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Her finger pressed against my lips, shushing me.

“This is our family. Yours and mine. We can’t walk away.”

“Are you sure? ‘Cause I will, for you.”

“I know. And that means more to me than you could ever know. I love you, Travis.”

“I love you, Princess.”

My lips crashed into hers, and I pulled her into my chest. I walked her backward toward the bed. Wanting nothing more than to lay her out on my bed and devour her.

“We need to go downstairs,” she said against my lips.

“Why?”

“Welcome home party.”

“You’re fucking joking!” She couldn’t be serious; I took the damn thing off for less than forty-eight hours.

“You know bikers and their parties. Any excuse.”

“Fine, then this is gonna be hard and fast. ‘Cause I ain’t takin’ you downstairs until you’ve come at least twice.”

I shoved her to the bed and made good on my promise. Forty-five minutes later, we finally made our way to the main area.

The room erupted when I entered and everyone saw the cut back where it belonged.

King walked up behind me, and growled in my ear, “You pull that shit again, I’ll pull that officer patch and every man here will get a turn beating the shit out of you. Including the fucking prospects.”

“Understood.”

He could threaten whatever he wanted, but if at any time my woman came to me and wanted to run, I’d make the same goddamn decision.

Every. Fucking. Time.

King’s phone rang, and he pulled it to his ear. I couldn’t hear him over the music, but a few moments after he disconnected, the front doors opened and two men stepped in.

The man in front was like me. He was the muscle despite the expensive suit he wore. The man in the back was the leader. He looked around the room, his eyes catching on Amber, who held Danika.

Throwing Tank a look, I hitched my head in Amber’s direction and he put himself between her and the men that were here for no good.

Diesel, Aspen’s dog, growled low. He stood in front of Aspen, teeth bared in their direction. That was enough for us to know something was wrong. Someone cut the music, and Bane stood from the bar.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Sinclair?”

This is not the end!