Page 2 of Her Savior Biker
He’s asleep within minutes, his breathing evening out into the rhythm that’s been my lullaby for the past four days. But I can’t close my eyes. Can’t stop listening for the sound of engines, for boots on gravel, for Mason’s voice cutting through the darkness like a blade.
The silence stretches on. Hours, maybe. My legs go numb from sitting on the metal floor, but I don’t move. Don’t risk waking Aiden. He needs this rest. We both do.
That’s when I hear it.
Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. Getting closer.
My hand finds the tire iron, fingers wrapping around the cold metal. Whoever’s out there, they’re not trying to be quiet. Either they don’t care about being heard, or they want me to know they’re coming.
The footsteps stop right outside the boxcar.
I hold my breath, counting heartbeats. One. Two. Three.
Then light explodes across my face, blinding and brutal. I throw up my hand to shield my eyes, the tire iron ready in the other. Behind the glare, I can make out a shape. Tall. Broad. Male.
“Well, well.” The voice is deep, rough around the edges. Dangerous. “What do we have here?”
I keep the tire iron ready, but I don’t raise it yet. Don’t want to seem like a threat if I don’t have to be one. But I also don’t lower it. One month of dating Mason taught me that much—never show all your cards at once.
“Just passing through,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “We’ll be gone in the morning.”
He steps closer, and the flashlight beam shifts enough for me to see him. My breath catches somewhere between my lungs and my throat.
He’s big. Not just tall—though he’s that too, probably six-three or six-four—but broad across the shoulders and chest. Built like a man who works with his hands and doesn’t mind using his fists. Dark hair falls across his forehead in waves that catch the light, and there’s stubble shadowing a jaw that looks like it was carved from granite.
But it’s his eyes that stop me cold. Even in the darkness, I can see they’re light—gray or blue, maybe green. They rake over me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle, like he’s cataloging every detail for future reference.
“Passing through to where?” He doesn’t move the light away from my face, but somehow his voice has lost some of its edge. Like seeing me and Aiden has shifted something in his calculation.
I lift my chin. “Does it matter?”
A smile ghosts across his mouth. Not friendly, exactly, but not cruel either. “Smart answer. Wrong situation.”
He lowers the flashlight, and I blink as my eyes adjust. He’s wearing dark jeans and a leather jacket that’s seen better years. Motorcycle boots that could probably kick in a door without much effort. When he moves, it’s with the kind of controlled grace that speaks of violence held in check.
“This is private property,” he says. “Railroad company doesn’t take kindly to trespassers.”
“And you’re what—security?”
His laugh is a low rumble that does things to my stomach I don’t want to think about. “Something like that.”
Aiden shifts in his sleep, and the man’s gaze immediately drops to him. I see the exact moment he notices the cast. Without thinking, I shift my body, angling to block his view better.
“Kid’s hurt.”
It’s not a question, but I answer anyway. “It’s healing.” The words come out too fast, too practiced. Like I’ve said them a hundred times to a hundred different people.
“That’s not what I asked.” His voice goes flat, and I catch him studying the way I’m positioned—tire iron ready, body between him and Aiden like a human shield. “What happened?”
“Accidents happen,” I say, but my voice has gone careful and flat. It's the same tone I practiced in my head for the doctors, for my sister, for anyone who might ask the questions I couldn't answer.
“Bullshit.” He takes another step closer, and I tense, grip tightening on the metal in my hand. The way he moves—slow, deliberate—tells me he sees every defensive shift I make. “Someone did that to him. Someone you’re running from.”
It’s not a question this time either, and I don’t bother pretending it is. “What’s it to you?”
“I don’t like men who hurt kids.”
The way he says it—calm, matter-of-fact, like he’s commenting on the weather—sends a chill down my spine that has nothing to do with the cold. This is a man who’s done violence before. Will do it again without losing sleep.
