Page 2 of Gunner

He held her keys out to her. “Drop somethin’, sweetheart?”

Her breath hitched slightly at the deep, gravelly timbre of his voice.

She swallowed hard, taking a half-step back, trying to ignore the way her stomach twisted—not with fear, but something else.

The leather jacket bore a patch. Another biker. Definitely not a guy she wanted to mess with. But damn, was he attractive in a way that had no right to affect her. And for some strange reason, she didn’t feel unsafe around him compared to the other men in the roadhouse.

She hesitated before reaching out to take her keys. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He smirked slightly. “Gunner. Iron Sentinels.”

She cleared her throat. “Dawn.”

“Dawn,” he repeated, like he was tasting the name. He swept his gaze over her, not in a crude way, but in a way that made her feel ... seen. “You havin’ a bad night, or just pissed off in general?”

She exhaled sharply, pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Bad night.”

His smirk deepened. “Could’ve guessed that. You looked like you wanted to punch someone when you walked outta there.”

She huffed a small, exasperated laugh. “Maybe.”

He cocked his head slightly, studying her. “How about a drink? Might help take the edge off.”

She blinked. “What?”

“A drink.” His voice was casual, but there was something deeper beneath it—an invitation, a challenge. “I’ll buy.”

Her instincts warred inside her. Everything about Gunner screamed danger—his size, his ink, the MC patch on his jacket. She’d always been drawn to older men, stronger men, men who exuded confidence. But none of them had ever treated her well. They had used her, broken her, left her doubting herself. But Gunner ... there was something different about him.

She hesitated a beat longer before nodding. “Okay. One drink.”

He grinned, stepping aside to gesture toward the door. “After you, sweetheart.”

This time, walking into the bar felt different. When she had entered earlier, she had felt exposed, vulnerable. Now, with Gunner’s broad form behind her, his hand guiding her lightly at the small of her back, she felt ... protected. Safe.

Heads turned as they walked in. Some of the bikers smirked, others simply took note and went back to their drinks.

One, however, let out a low whistle. “Didn’t think Gunner was the type to bring home strays.”

Dawn stiffened, heat rushing to her face.

Gunner stopped abruptly, turning toward the man with a look so sharp it could cut steel. “The fuck you just say?”

The bar went dead silent.

The man—an older biker with a graying beard—held up his hands in mock surrender. “Relax, man. Just bustin’ balls.”

Gunner’s stare didn’t waver. “Don’t bust hers.”

A long pause stretched between them before the older man looked away, mumbling something under his breath.

Gunner turned back to her, his expression unreadable. “C’mon. Let’s get that drink.”

Dawn let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and followed him to the bar, the weight of the room’s attention slowly dissipating.

One thing was clear—Gunner had a reputation. The way the other bikers looked at him, the way they quieted when he spoke, the way no one dared challenge him when he shut down the teasing—all of it told her he wasn’t just another guy in a leather cut.

Gunner asked her what drink she wanted. She told him a beer and he ordered one for himself as well. The beers soon arrived.

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