The clubhouse door creaked open as we stepped through. Linc, Reaper, and Merrick sat at the bar, their conversation halting as they turned to take us in.
“What do you want to drink?” I brushed her lower back, pressing her to the bar.
She sank onto a stool. “Tequila. On the rocks.”
I moved behind the bar, watching as Merrick’s eyes darkened at the sight of her scrapes and bruises. I filled a fresh bag of ice and pressed it to her bruised jaw before turning to pour a triple shot of tequila into a crystal glass.
“Linc got some video from a bodega,” Merrick offered softly. “We have his face. We’ll find him.”
Kenna gave him a rueful smile. “Hatchet says you’ll ‘take care of it.’” She used air quotes with a tight laugh.
“We will,” Merrick promised, his tone serious.
Kenna bit her lip. “I know I should be worried. But honestly? I’m not.” She let out a shaky laugh, half defiance, half confession. “It’s messed up, right? I keep telling myself that violence isn’t the answer, but I want him to be afraid. I want him to know what it’s like to feel powerless.”
“Atta, girl. That’s the Maverick spirit,” I said, pressing the drink into her hand.
She whispered a thank you and closed her eyes as she took a long sip. The overwhelming, simmering male protectiveness in the room seemed to settle her nerves. There wasn’t a safer place for her right now.
Merrick brushed a hand on her shoulder. “There isn’t a solid line between right and wrong. People like to pretend it’s a painted stripe down the middle of the highway. It’s not. The road’s full of potholes and detours. We do what we have to do to take care of our own, even if it means crossing the line.”
She swirled the tequila in her glass and took a long sip. Her lips quirked into a wry smile. “Guess I’m more like the Mavericks than I thought.”
That so-called line between right and wrong? It stopped meaning shit to me a long time ago. And when it came to protecting Kenna, there wasn’t a line I wouldn’t ignore, erase, or drag someone across.
The clubhouse door flew open as Eva rushed in. “Kenna,” she said with relief. “Reaper told me what happened. You should have called me. I would have left.”
Kenna shook her head. “It’s fine. Hatchet picked me up.”
Reaper wrapped an arm around Eva, kissing the top of her head before looking at Kenna. “We don’t want either of you downtown without one of us right now. Hell, I don’t want either of you going for a run out here without a prospect trailing you. The Jackals are becoming more violent by the day.”
Eva rolled her eyes before glancing at Kenna. “Lucky us. The Mavericks’ personal bodyguard service is a special experience.”
Kenna glanced between Merrick and me, realizing Reaper was completely serious.
“I have to take one of you with me every time I need to go downtown?”
“Until we get this taken care of, yes,” Merrick said as his eyes bore into hers. “They’re violent. A woman was killed yesterday in a carjacking. You could have been hurt much worse today. I won’t allow that to happen.”
“You realize I have meetings downtown almost every day? Shadowing us is going to be a full-time job. And I can’t have bikers sitting in. No offense.”
I wrapped an arm around her. “Don’t worry. We’ll stay outside. Just make sure you leave a window cracked for me.”
The room erupted in laughter, easing the tension for a moment. Kenna leaned into me, her body warm and solid against my side.
My eyes met Merrick’s, and I caught the subtle shift in his expression. His face was usually a mask of cool detachment, but now his lips pressed into a thin line and his dark eyes flickered with a simmering anger. He wasn’t just pissed. He was haunted by the sight of Kenna’s bruises, by the same helplessness I felt about not being there to stop it.
Merrick cared, maybe more than he’d ever admit. I knew him better than most. I’d ridden with him through hell and back. Sincelosing Rose, he’d locked away a part of himself—the part that let him care deeply about anyone outside the club. He’d buried his heart with her, and none of us had ever seen him come close to digging it up. His budding friendship with Kenna was the first flicker I’d seen in years of the Merrick I once knew.
Chapter Eight
Tension hummed in the clubhouse air as men trickled in for Church.
Reaper leaned forward. “Fuck me. I have a bad feeling that shit’s about to get real. I’m not sure these Jackals play by our outlaw rules.”
Through Linc’s sleuthing, we’d identified the gang member who’d attacked Kenna. His laptop sat open on the table with a grainy image of the man frozen on the screen. Young, cocky, and stupid enough to think he was untouchable.
