Page 22 of Her Savior Biker
“What about it?”
“I don’t want you to think I didn’t want—” He stops, running a hand through his hair. “Hell. I don’t know what I want you to think.”
I step closer, close enough to see the gold flecks in his hazel eyes. “I think you stopped because you thought it was the right thing to do. I think you’re trying to protect me from making a decision I might regret.”
“Yeah.”
“And I think,” I continue, reaching up to touch his jaw, feeling the rasp of stubble under my palm, “that you don’t give me enough credit for knowing my own mind.”
He turns his face into my touch, eyes closing briefly. “Your mind isn’t what I’m worried about.”
“What are you worried about?”
“Your heart.” He opens his eyes, the vulnerability there stealing my breath. “I don’t want you to give it to me because you’re grateful, or scared, or because I’m the first person in a long time who’s been decent to you. And then when this is over, when you’re safe, you’ll realize you didn’t really want me at all.”
The honesty, the fear he’s trying so hard to hide, breaks something open in my chest. This dangerous man, who faces down threats without blinking, is terrified I might not really want him.
“Reyes,” I say softly. “Look at me.”
He does. I let him see everything I’m feeling—the want, yes, but also the deeper emotion that’s been growing since he found us in that freight yard.
“It’s too late,” I whisper. “You already have it.”
Before he can respond, before I lose my nerve, I pull him down and kiss him. Soft this time, gentle, trying to pour all the words I can’t say with Aiden in the next room into the brush of my lips against his.
When we break apart, his forehead rests against mine. We’re both breathing hard.
“This is complicated,” he says.
“I know.”
“I might lose everything.”
“I know that too.”
“And you’re still here.”
“I’m still here,” I confirm. “The question is, are you?”
He cups my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones. “Yeah, Shannon. I’m here.”
“Then that’s enough for now.”
It has to be. Because this is the closest thing to home I’ve had in years. And I’m not ready to give that up. Not yet.
Three hours into my shift at The Black Crown, I’m wiping down tables when Tank walks through the front door.
I recognize him immediately. The way the other club members straighten, the way conversations pause. He’s a man used to command, used to being the most dangerous person in any room. He’s bigger than I expected, broad-shouldered and solid, with a presence that fills space just by existing. When his gaze sweeps the bar and lands on me, I feel it like a physical weight.
“Shannon.” Red appears at my elbow, her voice carefully neutral. “Tank wants to see you in the back.”
Dread coils in my gut. “Now?”
“Now.”
I glance to the corner booth where Reyes has been nursing the same beer for an hour, supposedly on his phone but really watching every person who walks in. He sees Tank, and his whole body goes rigid.
“Just me?” I ask, though I know the answer from the way Tank is watching us.
