S ometimes, a man just has to admit when he’s beat.

I never thought I’d see the day I’d be that man.

Sitting in the back of a parking lot like a lovesick teenager.

Watching the front door of a dive bar like it's sacred ground.

But here I am.

Defeated.

Obsessed.

Royally fucked.

I’m parked all the way in the back lot of Bob’s Bar, engine off, lights off, and every muscle coiled tight while I watch for her.

I know she’s still inside. The rest of the staff left fifteen minutes ago, and the lights are dimmed, but she’s still in there.

Arliss.

Mo Chroí.

Must be closing tonight. Again.

I frown, jaw tight.

She shouldn’t be locking up alone.

Bob Domingo might not be a bad guy, but I don’t like it.

I mean, he’s just old, tired, and lazy as hell.

I heard rumors he’s trying to sell the place, but his asking price is sky high, thanks to New Jersey’s usual brand of liquor-license lunacy.

None of that excuses the fact that a woman like Arliss—small, curvy, vulnerable-looking, though I know better—shouldn’t be left alone at midnight in a half-lit parking lot.

She’s not alone , my Bull reminds me.

He rumbles in my chest, low and content like a beast who’s watching his territory and liking what he sees.

Technically, he’s right.

I snort, wiping a hand down my face, trying not to feel like the world's creepiest guardian angel.

And that’s when she steps out.

The door swings open, and the flickering streetlamp paints her in silver and shadow, wrapping around her like something out of a dream.

My dream.

My heart tightens inside my chest.

Her blonde ponytail is high and playful, curls bouncing against her nape, catching the light like a halo.

She’s only wearing a t-shirt and jeans. Nothing fancy. But the sight of her hunching into herself against the chill?

It wrecks me.

She moves fast across the lot, clutching her keys in one hand, the other buried in her hoodie pocket.

She heads toward her little beat-up Toyota, and my protective instincts spike.

I know those cars last forever, but damn, that thing looks like it rolled off the lot before Y2K.

Too old.

Too unsafe.

She deserves better.

And just as I’m debating whether I can find a way to gift her a new ride without her yelling at me, she pulls out, tires crunching on gravel, and I spot it.

Flat tire.

She doesn’t notice until we’re already on the road.

Usually, I’d hang back. Shadow her. Keep her safe without being seen.

But tonight?

My girl’s in trouble.

And the beast inside me won’t let me wait.

I throw open the truck door and sprint toward her car just as she pulls to the side and jumps out.

“Stand back! I have pepper spray!”

She spins fast, fierce and wild-eyed, wielding the little pink can like a weapon of mass destruction.

I throw up my hands. “Pepper spray? Whoa! It’s just me?—”

Too late.

She sprays before the last word leaves my mouth.

Direct hit.

The burn hits like fire and fury, and I let out a roar that rattles the trees.

“FUCK! Shit! Arliss—easy! It’s me! I’m not attacking you!”

I stagger back, eyes streaming, hands flying to my face as I groan like a beast fresh out of hell.

“Oh my God! Romeo? I mean, Kian!” she gasps, already rushing toward me. “Shit, shit, shit! I’m so sorry!”

I feel cool water hit my face, her hands trembling as she tips a bottle over me, rinsing the worst of it off.

Her touch is soft.

Her scent is stronger than ever.

And I’m blind as hell, but gods help me—I’m still aroused.

“Does that help?” she asks, voice worried.

I grunt, blinking rapidly. “Yeah, yeah. Just give me a second.”

I drag the hem of my shirt up, dabbing at the mess, still stinging, still on fire, but I’d take this over a night without her voice any day.

Because pain fades.

But Arliss? She’s the kind of ache I never want to lose.

When I can finally see again, through the red haze of pain and the sting of pepper spray vengeance burning my damn eyeballs, it’s so worth it.

B ecause she’s close now.

Real close.

I can smell the sweet cinnamon gum she’s chewing and the faint trace of lemon cleaner lingering on her skin from wiping down the bar top. Beneath that is the distinct flavor of wildflowers and sugary sweetness.

It’s not perfume.

It’s her.

Warm.

Sharp.

Clean.

Delicious.

Perfect.

My Bull practically purrs inside me, greedy for more.

Then she crosses her arms and pins me with that look.

“What were you doing? Following me or something?”

Instead of answering, and admitting to my low-key, high-key stalker behavior, I clear my throat and crouch down beside her car, pretending I’m just a nice guy who just happened to be here.

Lying by omission. Classic move.

My gaze scans the tire. I spot it immediately.

A nail.

The fuck?

It’s big. Ugly. New. And it’s jammed deep into rubber that’s worn down to the cords.

My jaw tightens.

“You drive by some construction?” I ask, my voice low and already on edge.

She shakes her head. “No. Just home and here. Oh, I did stop by the store earlier, but I didn’t notice any road work.”

She frowns as she sees the thick nail, and I don’t miss the worry creeping into her eyes.

“That nail’s not from road work,” I growl, already shifting into protective mode.

Something about it, about how perfectly it’s placed, feels off.

She sighs, lips pursing. “Well, shit. I can’t afford a new tire.”

She mutters a few more choice curses, and somehow, she even makes swearing sound adorable.

“You got a spare?”

“Um, yes! I think. Wait. Hold on.”

She pops the trunk and starts rummaging. I follow, frowning as I lean in and take a look.

Yeah, she’s got a donut, not a real tire. But it’s flat as hell, too.

“Shit,” she whispers again, eyes closing like she’s trying to hold in the overwhelm.

I exhale slowly and keep my voice steady, gentle but firm.

“Look, I can fix your tire. Let me roll it into a spot, and I’ll come back for it with a tow later.”

She turns to me, eyes wide, cautious.

“Why would you do that for me?”

I get it.

I get why she’s wary.

And still— it stings .

Even if I’d be suspicious of me, too.

“Just being neighborly,” I say with a shrug, like her doubt doesn’t cut deep. “Besides, I do all the work on the trucks and machines over at Motley Crewd. This’ll be no problem.”

She chews her bottom lip, hesitating. “I—I can pay. But in increments. Would that be okay?”

I shake my head. “Arliss, I’m not taking your money?—”

“Oh yes, you are, Kian O’Malley,” she says, hands on her hips like she’s ready to throw down.

Her voice is strong, unyielding. There’s a steel spine under all that soft.

My Bull practically bows to it.

“I pay my own way. And don’t you forget it.”

I can’t help it, I grin.

“Fine. We’ll work that out later. For now, how ‘bout I drive you home?”

She pauses, eyes flicking to my truck, then down the empty street.

It’s a seven-minute drive, tops.

But walking? Alone? In the cold?

A breeze rustles her curls, and she shivers, her arms wrapping tighter around herself.

“Come on. I’ll be good,” I offer, voice low, coaxing.

She raises a brow. “Oh yeah? You promise not to get all stabby with me on the way home?”

I freeze.

Then she grins, wicked and radiant.

And I swear, that smile? It knocks me right on my ass.

“I swear, I won’t get all stabby ,” I say, using her word.

“A likely story,” she mutters.

“Arliss, I’d never do anything to hurt you.”

She eyes me like she doesn’t quite believe me.

It’s not because she thinks I’m dangerous. Arliss doesn’t know what I am. Yet .

But she is trying to sum me up, and I can’t wait to hear what comes out of her mouth next.

“I bet you say that to all your victims,” she teases.

I smirk. “Nah. Just you, Mo Chroí .”

That gives her pause. Just a flicker.

Then I nod toward the truck. “Come on. The heater’s on. It’s warm. And you’ll be safe. I promise.”

And I mean that.

Because Arliss Deniro isn’t someone I intend to fuck around with and leave.

She’s so much bigger than that.

This woman is important to me and my Bull.

So, yeah.

I promise her everything I have, even if she doesn’t know it yet.