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“Still, I…” I trail off, guilt gnawing at my insides.

“None of this is your fault,” Babet says softly.

“I just wish I could stop Juan.”

“What will you do after the rescue?” Blue asks, her voice gentle yet probing.

I blink, caught off guard. “I… I didn’t think women were allowed to know club business.”

Laughter spills from Blue and Babet.

“Honey, these men might act tough, but they let things slip more often than not,” Babet says, winking. “If you pay attention, you pick up on things.”

“Trust me, we’re just as kick-ass as the men, but we don’t feel the need to get involved in every detail.” Blue’s declaration rings through the room.

“Interesting,” I murmur, a smile tugging at the corner of my lips. Here, in this warm kitchen, among these formidable women, I find a strange sense of belonging, a fierce, unspoken bond of sisterhood that defies the chaos outside.

Babet gets up to clear the dishes and put up the gumbo. I offer to help, but she insists I sit and be her guest for the night.

As she rinses the bowls, her eyes alight with pride while she recounts another tale of club valor. Blue tells me more about how the club rescued a girl who was working at Lulu’s and about how the brothel was closed for good. They also talk about the aftermath of the bombing at the clubhouse. Their strength is infectious, and their resilience a testament to the life they’ve chosen—or perhaps, the one that chose them.

“Isabella?” Blue’s voice pulls me back from my thoughts. “You okay?”

“Just thinking about tomorrow,” I admit.

“Hey,” Babet chimes in, her hand coming to rest on my shoulder, a touch both grounding and reassuring. “Whatever happens, we’re in this together.”

“Thanks, Babet.” My gratitude is sincere, my affection for these women blooming like night jasmine in the humid New Orleans air. There’s a part of me that wants to stay, to stand beside them, to be part of this family bound not by blood but by choice, by the fierce desire to carve out justice in the city’s dark corners. But do I really want to stay in this life? Even though they’re fighting for justice, they’re still living a dangerous life.

Still, Ice is becoming more than just an ally. Every hour I spend with him brings us closer together, weaving a tighter and tighter bond between our hearts. The thought of severing our connection feels like ripping away a piece of myself. Can I really disappear once the rescue is over? The very idea sends a shiver of fear through me, colder than any threat my brother could muster.

“Time to get some sleep, Isabella.” The low rumble of Ice’s voice cuts through the kitchen like a beacon, drawing my eyes to where he stands in the doorway. When his silver-blue gaze locks onto mine, a shiver of desire runs through me.

“Bed time already?” Blue teases, though her smile is warm and knowing.

“Big day ahead,” Ice responds, his look lingering on me with a silent message that sends my pulse racing.

“Goodnight, Blue, Babet.” My heart races as I follow Ice’s tall frame out of the kitchen. His presence is a force, one that I’m drawn to even as it threatens to upend everything I’ve ever known.

We climb the stairs to the bedroom. The house is quiet, save for the distant hum of New Orleans nightlife, echoing the restless energy coursing through me. The room is a haven, simple yet inviting, and I’m grateful for it.

“Thank you,” I say softly, turning to face him in the dim light, the depth of my gratitude spilling over in those two words.

“I need a shower.” Ice heads toward the bathroom, glancing over his shoulder to add, “You coming?”

It’s more than an invitation. It’s a plea for closeness without words, a silent acknowledgment of the storm we’re sailing into. This could be our last chance to be together before Ice heads out to rescue the children.

Following him into the bathroom, I close the door. As we wait for the shower to get hot, my fingers work deftly at the buckles and zippers that hold him encased in leather and denim. After removing his cut—the vest bearing the emblem of his loyalty and life—I rest it on the large bathroom countertop. Returning to my task, each layer falls away, revealing the lean, muscular build that I’ve come to know with both my hands and heart.

The roles reverse as Ice’s hands work at my own clothes, stripping away barriers until there’s nothing left but skin on skin, vulnerability on vulnerability. We step into the shower together, the water enveloping us, a cascade of warmth that feels like absolution.

Ice’s hands start gentle, tracing paths along my body with soap and water, washing away the day’s grime and fears. But the gentleness soon gives way to urgency, desire flaring between us like lightning across a night sky. Our movements become a dance, each step a claim, each touch a promise. We lose ourselves in the heat, the rhythm of water mingling with the sound of our heartbeats.

Joining as one, I revel in the feel of him inside me. He presses my back against the wall while I wrap my legs around his waist. Each thrust binds us closer together as we race toward a climax.

I come undone, moaning his name as pleasure washes over me. He thrusts deep, spilling his seed and warming me with his love. He clings to me, pressing his face into the crook of my neck for several minutes. Although he doesn’t speak, I feel everything he’s thinking. Tomorrow, we might lose everything. We might lose each other. I can’t even imagine life without this man, and I’m sure he feels the same.

Afterward, the quiet is profound. Ice wraps a towel around me, his movements tender as he dries my skin. There’s a reverence in his touch, a depth of emotion that belies the roughness of his biker exterior.