Page 40 of Her Possessive Biker
“Your brother knew it wasn’t enough to run,” Hayden says. “He sent us to burn it down.”
I blink fast. “And you just came? For him?”
“I owe Caleb my life,” Hayden says simply.
“And I love exposing assholes,” Cathy adds cheerfully.
That makes me smile.
By the time the briefing ends, I’m standing with Cathy on the back porch of the bar, two mugs of coffee between us, and more relief than I know what to do with sitting heavy in my chest.
“I still can’t believe any of this,” I admit. “Two days ago I was baking lemon bars and trying not to cry in the walk-in fridge.”
She laughs. “And now?”
“And now…” I glance toward the door, where Holt is talking with Hayden. “Now I’ve got a biker in my bed and people ready to burn the world down for me.”
Cathy bumps her shoulder against mine. “Welcome to the club.”
Later that evening, the sun’s dipped low enough to cast golden stripes across the hardwood floor of Reaper’s cabin.
I’m barefoot, curled into the corner of the worn-in couch, a mug of tea warming my hands. Holt’s sitting across from me, boots off, legs wide, watching me like I’m the only thing in the world that makes sense.
And maybe I am. For him.
Because he sure as hell is that for me.
It’s quiet. Comfortable.
The kind of silence that doesn’t ask to be filled.
But Holt’s eyes keep shifting like he’s trying to build up to something.
“Alright,” I say, lifting an eyebrow. “Spill.”
His lips tug into a smirk, but there’s a crackle of nerves underneath it. “You always this bossy when you get comfortable?”
“Only when a man looks like he’s about to detonate with whatever he’s holding in.”
He chuckles. “Fair.”
He leans forward. His elbows rest on his knees, hands braced together like he’s grounding himself before he speaks. Then he reaches into the pocket of his flannel jacket—thrown over the back of the armchair—and pulls out… a ring.
A thick, solid silver band. Weathered edges. The Savage Kings emblem faintly engraved on the inside. It’s simple. Strong. A little battered. Kind of like Holt. Kind of like us.
My heart climbs into my throat.
“I don’t have a speech,” he says roughly. “Didn’t plan this. Didn’t even know I was gonna do it until I saw you this morning sleeping like you belonged here.”
I blink. My hand tightens around the mug.
He sets it down on the table between us and leans back again, rubbing his palms on his jeans like they’re sweaty. Reaper.Sweaty-palmed. That alone nearly undoes me.
“I’ve loved you for a while now,” he says, quieter. “Since that picture Caleb showed me. Since you climbed into my bed and turned my world upside down. Since I realized I’d burn this whole damn town if it meant keeping you breathing.”
My eyes sting.
“I don’t know how to do this right,” he continues, voice low, “but I know I don’t want a life that doesn’t have you in it.”
