Page 12 of Raggedy Dan
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The bikers’ compoundloomed at the end of the long dirt road like a fortress carved out of the dark forest.It was low-slung cinderblock walls with heavy wooden gates reinforced with steel and bright floodlights casting harsh shadows across rows of gleaming bikes.Riley’s bike growled to an idle beside Dan’s as the gates rolled open without anyone needing to wave them in.Someone had been watching.
They rode inside and parked where he pointed next to him.She killed the engine and sat there a second, goggles still on, letting the cool air sting her cheeks.She wished her arm was loosely wrapped around Dan like it’d been the last ten miles of highway.She hadn’t wanted to let go right away when the turnoff appeared.Hadn’t wanted to.
She told herself it was for balance.
I’m a shitty liar too.
Dan swung his leg off first, boots hitting the gravel with a crunch.He turned, offered her a hand, a gallant, big, scarred hand, the fresh gauze white against his knuckles.She took it, letting him steady her as she dismounted.Her legs felt rubbery from the ride, adrenaline fizzing in her veins like she’d been guzzling cheap champagne.
The gate clanged shut on the perimeter fence while voices drifted out from inside.She heard some quiet laughter, the clink of bottles, and the low thrum of music someone had turned down when the bikes rolled in.No one rushed out to greet them because they were expected or recognized.Or both.
Riley pulled her goggles off and shook out her hair.She glanced at Dan.The bandana was up, covering the lower half of his face, but his eyes were on her.They gazed at her steadily, searching, like he was waiting for her to change her mind and demand to be taken somewhere else.Anywhere else.
She didn’t.
“Welcome to the lion’s den,” he rasped, voice rougher in the cold.
“Looks more like a wolf pack’s house,” she said, tipping her chin towards the bikes.“You sure they don’t bite?”
“Only if you ask nice.”
A surprised laugh slipped out of her, sharp and real, cutting through the tension in her chest.She liked the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when she laughed.Like he was surprised every time she did it.
She adjusted the go-bag strap on her shoulder and followed him towards the main door.The air smelled of pine smoke, motor oil, and something faintly like cinnamon—as if someone inside was baking, which felt absurdly domestic for a place that was built to withstand sieges.
Inside, the common room was warm, dimly lit, and heavy with the scents of leather and whiskey.A couple of brothers looked up from the pool table, nodded at Dan, then let their eyes linger on her a beat longer.Not hostile.Curious.Assessing.She met every gaze straight on, chin up, the way she’d first learned in county lockup.The goal was always not to look small, don’t look scared, and never look away first.
One of the men in the room, a tall guy with black hair, a beard, and a president patch, stood from a barstool.Tinder.She recognized him from the shop earlier.
“Riley Monroe,” he said, voice deep and easy.“Welcome.You’re safe under our roof.”
She gave a small nod.“Appreciate it.Didn’t exactly plan on spending the night crashing with an MC, but here we are.”
Tinder’s mouth twitched.“Life’s got a way of rerouting you.Dan’ll show you to a room.Clean sheets, private bath.No one’ll trouble you unless you want.”
She glanced sideways at Dan.He was moving, cutting through the room like he knew every inch of it blindfolded.
“Lead the way, Raggedy Dan.”
He didn’t say anything, simply jerked his head towards the hallway.She followed, aware of eyes tracking them until they disappeared down the corridor.
The room was simple, filled with a queen bed covered by a dark quilt, and a single window with a view of the forest with bars disguised as decorative ironwork.No frills.No bullshit.Functional.Safe.
She liked it.
Dan stepped inside after her and closed the door quietly.The lock clicked, shutting out the world.
He tugged the bandana down, slow, like he was giving her time to brace.The scars were even more brutal under the soft overhead light—twisted burns, mismatched grafts, the permanent snarl on the left side of his mouth.But she’d already seen it all tonight.Already touched it.
He cleared his throat.“You good?”
She dropped the go-bag on the floor and turned to face him fully.“Ask me again in the morning.”
A long beat of silence stretched between them.
Then she stepped closer.She was near enough to feel the heat rolling off him, close enough to smell leather and wind and the faint trace of her own whiskey on his breath from earlier.
