Chapter 20

Chapter 20
Ashley
While Alyssa's off somewhere giving her men the verbal beatdown they've had coming, I slide up to the bar and ask Nina for a Marionberry Mule.
I've been trying to chill on the day drinking—especially after that wild night with Daisha—but my nerves are shot. It's not a great look, showing up to every crisis with a cocktail in hand. Still, the quiet's too damn loud, and I need something to take the edge off.
Gray still isn't back. No text. No call. No clue what the hell he's doing.
And I still don't know if I'm actually supposed to be moving into his place today... or if that "pack a bag" text was just his smooth-ass way of telling me I'm getting dicked down all weekend.
Either way, it's killing me—not hearing from him, not seeing him. Feels like I'm stuck halfway between waiting and wanting, and neither one feels good. 
"You good, sugar?" Nina asks, already reaching for another shaker before I've even finished the first.
I give her a slow look over the rim of my glass. "Do I look good?"
She grins, all teeth and mischief. "Didn't say you did. But if you wanna talk, that's what I'm here for."
I sigh and trace the rim of my glass with one finger, watching the condensation slide down like it's got somewhere better to be. "You ever feel like you're gettin' the short end of the stick bein' here? Like they just feed you bits and pieces of shit, never the full story—and still expect you to smile and be okay with it?"
Nina pauses mid-pour, her eyes flickering up to mine. "Oh, lord," she says, shaking her head with that knowing, older auntie smile. "That what Alyssa goin' off about upstairs?"
I huff out a laugh. "Mhmm. Gray told me something they didn't bother to tell her."
Something pretty fucking important.
She hums low, thoughtful, finishing the pour with practiced ease. "Aly's a stubborn woman, just like her mama was. Always tryin' to take on the world, stretchin' herself in every direction. If those boys kept somethin' from her—which I'm guessin' was what went down in church—it wasn't outta spite. They just don't want her worryin' herself sick and runnin' her little body into the ground."
I swirl the ice in my glass, watching it spin slow before clinking against the glass. "So you agree with them? Think keepin' shit a secret's just... necessary?"
Nina looks up with that calm, no-bullshit kind of gaze only women who've lived through hell can pull off. "Sugar, I don't agree or disagree. I just understand it. When you've almost lost the person you love, you'll do damn near anything to keep 'em safe. And sometimes..." She sighs, setting the shaker down, her bracelets clinking softly. "...sometimes they gotta protect Alyssa from herself. The girl don't hesitate to jump head-first into danger if she thinks it'll save someone."
Damn. She's not wrong.
I guess they weren't just being controlling assholes—maybe just scared ones.
I can't help but worry Gray's gonna do the same thing.
Like, yeah, I appreciate him actually keeping his word and communicating this morning, but I still feel left in the dark—like something could happen to him and I wouldn't know shit until it's too late.
How does Alyssa do this shit every single day—with not one, but three guys?
I can barely handle one emotionally stunted biker, and she's over there managing a whole damn trio like it's a full-time job with benefits and PTO.
Nina must catch the look on my face, because she slides the fresh drink my way and props her elbows on the bar. "You worried about him, huh?"
"How can I not be? He says the most cryptic-ass shit, then disappears like I'm supposed to sit here and piece together the rest of the story by myself."
"That's Gray for you," Nina says with a snort, shaking her head. "Man's got a whole dictionary of words he don't say out loud. Been that way since he was knee-high. Then he went and fell for that bimbo, and she messed him all the way up. I think he trusts you, though—you just gotta work with him on the rest."
I nod slow, taking a sip that burns all the way down.
She's right. He has made progress—yesterday proved that. We just gotta keep building from there. One conversation at a time. One wall down at a time. 
And maybe then, I'll start demanding to be more than just his arm candy at the clubhouse.
Sooner rather than later, though.
Because I meant what I told Alyssa—one day, I'm gonna be a bad bitch biker in my own right.
Nina suddenly looks past me, a teasing grin spreading across her face. "Well, look at that—I see she didn't kill y'all."
I turn in my seat just as Alyssa and her men walk into the room. She's leading the pack, her face softer than before she went upstairs—calm now, but still carrying that "don't-test-me" energy. The guys trail behind her, silent and intense, like she just handed out personalized ass-whoopings and they're still recovering.
They take a table across from the bar. King drops into a chair and immediately pulls Alyssa into his lap, one arm slung around her waist like he already hasn't claimed her in every way possible. Niko and Mason sit across from them, eyes flickering between her and the table like they're not quite sure if it's over. 
Nina snickers, already reaching for the shelf of glasses behind her. "Need some ice for your asses?" she calls, setting the glasses down on a tray and pouring whiskey in them. 
Niko leans back with a snort. "Nah. But Alyssa's gonna need some later."
"Niko!" Alyssa hisses, shooting him a glare that could curdle milk.
King just chuckles—low and rough—and presses a kiss to her jaw like he's daring her to argue. Mason shakes his head, fighting a smile, while Niko looks smug enough to deserve another round of punishment.
From my seat at the bar, I can't help but grin. Leave it to Alyssa's freaky-ass men to turn an argument into foreplay. 
Nina lets out a low chuckle beside me, shaking her head as she wipes down the counter. "Lord, give that woman strength," she mutters, watching the group like they're her favorite soap opera.
I take another sip of my drink, lips curving.
Looks like pretty eyes and big dicks won again.
I wonder how—but I know she'll tell me later.
Across the room, Alyssa's still trying to glare them into submission, but King whispers something in her ear that makes her roll her eyes and blush harder. Mason adds a quiet comment that earns him a sharp look, and Niko just lounges there, a smirk carved deep like the prince of chaos he is.
It's a whole scene—and weirdly enough, kinda wholesome. 
For all the noise, the attitude, and the rough edges, they work. Four people who shouldn't fit, yet somehow do.
Watching them, I feel that tug in my chest. 
That wanting. 
That need for something real.
As if he knew I was thinking about him, Gray walks in.
That same magnetic pull hits me the second he steps through the door—broad shoulders filling the frame, his sharp eyes sweeping the room like he owns every inch of it. 
Which, technically, he does.
His expression is hard, that unreadable mix of authority and exhaustion he wears like armor. The type that makes men shut up mid-sentence and women forget how to breathe. His hair's still mussed from his helmet, and there's that faint scent of motor oil and danger clinging to him like cologne. 
Then his eyes find me. 
My pulse spikes.
Before I can think twice, I'm off the stool, my shoes hitting the floor in quick strides. The moment I reach him, I'm in his arms—hands tangled at the back of his neck, lips crashing into his.
He catches me like I expected. Like he always does. One arm locked around my waist, the other firm at my back, holding me like something worth protecting.
The kiss is rough, hungry—relief and worry tangled up in one long breath. For a second, the noise of the clubhouse fades. It's just him. His taste, his warmth, the solid weight of him beneath my hands.
"Eww, get a room!" Alyssa hollers teasingly.
I flip off my best friend without breaking the kiss, earning a low chuckle from Gray that rumbles through his chest and straight into mine. When I finally pull back, my lipstick's smeared across his mouth like a mark—my mark.
He drags his tongue along his bottom lip, eyes dark, voice rough. "What are you doin' here, little minx?"
"Waiting for you, baby." My voice comes out softer than I meant it to. "You can't tell me you want me to stay at your place and not expect me to get a little excited."
He leans in again, brushing his mouth over mine—a ghost of a kiss, but it sends heat curling low in my stomach. "I wasn't playin'. I want you to move in with me. Today."
For a second, I just blink up at him, my brain short-circuiting.
Did this man really just say that?
"You serious?" My voice jumps a whole damn octave before I can reel it back. "Don't fuckin' play with me, Gray."
He doesn't even blink. Just gives me a slow, steady nod that makes my stomach flip. "Yeah. You're mine, Ashley. And I want you home."
Home. 
The word hits harder than I expect.
"B-But what about my lease?" I stammer, heat creeping up my neck. "I've still got another six months—"
"I'll handle it," he cuts in, calm as ever. "Your stuff'll be moved tomorrow."
My insides tighten. I know that kind of control should probably throw up red flags—but right now? That calm, take-charge president confidence is turning me the fuck on.
If he wants me to live with him, I'm all in. 
Hell, I've been ready.
But if he's serious about this—about us—then he better be ready for what comes with it.
Because I still plan to turn the ol' ladies into something bigger than Sunday bake-offs.
And I'm not about to sit pretty on the sidelines while he handles all the heavy shit.
He thinks he's finally claiming me, but the truth is, I claimed him the second he let me in.