Page 66 of Brash for It
“Then treat her like it,” I snap.“Not like a thief casing the place.Worry about her feelings as much as you do mine.”
The room goes quiet a foot or two around us without anyone meaning to.It’s not tension so much as attention—men doing the math on whether this is going to blow into something stupid.
Kristen sets a hand on my forearm.Not a tug.A touch.“It’s okay,” she says, soft enough that it’s just for me.“He’s doing his job.I wouldn’t respect him if he didn’t.”
“My job is to look out for you,” I remind, and I can hear the heat in my own voice and I don’t have anywhere good to aim it.“And I am.”
“I know,” she whispers.“So is he.If I’m not cut out for this, better to let me go now.”
Tommy interjects, “good for you fools she’s fuckin’ made for your ass.Welcome to the family, Kristen.”
I breathe.It feels like I’ve been holding it since the door opened.Tommy lifts both palms, a sign he’s not looking for a fight today.He looks at Kristen again, and something in his face shifts a fraction.Respect, maybe.Or the beginning of it.
“Happy for you.For real.”He offers his hand again, and this time when she takes it, it’s different—two people agreeing to try and find middle ground together.
“Thank you,” she replies, and I can hear the sincerity under it that makes men like Tommy soften against their will.
Red slaps the bar, Tripp exhales, and the room’s noise comes back like someone hit play.I slide an arm around Kristen’s waist because I want to and because the animal inside me is pacing to mark her asmine.
“You good?”I ask into her hair.
“Good,” she says, and then tips up on her toes to brush her mouth against my jaw like a punctuation mark I didn’t know I needed.
I finish the rounds quick because the more she appeals to my family, the more the need to taste her, have her builds inside me.The night passes and eventually I catch Tripp’s eye and tilt my head toward the door.He reads the exit I was giving him.
Casually, he calls out, “She fits.”
“She does,” I say to no one in particular.
Seventeen
Pretty Boy
We stepinto the night air and my shoulders drop a half inch.I throw her the helmet and she catches it smooth, all this time of practice closing the gap between thinking and doing.It’s all natural to her now.
We ride.The curves on highway fifty-eight pull us into a rhythm I trust.Her hands at my waist remind me what I brought into that room and what I’m leaving with.When the water flashes to our right and the bridge starts to sing under us, I decide we’re not done talking.Just not there.Not where the walls can collect the words and hold them for later
I turn for the long way home.
The bike eats miles the way fire eats dry brush.I keep the throttle steady, the bars tight, letting the machine do what it was built to do.Wind rips at us, slamming the noise of the world back far enough that there’s nothing left but road and heartbeat.Kristen presses into me, arms cinched around my waist like she knows I need the anchor as much as she does.
Halfway across, I feel it hit—this sudden gut-deep awareness that I’ve never done this before.Not the riding, not the clubhouse, not the fights.That’s second nature.What I’ve never done is share it all.Bring someone into both worlds and mean it.I’ve always kept things separate.Women stayed at the bar, at the motel, at the edge of my bed until I was done.The club stayed family, ironclad and untouched, never entangled with someone I fucked.Kristen just rewrote the rules.And I let her.
I take a hard right after the bridge, into a stretch of road that winds through marsh and open fields.It’s quiet out here—no traffic, no houses, just us and the hum of the motor.When I finally slow, it’s because I need air that isn’t moving a hundred miles an hour.
We pull into a gravel turnout overlooking the sound.I kill the engine, kick the stand.The sudden silence roars in my ears.Kristen slips off the back, pulls her helmet free, hair spilling around her shoulders in the low light.She’s flushed from the ride, eyes bright, lips parted like she’s been grinning behind the visor the whole time.
She steps closer, rests a hand on my chest.“You were wound so tight in there.I can feel it.”
I catch her wrist, hold it, because I need something solid.“He had no right questioning you.”
Her brow furrows.“Kellum, he’s your brother.Of course he did.That’s what family does.They look out for you.”
“I don’t need him doubting my judgment.”My voice comes out sharper than I mean.I run a hand over my jaw, try again.“I wouldn’t have brought you there if it wasn’t serious.He should know that.”
“He does,” she says gently.“He just needed to hear it from me too.”
The words dig under my ribs.I don’t know how to explain that it’s not about trust in her, it’s about me never having to defend a choice like this before.
