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The room feels like it’s closing in, the air dense with tension. “He called her a biker slut,” I say, each word deliberate and heavy.
Zane’s eyes darken, his knuckles whitening as he grips the edge of the desk.
I can see the rage simmering just beneath the surface, ready to explode.
But, I need to give him the whole picture. “And it wasn’t just that,” I add, my voice steady. “Seems like they had something going on. They went on a couple of dates or whatever.”
“Dates?” Zane’s eyebrow arches, his expression shifting from anger to confusion mixed with a hint of betrayal.
He’s protective of Jordyn—always has been—and hearing this isn’t sitting well with him.
“Yeah,” I nod, meeting his gaze head-on. “Blake thought he had some claim on her. When she shut him down, he got nasty. That’s when I stepped in.”
The room falls silent, the weight of my words hanging in the air.
Ripper shifts uncomfortably behind me, and Blackjack’s eyes flicker with concern. But it’s Zane I’m focused on.
His face is a mask of controlled fury, but I can see the gears turning in his mind, calculating the next move.
“Dates,” he mutters, more to himself than anyone else. His fingers drum a slow beat on the desk, a sign he’s deep in thought. “And she didn't tell me a damn thing.”
“I doubt she knew exactly who he was. Hell, I didn’t even know.” I offer, though I know it’s a weak excuse.
Zane’s eyes drift up to meet mine with pure and utter fury. “I wasn’t fuckin’ talkin’ about that. I’m talkin’ about a man bein’ a real piece of work with her.”
Jordyn’s independent, so I’m not surprised she didn’t run and tell Zane. Hell, I probably wouldn’t have known about it unless I was there to witness the damn thing.
Zane snaps, his eyes locking onto mine. “I’m pissed.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t stand there and do nothin’ when he said that shit,” I say, my voice hardening. “I interjected the second he crossed the line. Beat the shit outta Blake when he got too mouthy.”
Zane’s eyes narrow, but there’s a flicker of approval in them.
It’s fleeting, but it’s there.
He leans back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest like he’s weighing every word.
“Good,” Zane grunts finally, nodding slowly. “Guy had it coming.”
“You’re damn right he did,” Blackjack chimes in, clapping a hand on my shoulder. The weight of it is solid, reassuring. “Thanks for sticking up for her, Bama. Means a lot.”
“Wasn’t a big deal,” I shrug, though the adrenaline still courses through me at the memory—Blake’s sneer, the crack of my knuckles against his jaw. The satisfaction of watching him crumble. “Just did what needed to be done.”
“Still,” Blackjack presses, his grip tightening briefly before letting go. “It shows character. Loyalty.”
“Yeah, well,” I mutter, glancing down at my worn boots. “It’s what we do, right?”
“Right,” Zane echoes, though his tone suggests he’s thinking far beyond just this incident. His gaze lingers on me, calculating, almost as if he’s re-evaluating everything he thought he knew. “We protect our own.”
“Damn straight,” I agree, meeting his eyes again.
The room feels charged, like we’re standing on the edge of something bigger than any of us can see.
“Thank you both for lettin’ me know,” Zane says, breaking the silence. “I want you both to keep your guard up. The fact she was with an Ojai is a complication in itself. It doesn’t help we’re having issues with his grandfather, The Commander. Things are only gonna get rough from here.”
“Understood,” I reply, feeling the weight of his words settle around me like a second skin.
“Good,” Blackjack adds, his voice low but firm. “And good job stickin’ up for her.”
