Page 10

"I believe we're better than the alternative.

" I leaned back in the chair, letting her see I wasn't threatened by her questions.

"Perfect? Hell no. But when a fifteen-year-old girl needs help, we provide it.

When local businesses get squeezed for protection money, we step in.

When three Serpents corner a woman in an alley. .."

"You offer her cocoa and dry clothes?"

"Something like that."

The joke sat between us for a moment. Then her lips twitched. Fought it. Lost. A laugh escaped—small, surprised, but real. The sound hit me in the chest, warm and unexpected.

"I can't believe I'm sitting here laughing with a biker," she muttered, but the hostility had leaked out of it. "My mother would have—"

She cut herself off, jaw snapping shut like a trap. Whatever she'd been about to say got locked away tight. But I caught the flash of old pain in her eyes. Someone had taught her to fear men like me.

"Your mother was probably smart," I said carefully. "Most bikers are assholes."

"But not you?"

"Oh, I'm definitely an asshole." I kept my tone light, easy. "But I'm an asshole who gives a damn about kids like Jessie. Sometimes that's enough."

She absorbed that, fingers playing with the hem of my shirt. When she looked up again, some of the rigid fear had softened. Not trust, exactly. But maybe the possibility of it.

"I should get you home." I stood abruptly, reaching for my keys on the hook by the door. "Storm's letting up. Roads should be clear enough."

The change in her was instant and devastating. Every ounce of color drained from her face like someone had pulled a plug. She went rigid, fingers clutching the blanket hard enough to whiten her knuckles. The look in her eyes wasn't just fear—it was terror, raw and immediate.

"I—" Her voice cracked. She swallowed, tried again. "That's okay. I can walk. Or call someone. Or—"

"Hey." I stopped moving toward the keys, hands up like she was a spooked horse. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." But she was already shifting, preparing to run. That same tensed-for-flight posture she'd had in the alley. "Thank you for everything. I'll just—"

"You'll just nothing." I moved back to the chair, slow and careful, putting distance between me and the door. Between her and the threat of being forced to leave. "Talk to me. Why does going home scare you more than facing down three Serpents?"

She pressed her lips together, internal war playing out across her features. Trust versus survival. Truth versus whatever lie would get her out fastest.

"Just. Nothing for me at home. Having landlord trouble. But it’s okay. Nothing I can’t handle.”

She wasn’t very convincing.

"Okay." I kept my voice gentle, matter-of-fact. "You’re welcome to stay here tonight. I'll take the couch."

Relief flooded her features so fast it made my chest ache.

"I can't impose—" she started, but it was token protest. Hope had already crept into her voice.

"You're not imposing." I settled back in the chair, demonstrating I wasn't going anywhere. Wasn't throwing her out.

"I don't mind the couch. I can't take your bed."

"Non-negotiable." I used my Road Captain voice, the one that ended discussions. "You've had a hell of a night. You need proper rest. I've slept in worse places than my own couch."

She studied me like she was looking for the trap. The hidden cost. What I'd want in exchange for kindness. That look hurt more than it should have. Someone had taught her that kindness came with a price tag. That safety was always temporary, always conditional.

"No strings," I said quietly. "No expectations. You're under my protection tonight. That's it."

"Your protection?" A ghost of her earlier skepticism returned. "What are you, some kind of medieval knight?"

"Something like that." I managed a grin. "Except with more leather and worse fucking language."

That earned me another small laugh, worth its weight in gold. She uncurled slightly, fingers loosening on the blanket.

"Okay," she whispered. "Thank you. Just for tonight."

"Just for tonight," I agreed.

But I could already feel it—that shift from simple intervention to something more.

The way my focus had narrowed to her safety, her comfort, her needs.

Classic protector instincts, the same ones that had led me down dark roads before.

I'd told myself with Vanessa that it was just about helping someone who needed it.

Just temporary. Just until she got on her feet.

Three years later, I was still finding pieces of shrapnel from that explosion.

But when she looked at me with those hazel eyes full of cautious hope, when she whispered "thank you" like she actually meant it, I knew I was already lost. Some lessons you had to learn twice.

"Bedroom's down the hall," I said, standing again. "Towels in the bathroom if you need them. Lock the door if it makes you feel safer. I'll be out here if you need anything."

"Dex?" She said my name like a question, and I realized it was the first time she'd used it. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

A dozen lies presented themselves. Club business. Civic duty. Boredom. But she deserved better than bullshit, even if I couldn't give her the whole truth.

"I just didn’t have a choice. Can’t see someone innocent suffer.”

She absorbed that, then nodded. Rose from the couch with my blanket still wrapped around her shoulders, looking impossibly small and impossibly brave at the same time.

When she padded down the hallway in my too-big clothes, I had to turn away.

Had to focus on pulling sheets and a pillow from the closet instead of watching her go.

The bedroom door closed with a soft click. A moment later, the lock turned.

Smart girl.

I made up the couch with military precision, each movement automatic. This was fine. Normal. Just a civilian under protection, standard Road Captain duty. Tomorrow I'd hand her off to someone else. Get Duke to assign protection detail. Keep my distance. Stay smart.

But when I finally stretched out on the couch, staring at the ceiling in the dark, I could still feel the ghost of her arms around my waist. Could still hear that small laugh, see that cautious hope in her eyes.

Could still feel the exact temperature of her skin under my palm when I'd checked her forehead.

I was going to protect her. Going to keep her safe from the Serpents, from whatever waited at home, from anything that tried to dim that fierce light she'd shown in the alley.

Even if that meant protecting her from myself.