Page 25 of Gonzo's Grudge
Now it made sense why he could easily let me sleep down the hall in his bed without wanting to test the waters with me. While the disappointment was hard to push down, I still didn’t want to leave and I wanted to learn more about the biker in front of me.
The more he worked in the kitchen, the more natural it seemed. Oil hissed in the skillet, the smell of garlic and onions filling the cabin. It felt relaxed and normal. Like something I’d seen a hundred times in other kitchens, except this man was nothing close to normal.
“So,” I said, twirling a strand of hair around my finger. “If you can cook and fix cars and ride a motorcycle like that… what can’t you do?”
His eyes flicked up, pinning me. “Be good.”
The words landed heavy, deliberate.
I blinked. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not a kind man, IvaLeigh. Not a good man either.” He flipped the chicken in the pan with a practiced flick, the sizzle loud between us. “I’ve done things that’d make you run if you knew half of it.”
My throat tightened. But instead of fear, I felt the strange pull again, deeper than before. “Then why the warning?” I asked softly.
His mouth curved, but it wasn’t humor. It was warning. “Because you’re young. You’ve got a whole world ahead of you that doesn’t need men like me shaking it up.”
I swallowed, staring at the way his hands moved, steady, precise. “And yet you’re the only one who’s made me feel safe.”
That caught him. His shoulders stiffened, his knife pausing mid-slice. He set it down carefully, turning to face me. “Safe doesn’t make me a good man, IvaLeigh.”
“Maybe not,” I admitted. “But sometimes they overlap.”
For a moment, the silence was thick. Then he turned back to the stove, jaw clenched, like he was wrestling something I couldn’t see.
Dinner was simple—chicken, rice, vegetables. But it tasted better than anything I’d eaten in weeks. Maybe because I hadn’t had a meal cooked for me in forever. Maybe because it was him.
We sat across from each other at the small table, the light overhead humming faintly.
“Why the club?” I asked between bites.
His eyes darkened, distant. “Because family isn’t always blood. Pop Squally taught me that. He gave me a brotherhood when I felt like the world would chew me up.”
I nodded slowly. “And loyalty?”
“Loyalty is everything.” His voice was sharp, final. “You give it, you keep it. Even if it kills you. Especially if it kills you.”
His words shivered down my spine. He meant them. Every syllable.
I should have been scared. Instead, I wanted to lean closer. To see the man behind those words.
The more he tried to warn me away, the more the air thickened between us.
After dinner, I helped with the dishes, standing beside him at the sink. My hands brushed his once when we both reached for the same plate, and the shock of it burned hotter than the water. I yanked my hand back, biting my lip.
He noticed. “IvaLeigh.” His voice was low, steady.
I forced myself to meet his eyes.
“You don’t want this. You think you do, but you don’t. You’re young. You’ve got clean roads ahead of you. Me? I’m tainted, baby.”
I should have nodded. Should have stepped back.
Instead, I closed the space between us. My hand trembled as I reached for his face, fingers brushing the rough line of his beard. His breath hitched, almost too quiet to hear.
Then I kissed him.
It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t safe. It was need—raw and reckless. His lips were warm, rough, and when he kissed me back, it felt like being caught in a storm I didn’t want to escape. His hand slid to the small of my back, pulling me closer, anchoring me against him. The taste of him, smoke, coffee, something darker filled me until I was dizzy.
