Iron

By: Amy Isan

Ruin Outlaws MC, Volume 3


CHAPTER 1 — LOGAN


Shit. I can’t believe that fucking just went down. I brace my teeth hard against the biting wind and swerve between lanes, passing honking sedans and SUVs. Speeding will only get the attention of the cops, but I gotta get Cassie off this hog and into my house. She hasn’t spoken a word, damn near hasn’t twitched a muscle, since wrapping her arms around my waist. I really wish she didn’t have to see that, but what else could I have done? Rattlesnake was going to fuck everything up. Not only that, but... do something worse to her.

Fucking hell.

“Logan,” Cassie’s voice is like a whisper over the wind in my ear. I perk up and glance over my shoulder, still keeping a firm grip on the handlebars and I try and keep my eyes on the road, but it’s hard. Streetlights pass over us and create a strobe-like effect, but each time one passes over her face, it looks more and more pale.

“Yeah?”

“Where are we going?”

“My place,” I reply. “It’ll be safe there.”

“Okay.” Her voice is faint and it crushes my heart. I hate feeling like this.

. . .

I reach the east end where my apartment is located. I don’t see any tale-tell light beams that’d be attached to motorcycles lurking in the shadows, and as far as I know, no one knows what happened back at Cassie’s yet. Good. Maybe Rattlesnake was working alone?

I shut off the bike and hop off, before grabbing Cassie and picking her up. She’s light, and feeling her weight reminds me of when she caught me in her bedroom. Then when I pushed her against the wall and her breathy moans filled my ears. Her eyes are closed, and a pained expression is stretched across her face. What have I gotten her into?

Unlocking the door takes some finesse, with her in my arms, but I manage. I hurry to the couch and set her down. After making sure she isn’t going to tumble off, I race back out to the bike and grab the saddlebags. I scan the neighborhood one last time for any suspicious signs that I’m being watched, and hurry back inside. The sun peeks over the horizon, and it feels like the nights are getting shorter every day. Especially recently with all the bullshit going on.

She’s asleep, and I’m relieved beyond imagination. I quietly set the saddlebags down on the counter and pull a beer out of the fridge, being careful to not break the seal too loudly. I swallow the entire bottle as quickly as possible. I dump it in the trash and wipe my face. My stubble is getting longer.

I need Surge.

I watch Cassie’s sleeping face while I try to think of a way out of this mess.

I need his advice. I know the boys told me to keep him out of it, especially Tank, but I can’t abide by that.

I pull another beer out and swig it.

He’s the oldest, and I’m sure this kind of shit went down all the time without me knowing about it. It had to. Shit, if this is the first time he’s dealt with this, then I’m really fucked.

Then I’ll just have to worry about her. I can’t believe I’m even considering it, throwing my life on the line for this woman. A woman I barely know. Someone I can barely trust. Her chest moves gently and she rolls to face the back of the couch. My breath catches in my throat. A woman who literally takes my breath away.

Shit.

I drop the beer bottle in the trash can and it clinks against the last. She doesn’t move. I pull another blanket out of my closet and climb onto the floor. A weak couch cushion should do the trick. I steal it from the spare chair, and plant my head on it. Sleep won’t come easily.

But it will come eventually.

. . .

The afternoon heat wakes me in a sweat. I turn over on my side, confused why I’m on the floor, until I notice Cassie up on the couch. Right. I stand and let the blanket that was barely covering my skin crumple to the floor, and I get dressed. She’ll be fine here. If we were going to be jumped, it would have already happened.

I set the revolver that I hid in her duffel bag on the coffee table. She looks stressed, with pained lines creased on her forehead. I wish she didn’t see what I had to do to protect her.

With that lingering thought on my mind, I turn away and move toward the front window. I slide my finger between the slats to see if anyone is watching. The coast looks clear, nothing but a bunch of punks running around with a soccer ball. With one last wistful glance over my shoulder to Cassie, I wrench open my front door and head out to the curb, where my bike is parked.

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