Chapter: 4 A New Family

Morning sunlight filtered through the thin curtains, pale and unforgiving. Emily lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Sleep hadn’t come — only flashes of panic, the memory of her breath collapsing in her chest, the way Rhett’s eyes had anchored her back.

But now, Rhett was gone. His chair at the bar empty. His Harley missing from the lot.

Maybe she was too broken. Maybe even Rhett Maddox couldn’t carry pieces this jagged.

The thought hollowed her out.

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By midday, the clubhouse was alive with noise — pool balls cracking, laughter spilling from the bar, boots scuffing the floor. Emily kept her head down, moving through the hall like a ghost herself.

That was when the prospect stepped in her way.

He was young, sweat plastering his shirt, his cut stitched with the word PROSPECT where a patch should have been. His grin was loose, careless, the kind that made Emily’s stomach knot.

“Didn’t know Grim was letting strays hang around,” he said, voice low. “Guess you’re just here to keep somebody company, huh?”

Emily’s throat tightened. “No. I’m not—”

He smirked, leaning closer, his breath sour with beer. “Doesn’t matter. You’re here. I’m here. We could blow off some steam. Nobody’ll care.”

Her chest seized. “I said no.”

He brushed her arm, too casual, too familiar. “Don’t play shy, sweetheart. Girls don’t hang around unless they’re looking for it.”

Terror locked her in place, her pulse breaking into a sprint.

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Then the air shifted.

The scrape of a chair. Silence fell like a blade.

Ghost.

He was already moving, pale eyes locked on the boy. His voice carried across the room, gravel and steel. “What did you just say to her?”

The prospect faltered. “I—I didn’t mean nothing, I was just—”

Ghost’s fist slammed into his jaw before he could finish. The boy hit the floor hard, teeth scattering across the boards. Gasps rippled through the room.

Ghost yanked him up by the front of his cut, dragging him upright. “You think she’s here for you? You think any woman under this roof is yours to touch?”

Blood poured from the boy’s mouth as he stammered, “I—just—”

The second punch shattered his nose.

“You don’t touch family.” Ghost’s voice rose, sharp as a knife. “Not with words, not with hands, not ever.”

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The prospect sagged in Ghost’s grip, blood staining his shirt. Ghost’s pale eyes burned as he hooked his fingers into the back of the cut, ripping at the stitching.

The sound of tearing leather cut through the silence.

Gasps. Then dead quiet.

Ghost stripped the cut from the boy’s shoulders and threw it to the floor at Emily’s feet. He glared down at the broken prospect. “You don’t deserve this. You never will. You’re done.”

The boy’s eyes widened, horror breaking through the pain. “Wait, I—”

Ghost’s boot drove into his chest, sending him sprawling across the floorboards.

“You’re lucky it was me,” Ghost growled, looming over him. “Because if Rhett had seen you put a hand on her, you’d already be in the ground. So get up. Get out. And don’t ever come back.”

The boy scrambled to his feet, blood dripping, eyes wild. He stumbled toward the door, clutching at his ribs. No one moved to stop him. No one spoke.

Because when the Reaper claimed someone, it was final.

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Emily stood pressed against the wall, shaking, her wide eyes fixed on the torn cut at her feet. Ghost turned, his pale stare softening as it met hers.

“You’re safe here,” he said quietly, gravel deep but steady. “Don’t ever doubt it.”

Her throat closed, but she nodded faintly, tears burning at the corners of her eyes.

Ghost bent, scooped up the shredded leather, and tossed it into the fire burning in the corner barrel. The flames caught fast, swallowing it whole.

Emily’s chest tightened as she watched the leather curl and blacken.

Rhett hadn’t been here this time.

But the Reaper had.

The clubhouse was quieter after Ghost’s wrath. The prospect was gone, his cut turned to ash in the barrel, but the echo of violence lingered in the air. Emily sat in the back corner, knees tucked to her chest, her eyes fixed on the floorboards.

She hadn’t moved since it happened.

She could still see it — Ghost’s pale eyes, steady and unflinching as he tore the cut away. The crack of bone when his fist connected. The way the room had gone silent, all those hardened men watching but not daring to interfere.

And the words that haunted her most: If Rhett had seen you put a hand on her, you’d already be in the ground.

A shiver rippled through her. She believed it. Every word.

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When Cherry finally pressed a mug of coffee into her hands, Emily barely remembered to murmur thanks. She sipped slowly, the bitter taste grounding her. Around her, the men went back to their rhythm — pool games, low conversations, the scrape of boots. But their eyes cut toward her, softer than before, and none of them came too close.

It wasn’t pity. It was respect.

For the first time, she wondered if she wasn’t just surviving here. If maybe — just maybe — she belonged.

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Her mind drifted, unwillingly, back to the life she’d run from.

A dark hallway. Heavy footsteps on wood floors. The smell of beer on someone’s breath. Fingers digging too hard into her arm.

Her chest tightened, coffee sloshing in the mug as her hand shook. She forced herself to set it down before she spilled it.

Don’t think about it. Don’t let it in.

But the images kept bleeding through, sharp and fast, like shards of broken glass:

* A lock clicking on the outside of a door.

* The muffled sound of her own voice begging.

* Laughter, low and cruel, in the next room.

Emily pressed her palms hard against her eyes until the pressure blotted it out.

She wasn’t ready. Not yet.

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“Too loud in there?”

She dropped her hands, startled. Ghost had appeared at her side, silent as always, moving like smoke. He didn’t sit, didn’t hover. Just leaned against the wall a few feet away, arms folded.

Emily shook her head quickly. “I’m fine.”

Ghost raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You keep saying that.”

She hugged her knees tighter, looking anywhere but at him. “Why did you… do that? To the prospect?”

His voice came low, steady. “Because the rules don’t change. Not for anyone. You’re under this roof, you’re family. And nobody hurts family.”

Emily’s throat tightened. “But I’m not… I don’t…”

Ghost’s pale eyes locked on hers, sharp and sure. “Doesn’t matter what you think you are. What matters is what he sees.”

She swallowed. “Rhett?”

Ghost gave the faintest nod. “Boy’s half-wild, but I’ve never seen him fight for something the way he fights for you. And I’ve been around long enough to know what that means.”

Her chest ached, hot and sharp. She wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe Rhett’s distance wasn’t rejection — just something else. But the doubt dug in too deep.

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That night, alone in her room, Emily sat by the window. The row of Harleys gleamed under the moonlight, lined up like silent guardians. Somewhere out there, Rhett’s bike was missing, his seat empty.

She rested her forehead against the glass, her breath fogging the pane.

Ghost’s words echoed in her head, but so did the laughter from her past. The memory of being trapped, powerless, unwanted.

And between those two truths, she felt herself split — fractured like a mirror, caught between the life she had run from and the one that was trying to claim her.

For the first time, though, she realized one thing clearly.

The Vipers weren’t chaos. They weren’t danger. They were protection.

And Rhett Maddox, whether he was here or not, was the only person who had ever looked at her like she was worth saving.