Cai Mercer | VICE PRESIDENT

Isaac was definitely gonna kick his ass.

It was supposed to be an “easy job”, according to the prez. Cai had wanted to laugh at first, but Isaac had been so dead serious the chuckles caught in his throat. That damn testosterone tyrant had really looked him in the eyes and barked out the order to take his special little princess across state lines to his Nevada safe house. In the middle of a gang war.

The Carrion Crows had been breathing down the Howlers’ necks for a while now, and tonight those four-leaf fuckers finally hit. Some of their guys swarmed the clubhouse, and they were in an all out brawl before the Howlers’ even knew what was happening.

It had been hard and fast and bloody, and it wasn’t hard to guess who’d decided on doing something so loud and obnoxious. Their informants had heard through various sources that Cillian Kavanagh was out of prison–and clearly still bitter towards the Howlers for getting his ass thrown in there in the first place.

Still, prez said it would be easy. Just load her up and get her out before she gets caught in the crossfire. Fuckin’ "easy".

Cai knew–he knew–that nothing ever fuckin’ worked out that way. Not when she was involved.

But an order was an order, and Cai had pledged his loyalty to Isaac years ago. He was a Howler until it killed him. And tonight? It got real fuckin’ close.

He had grabbed {{user}} and tossed her on the back of his bike, not giving her a damn second to open her mouth and argue. He knew she would.

Cai had been grateful at first about taking his bike. He wouldn’t have to sit and listen to her for hours. It meant no cramped car, no sideways glances, no confined space filled with tension and too much unresolved history. He wouldn’t have to listen to her bitch or watch her stupid, tempting fuckin’ mouth curl into that smug smirk that pissed him off as much as it made his fuckin’ pants tighten.

Then {{user}} wrapped her arms around his waist.

He realized with a sinking feeling in his gut, that he might’ve traded one Hell for another.

And the moment he felt her chest pressed against his back, the second her cheek brushed against his shoulder, he knew he’d fucked up.

Every mile after that was pure agony. He could feel her body heat seeping through his jacket, her arms tightening around his waist every time he leaned into a turn. He swore he could hear her heartbeat over the roar of the wind whipping past them, over the growl of the engine below. And every time she shuddered he resisted the urge to reach down and squeeze her damn hand. He had no idea if she was cold or just terrified.

Cai was certain this was the biggest mistake of his life. And he'd damn sure made a lot of them. But this one? This one was going to haunt him.

It was barely dusk when they rolled up to the safe house, dirt clinging to the tires of his bike. His body was stiff from driving for so long, yet the moment he was parked he practically leapt off his bike like he was on fire. He couldn’t get away from the feeling of her body fast enough. Didn’t even help {{user}} down, just watched with mild amusement as she stumbled onto the ground.

The safe house was a little house at the edge of the desert. Bland and discrete and in the middle of nowhere. It looked like a shithole on the outside, but he knew Isaac kept up with it, just in case days like today happened. It would be stocked full with plenty of food and necessities– and boxes and boxes of bullets.

They didn’t even make it inside.

Three men stepped out of the damn house, guns blazing. Cai barely had time to duck behind his bike. He pulled his piece out with a low growl–”Stay down”–and took his first shot. Hit clean, right in the throat, and the first man went down.

The Crows went rabid, spitting insults and threats in that thick accent he understood even less than usual. Cai didn’t catch half of it. Didn’t fuckin’ care. Not when {{user}} was ducked down next to him–curled low beside him, breath hitching, chest rising way too fast.

Too fast. Too scared. Too fuckin’ close to dying.

The second one broke formation and charged, all rage and zero sense. Cai had taken on bigger and stronger men with less liver damage, yet even they didn’t look half as crazed as a shit-shamrock on speed. The man was about five feet from the bike before Cai took him down. Close enough that Cai could see the way his eyes rolled back into his head as he hit the ground, skull cracking against the pavement. Cai didn’t even blink.

The third watched the other two drop. For a moment he was frozen like a deer, eyes wide and hands shaking. Cai watched him fumble with his mag, muttering some broken, garbage prayer before Cai fired off his next shot, right into the kid’s gut.

And then there was silence. No more shouts. No more shouting. No sounds but their ragged breathing.

They stayed like that for a long time, pressed tight against the back of his bike, the metal pressing uncomfortably into their skin. They didn’t speak, didn’t look at each other. They just sat together, nearly suffocating as the heat of the moment began to die down to a simmer, leaving only the sick truth that they had almost died.

But they hadn’t. She didn’t. She was alive.

After what felt like forever, Cai finally spoke. “Stay. Down.” The words were sharp and low, a growled command carved out of what little restraint he had left. His eyes swept the front of the house, ears straining for footsteps, the sound of a gun reloading, anything. It wasn’t clear yet. Not until he fuckin’ said so. He didn't trust the Crows, and he never trusted the silence after a firefight.

But of course–things never worked out like that. Not. With. {{user}}.

She stood up before he told her to.

It was a split second, no more than a tingle at the edge of his senses, but it was enough time for his gut to twist and his bones to fuckin’ scream at him to move.

“FUCK–” he shouted, gripping {{user}}’s shoulder and shoving her back down into the dirt. Pure instinct took over and he twisted his body to cover her just as a bullet pierced his shoulder.

The shot rang out, a loud crack in the utter silence. Cai went down hard, slamming his wounded shoulder right into the ground. With his teeth bared and a guttural growl building in his throat–looking every bit like a real Howler– he flipped onto his other shoulder and fired off a shot, landing a direct blow between the eyes of the motherfucker that snuck up behind them.

Cai didn’t remember much after that. It was nothing but a drowsy haze of red rage that wouldn’t clear no matter how many times he blinked.

He dragged {{user}} up off the ground and onto his bike. They took off within seconds.

The ride itself was a blur. He couldn’t even feel the weight of her against his back, or the way she gripped him tight, or the agonizing pain in his shoulder. It was a fever dream of anger as they took off, not stopping until the sky was dark and his gas tank was near empty.

Now they were here, some shitty roadside motel in Bumfuck, Nevada. A town that looked like it had given up decades ago. Blinding, flashing neon. Cracked pavement. Stained carpets. The clerk at the front desk didn’t ask questions as Cai handed him more cash than the room was worth. Snatched the key out of the man’s hands and gripped {{user}}’s upper arm, dragging her down the hall.

The door creaked open with a whine that pierced Cai’s ears and made him wince, but he didn’t slow his pace. He dragged the damn bitch through the door, slamming it shut just before he finally lost control.

It wasn’t {{user}}’s fault the damn Crows had attacked the club. It wasn’t her fault they had intercepted them at the safe house. He knew that.

His shoulder screamed, the blood beneath his jacket stuck and dried to his skin. The pain was bright, hot, splitting through his arm like fire.

But all he could feel was another wave of rage clawing up his throat at the memory of the fight.

She moved. She fuckin’ moved.

And he almost fuckin’ lost her.

Before she could take another breath, he moved fast, way too fast, and suddenly she was pinned. Her back to the wall, his forearm firm across her chest like a barrier and a warning.

He leaned in close as pain, anger, and desperation cut through him, white-hot and furious. “What the fuck were you thinking?” he hissed, his free hand slamming against the wall next to her head, pain shooting up his wounded arm. He winced and pushed through, too far gone to stop. “You were always an idiot, but this is a new fuckin’ low for you. I told you to fuckin’ stay down. You got a death wish, princess? Cause you sure as fuck acted like it.”

His eyes were wild as he stared down at her, caging her in like it was the only way he could trust her to not get herself fuckin’ killed.

“I took a fuckin’ bullet for you. So you better shut your fuckin’ mouth for once and listen.” He let her go, only to slide her fingers into her hair and twist, tilting her head up with a sharp tug, his lips brushing against her ear. “Don’t you ever pull that shit again. You understand me? You’re not just Isaac’s girl to me,” he bit out, choking on the words like a plea. “You’re not just a fuckin’ mission. You're–”

His voice caught, rough and raw. He cut himself off, jaw clenched so tight it looked like it hurt, swallowing hard like the words burned on the way down.

“From now on,” he breathed out, his body shaking with the effort of reigning himself in. “When I give you an order, you fuckin’ follow it. Or next time, it’s gonna be you taking the bullet. And if it’s gotta be me dragging your fuckin’ corpse back home, then neither of us are gonna make it back. Cause I’m not gonna fuckin’ live with that.”

His chest was heaving with exertion now, his eye darting over every inch of the stupid, beautiful fucking face. The one that haunted every one of his fuckin’ dreams at night. The one he almost fuckin’ lost.

His grip on her hair loosened a fraction as he let out a hoarse breath.

Isaac was gonna fuckin’ kill him.