Page 232 of Let Me In

And when I reach the window, there it is.

My bike.

Coming off his truck ramp like it never belonged anywhere else.

But it’s not just the bike that roots me in place.

It’s the man.

Cal moves like he’s made of purpose. Like whatever line he crossed to get that bike—it wasn’t a stretch.

It was his nature.

His flannel sleeves are rolled up, forearms streaked with grease and tension, his jaw hard as stone. Not the soft, slow protector I know.

This is something else.

He hauls the bike off with controlled force, kickstand out in one fluid motion. Then he straightens—and looks right at me.

And I feel it.

The shift.

Something wild coiled behind his eyes. Not danger.

Just... need.

Possession.

Like retrieving the bike snapped a tether inside him. And now there’s nothing between him and the thing he wants most.

Me.

The front door creaks as I open it. I step outside barefoot, wrapped in the blanket, drawn like a wire pulled tight.

“You didn’t have to,” I whisper, voice trembling.

His hands are on me before I can say more. Gripping the blanket, tightening it around my shoulders, but it’s not comfort he’s offering—it’s control. A firm, deliberate claim.

“You’re mine,” he says low. “And no one takes from what’s mine.”

I barely have time to breathe.

“I didn’t ask—”

“You didn’t have to.” His echo of my own words only sends more heat surging through me. “I’m not letting anyone take from you again.”

And it hits me so hard I can’t think—I just move. I reach for him, my hands needing to feel him. I unconsciously lean in, up on the tips of my toes.

His eyes flick over my face like he’s memorizing something. Like he’s checking I’m here, whole.

But behind it, his jaw is ticking.

His fists are clenched.

And then his voice drops an octave.

“You like that I handled it, baby?”

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