Chapter 3: Ghosts Don't Knock

EMILIA POV

The ride to Desert Ridge took six hours, and every mile felt like traveling backward through time.

I'd forgotten what it felt like to be pressed against Axel's back, my arms wrapped around his waist, feeling every breath he took. The motorcycle thrummed between my thighs, powerful and dangerous, just like the man controlling it.

We stopped twice for gas and food, barely speaking except for necessity. But I caught him watching me when he thought I wasn't looking, his green eyes unreadable behind dark sunglasses.

"You still eat like a bird," Axel observed at our second stop, nodding toward my half, finished sandwich.

"You still eat like you're feeding an army," I shot back, watching him demolish a burger and fries.

The corner of his mouth quirked up. "Some things don't change."

But everything had changed. The easy familiarity we'd once shared was gone, replaced by tension thick. Every accidental touch sent sparks through me, but Axel remained frustratingly controlled.

As we got closer to Desert Ridge, the landscape became more familiar. Desert stretched endlessly on both sides of the highway, broken by rock formations and scrub brush. Mountains rose in the distance, purple, blue against the cloudless sky.

Home. The word hit me with unexpected force. I'd spent years telling myself I didn't miss this place, but seeing it again stirred something deep in my chest.

"Still beautiful," I murmured, forgetting Axel could hear me over the engine noise.

His hand briefly covered mine where it rested on his thigh. "Yeah. It is."

I wasn't sure he was talking about the landscape.

We rolled into Desert Ridge as the sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. The town looked smaller than I remembered, more run, down. Boarded, up businesses lined Main Street, and the few people walking the sidewalks looked tired and worn.

But the Iron Serpents clubhouse looked exactly the same.

Axel pulled into the parking lot, and I climbed off the bike on unsteady legs. Hours on a motorcycle had left me stiff and sore, but that wasn't why my hands were shaking.

The clubhouse squatted like a concrete fortress, all black walls and barred windows. Motorcycles lined the front, gleaming in the fading light. Music and laughter drifted from inside, along with the smell of cigarettes and beer.

"Marco's waiting," Axel said, removing his helmet.

I pulled off my own helmet, finger, combing my windblown hair. "How do I look?"

Axel studied my face for a long moment. "Like Vincent Romano's daughter."

I wasn't sure if that was a compliment or not.

The front door opened, and Marco stepped out. My brother looked older with new lines around his eyes and gray threading through his dark hair. The weight of leadership sat heavy on his shoulders.

"Em." Marco's face softened as he approached. "Christ, look at you."

He pulled me into a crushing hug, and for the first time since getting the call, I let myself cry. Marco smelled like home, and I clung to him like a lifeline.

"I'm so sorry," I sobbed into his shoulder. "I should have been here. I should have called more, visited more."

"Hey." Marco pulled back, gripping my shoulders. "None of that matters. You're here now, and that's what matters."

I wiped my eyes, aware that half the clubhouse was probably watching through the windows. "How are you holding up?"

"One day at a time," Marco said honestly. "Come on. Let's get you inside. Mama C's been cooking all day."

The clubhouse interior hit me like a punch to the gut. Everything was exactly as I'd left it: the scarred wooden bar, the pool tables, the Iron Serpents banners hanging from the rafters. Even the smell was the same: cigarettes and beer.

But it was quieter than usual. Conversations stopped as I walked in, and I felt the weight of a dozen pairs of eyes.

"Everyone, you remember Em," Marco announced to the room. "Vincent's daughter."

A chorus of greetings rose from the assembled bikers, most of whom I recognized despite the years. They looked at me with a mixture of curiosity and respect. I was Marco's sister, Vincent's daughter, MC royalty whether I wanted to be or not.

"Emmy!" Carmen emerged from behind the bar, all soft curves and maternal warmth. Mama C had been the clubhouse's unofficial mother figure for as long as I could remember, and seeing her face crumple with grief made my eyes fill again.

"Mama C." I hugged her tightly, breathing in her familiar scent of vanilla and cigarettes. "I'm so sorry."

"Your papa, he was so proud of you," Carmen said, stroking my hair. "Always bragging about his smart daughter in the big city."

The guilt hit me. "I should have called him more."

"He understood, mija," Carmen said gently. "He knew you needed to find your own way."

"But I never got to" I started.

"He knew you loved him," Carmen interrupted firmly. "That's what mattered."

Marco appeared at my elbow. "Are you hungry? Carmen made your favorite."

My stomach growled in response. I hadn't eaten a real meal since yesterday, and the stress was catching up with me.

Carmen bustled me to a corner table and returned with a plate piled high with enchiladas, rice, and beans. Comfort food that tasted exactly like childhood.

"Eat," Carmen ordered. "You're too skinny."

I was halfway through my plate when the front door opened again. A young man walked in, tall and lean with sandy hair and an easy smile. He was handsome in a clean, cut way, wearing jeans and a Iron Serpents t, shirt that showed off muscled arms.

"That's Jax," Marco said, following my gaze. "New prospect. He is  eager to prove himself."

As if he'd heard his name, Jax looked over and caught sight of me. His smile widened as he approached our table.

"You must be Em," Jax said, extending his hand. "I'm Jax Martinez. Your brother's told me a lot about you."

"All good things, I hope," I said, shaking his hand.

"Definitely." Jax's grip lingered a moment longer than necessary. "I'm real sorry about your dad. He was a good man."

"Thank you." I appreciated that he didn't offer empty platitudes about Vincent being "in a better place" or other meaningless comfort.

"Maybe later you'd like to take a ride?" Jax suggested. "I could show you what's changed around town while you were gone."

Marco's face darkened slightly. "Jax"

"I'd like that," I said, surprising myself.

Jax was safe. Normal, by MC standards. The kind of man I should be attracted to, not the dangerous ghost from my past who was currently glowering at us from across the room.

"Great." Jax grinned. "How about tomorrow afternoon?"

"It's a date," I agreed.

The words had barely left my mouth when a beer bottle exploded against the wall behind Jax's head.

Everyone in the clubhouse went silent. Jax spun around, and I followed his gaze to see Axel standing by the bar, his face a mask of controlled rage.

"Is there a problem, Ghost?" Marco asked quietly, using Axel's road name.

"No problem," Axel said, his voice deadly calm. "Just clumsy."

But his eyes were locked on Jax with unmistakable threat.

Jax, to his credit, didn't back down. "Are you sure about that?"

Axel moved away from the bar. "Real sure."

The tension in the room ratcheted up several notches. Other club members began shifting, hands moving toward weapons.

"Enough," Marco said sharply. "Both of you stand down."

Axel looked at Marco for a long moment, then at me. Something hot and possessive flared in his eyes before he turned and walked out the back door.

"What the hell was that about?" Jax muttered.

I stood up abruptly. "I need some air."

I followed the path Axel had taken, through the back door and into the small courtyard behind the clubhouse. He was standing in the shadows, smoking a cigarette with sharp, angry movements.

"What is wrong with you?" I demanded.

Axel took a long drag of his cigarette. "Nothing."

"You just threw a bottle at an innocent man's head."

"Missed on purpose," Axel said calmly.

"That's not the point." I moved closer, anger overriding my common sense. "You can't just"

"Can't just what?" Axel flicked his cigarette away and turned to face me fully. "Watch you flirt with some pretty boy prospect?"

"I wasn't flirting," I protested, even though I had been.

Axel stepped closer, backing me against the brick wall. "You said it was a date."

"So what if it was?" I lifted my chin defiantly. "It's been six years, Axel. Six years since you walked away without a word. I'm not sixteen anymore, and I'm not yours."

Something dark and dangerous flashed in Axel's eyes. "You sure about that, princess?"

His hands braced against the wall on either side of my head, caging me in. The scent of leather and cigarettes and something uniquely him surrounded me, making my head spin.

"Yes," I whispered, but it sounded like a lie even to my own ears.

"Prove it," Axel said softly.

His face was inches from mine, his body radiating heat and barely contained violence. One of his hands moved to cup my cheek, thumb tracing my lower lip with devastating gentleness.

"Axel," I breathed.

"Tell me you don't feel anything," he murmured. "Tell me six years erased what was between us."