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“He in deep,” he whispered to Taylor.

Brooks slid back into his seat, draping his arm around her. “They act like you don’t already know. You know I’m crazy about you, right?”

Taylor met his gaze, feeling a sense of recognition. Instead of answering, she leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his lips. When she pulled back, she smirked. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

She traced a finger along the rim of her glass before tilting her head. “You ready to go?”

It wasn’t really a question. A reminder that this was their last night in Denver, and while she’d enjoyedhis friends, she needed to spend the rest of the night beneath him, skin to skin, in the kind of room that reminded them they weren’t meant for small love. She needed to be fucked in a presidential suite before they went back to reality.

So that’s exactly what they did.

Goodbyes were said, hugs exchanged, and Taylor found herself promising Slim she’d keep Brooks in check, which only made the men at the table laugh. But as she took Brooks’ hand and let him lead her away, she realized. She’d fallen in love with Denver.

Maybe in more ways than one.

She didn’t know how that was possible. She hadn’t even had a chance to be single. But truthfully, who said she needed to be? When you found your person, it was an exchange. A little give here, a little take there. Anything she thought she wanted to experience alone, she now believed she could share with Brooks. And she hoped, no, she knew, he felt the same.

When they returned to the hotel, their lovemaking was different.

Slower. Deeper. Like they were speaking a language only their bodies understood.

“Tell me this is mine,” he murmured against her throat, gripping it slightly.

Taylor arched beneath him, her fingers gripping the hand around her throat. “It’s yours,” she breathed, looking directly in his eyes

He took his time, loving her, making it so hard for the next. When he finally sank into her, their bodies moving in perfect rhythm, it felt like more than just sex. It felt like home.

“Taylor,” he groaned, his strokes deep, unhurried. “I swear to God, I’m never letting you go.”

She didn’t answer with words. Instead, she wrapped her legs tighter around him, pulling him deeper, drowning in the feeling of being wanted, cherished. Of being his.

Chapter 18

December 10th

He’d been trying to stay low, but peace never lasted long. Not in his world.

This morning proved it—the calm shattered the second his phone rang.

Brooks had been through hell. Buried both parents. Grew up fast, wore manhood before he was ready, and learned early that silence could be armor.

He’d cleaned up his father’s mess, turned dirt into gold, and built something that could last. Now his legacy was on the line.

Brooks didn’t just build for the hell of it. He built it so his name could mean something clean for once. So, when folks saidBishop, it wasn’t followed by a whisper.

He’d survived shit most never experience. But watching clowns with less skin in the game win off politics and handshakes? That shit made his blood boil.

He done things the right way. He hadn’t come this far to be robbed with a smile.

Somebody was playing with his legacy, and Brooks didn’t do games. If it didn’t make money, it didn’t make sense. But this wasn’t the street, it was City Hall. And violence wouldn’t fix it.

He gripped the phone tighter, his lawyer’s voice flat in his ear.

“They’re giving the emergency response contractto Premier Carry Towing.”

Brooks closed his eyes, grinding his molars together so hard he could hear them crack. His nostrils flared, his pulse throbbed at his temples. The leather of his chair creaked as his other hand gripped the armrest.

“That some kinda joke?” His voice was tight, barely restrained, the kind of calm that came before storms that leveled cities.