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The smoke hovered between us, turning the scent of the desert air from dusty to green in a few puffs. When she tried to hand it right back to me, I shook my head. She needed the calming effects of cannabis more than I did.

Out here, just the two of us, her guard slid down piece by piece.

The bright, fake smile, and bubbly energy deflated.

She was vulnerable like this. I’d seen it before, a few times, and each time it fucked me up.

I was a sick bastard, torn between wanting to wrap her up and protect her, or throw her to the asphalt and fuck her until she had road rash and my cum running down her thigh.

“If it’s my shit, I own it.”

“Is that what I am, your shit?” There was a tinge of something harsh in her words. “That why you waited around? Going to tell me how working here is a bad idea, how I shouldn’t be showing off my body, all the same shit Ghost said to me before I got drugged and almost raped after Desert Lights?”

I wanted to. Look where that had got her. But the pain in her voice reached down inside me and twisted me all up. This time I took the joint, hit it, and thought about my answer. “You’re a lot of things, Kenna, but shit isn’t one of them.”

“Sure.” But she looked away, wrapping her arms around herself.

“This why you’ve been hiding? Afraid of what we’d think of you?”

She backed up two steps, closing her eyes tight, before I leaned out and jerked her toward me. She stumbled and grabbed the front of my leather vest for balance.

“Answer me. Ashamed? Angry? Or just not ready to own your own shit?” I took a hit, held it, then let the smoke roll out on a breath before putting it to her lips. She hit it, her small fingers trembling against mine as she took the joint from me.

I held her against my side, her body tense, and waited for the answer. Unlike Jester and some others, I could be patient when it was necessary.

Kenna was almost eye level to me here. I could kiss her if I tilted her chin up a hair.

“I fucked up. You don’t have to remind me.”

But I had to remember. Every fucking day. I’d kicked that door in, pounded some faces, and found her…half naked and out of it. She’d weighed next to nothing when I picked her up, barely moved in my arms when I’d carried her out.

She’d been so small, so breakable, so alone.

And I relived what happened after that every fucking night when I closed my eyes. I’d do it again, in a heartbeat. But I couldn’t tell her that.

“Everyone makes mistakes. You learn from it and move on. You didn’t do anything that crazy, and if Ghost had been a fucking man that night instead of a little bitch—”

“You’re doing it again.” She laid her head on my shoulder. “Trying to fix it.”

“I’m sorry.” And I was, because the shard of pain that echoed in her voice ripped right through my soul. Jester wasn’t the only friend I’d had since I moved here. Hell, when my ex went AWOL after Eli was born, Kenna had been a godsend.

She’d been barely out of high school then. David’s kid. A house mouse. And I’d been wrapped up in five miles of crazy ass desert whore.

Not anymore .

“No one is thinking about that shit. The worst parts happened to you, not Riley. Not anyone else.” I lowered my voice as several dancers walked out.

Cam’s ole lady had been there that night too, got knocked around a little bit.

But nothing compared to the scars Kenna had to carry.

I loosened my hold on her. She could go but didn’t.

She hit the joint one last time and crushed the roach under her shoe.

“Tell that to those kids in the river.” The tremble in her lip left the words slightly slurred.

My body went hard, rigid. I’d waited for her to bring this up since I’d done what I’d done. Maybe it’s why I let her drift away. Then I wouldn’t be the monster.

I heaved a sigh. Time to own my shit, too. “Grown ass men,” I corrected her. “Who got everything they deserved.”

“This one because you killed for the club?” Her fingers brushed across the hooligan patch on my vest. Still bright and new, a set of brass knuckles wrapped in bloody barbed wire.

But had I? Or had I done it for her? That was a question I couldn’t answer. I hadn’t balked at Savage’s command that night. I’d followed through, rage clouding out my conscience. Not one time…but four. No one else. Me. The others had just helped clean up the mess.

That night I’d become someone else and there was no going back.

I had to change the subject or risk losing her and the progress I’d made tonight. I wanted her back at the clubhouse too damn much for that.

“Come by the shop. I’ll make the missing hours up to you. Trade you in ink or piercings.” And try to convince her that she needed a new job or something else.

Down boy.

Her gaze flicked up fast, face brightening a little. “Serious?”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Got something in mind, I take it?”

“Maybe.” She pushed off my chest, leaving little flickers of heat where she’d touched. “For what’s it worth. Thanks. I owe you.” But she couldn’t look at me when she said it.

“You don’t owe any of us shit, Kenna. But you don’t have to work here either.”

Unwinding herself from my arms, she flashed a petulant smirk, showing her sharp edges too. “And he ruins it.” She shook her head slowly as she sauntered to her little pickup.

At least now I knew where to find her. I wouldn’t have to show up on her stepdad’s doorstep after his best friend had told me to stay the fuck away.

***

The shop kept me busy, had since the day I’d opened it. Lately, the Kings demanded more of my time. My employees had kicked in, but my dance card was getting full. I came in early to work on sketches for clients that would be coming in this week.

And yet, here I was, drawing her again. As always, she’s posed like she was that night, those big, drunken eyes gazing up at me, begging me to climb between her thighs, kiss up her stomach, and slide inside her. Those college fucks hadn’t even realized what they would have had.

None of them had violated her yet, but the one had his belt undone, pants hanging open.

That same belt had chained him to my bike before I’d dragged him through the desert.

I blinked away the violent memory, using my thumb to soften the lines around her open mouth.

The head of my cock would fit perfectly between those lips.

My hand drifted over the paper, to where her tiny top had been pushed up, pert breasts coated in that shining glitter, broken fairy wings spread out behind her. She’d looked like a broken, mythical creature. The sort of being I could lock in my room forever.

Over time, my rage had waned. I could focus now on the part of me that had wanted to push her legs open right there and fuck her until she didn’t remember anyone but me, as those fuckers lay in their own blood on the floor.

There was so much shit happening with the MC that I found myself retreating into these sketches more and more.

We would have new blood—Ivan—at the table.

There’d be a vote, and people would bitch wanting things to be like the old days.

But Archer and Preacher’s era was over now, for better or worse.

But they didn’t know that Preacher hadn’t abandoned us, that he’d murdered Archer and Cam had killed him.

Couldn’t. The more who did, the more trouble we’d all be in.

And that’s the oath you take to sit at that table.

Want to be a Desert King? You wear the patch, do as you’re told, and take care of each other.

Want a seat at the table? Sign your fucking soul over.

I’d do it again, to protect Eli, to give him the life he deserved. His mom was shit, but most of her family was even worse. I’d keep him safe from that until I took my last breath.

Pushing Kenna’s sketch into the pile with the dozens of others, I glanced at the top one. So much anger, so much rage, made it difficult to see her through the deep reds of those earlier drawings. But with each one after, that disappeared a little more, and I could see her face more clearly.

Dozens of pictures of her, sketched from memory, but none of them did her justice. Seeing her at the club had ripped the breath from my lungs.

Since then, I’ve worked on a new one of her in Jester’s lap, kissing him—but looking at me. I grinned then, because damn if she didn’t do it for me. If she only knew how much she turned me on, I’d be in big trouble.

Needing to get back to work and Kenna out of my head, I pushed the drawings to the side and focused on the sketches for my clients. This was the part of the job that relaxed me, made it easier to forget all the fucked up shit I’d done.

Until the text pinged through my phone.

A deal’s a deal.