Page 38 of Her Possessive Biker
“He wants you again.”
I lift the phone. “Yeah?”
“I’m sending someone to the club,” Caleb says. “Friend of mine. Ex-military. Owes me big. He’ll help with whatever Snake and Patch-Eye think they’re planning next.”
I nod. “We’ll take it.”
“And Holt?”
“Yeah.”
“Thanks for not breaking your promise.”
I look at Cassie. At the fire in her eyes, the softness on her lips.
“I never had a choice.”
Chapter 12
Cassie
By the time we pull into the Black Crown’s lot, the sun is climbing higher. The air smells like old engine oil and asphalt baking under heat, but it might as well be roses with how my heart stutters when I see the guys waiting outside.
Not all of them, but enough.
Deadeye. Diesel. Even Red—arms crossed, looking like she’s been pacing since dawn.
The second Holt parks the truck and helps me down, Red is there. She wraps me in a hug so fierce I nearly lose my breath.
“You scared the shit out of us,” she mutters into my hair.
“I was pretty scared myself,” I admit.
The others gather around. It’s not just curiosity or guilt. It’s something else entirely. A weird warmth in the pit of my stomach makes my eyes sting.
Family.
This is what it feels like.
A couple of the guys are awkward in that endearing, tough-guy way. Crank hands me a bag of flour with a solemn nod, like it’s some kind of peace offering.
I actually laugh.
“You almost died trying to buy the damn thing. Figured you deserved another shot at pie.”
Holt’s arm finds its home at my back, hand splayed across my waist like a brand. I lean into him automatically. Safe. Steady. Home.
We’re heading inside when a low rumble cuts through the air. A Jeep pulls into the lot, kicking up a swirl of dust.
The man who climbs out looks like he could bench-press Holt’s bike. Tall, broad, late thirties maybe. Dark blond hair, sun-creased skin, and eyes that sweep the place like he’s sizing up every threat. Ex-military, no doubt.
Then the passenger door opens, and out steps a beautiful curvy girl. Brown waves of hair, hazel eyes full of sharp curiosity, fingers brushing the spine of a notebook like she’s always ready to take notes.
She’s pretty in a girl-next-door way, but the way the biker boys glance her way earns a flash of pure death from the man beside her.
He moves to her side fast. Real fast.
Possessivemuch?
