Page 17 of Gonzo’s Grudge (Saint’s Outlaws MC: Dreadnought, NC #1)

IvaLeigh

T he drive back was quiet. I sat behind him, arms wrapped around his waist, cheek pressed to the leather of his cut. The wind snapped against us, the road unwinding in black ribbons, and still I could feel it—the shift. Something in him was different.

It wasn’t just the silence; Gonzo was a man who could live in silence without it ever feeling empty. No—this was heavier. His shoulders held a tension that hadn’t been there when we rode to my parents’ house. His grip on the bars was harder, tighter, every movement sharper.

I didn’t know what had passed between him and my father in the study, but I knew it changed something.

When he pulled into the drive at his cabin and cut the engine, the night fell quiet again. Crickets sang in the trees. The headlight clicked off, leaving us wrapped in shadows and silver moonlight.

I slid off the bike, tugging my jacket tighter. He didn’t move for a long moment. Just sat there, staring into the dark.

Finally, he swung his leg over and stood. “C’mon,” he said, voice low.

Inside, the cabin felt warmer than I expected. Safe, even with the weight pressing down on him. I dropped my bag by the couch while he pulled two beers from the fridge. He handed me one, then leaned against the counter, drinking like he needed the bite of it.

I set mine down untouched. My heart pounded, my words sticking in my throat. Finally, I blurted it out.

“Gabriel is my dad’s job a problem?”

His eyes flicked to me, sharp and unreadable. “Why you askin’ that?”

“Because you’re different tonight,” I muttered softly.

“Something happened back there. I can feel it. And my dad—he’s always been proud of being this respectable man with his respectable job.

But if that job is in the way somehow, I need to know.

He’s a judge and you tell me you’re an outlaw so I can’t imagine those two things work together. ”

For a long moment, he didn’t answer. He just studied me, like he was weighing how much truth I could take.

Finally, he set the bottle down. “Baby, your old man’s world and mine don’t mix. They never could. What I am, what I do—it don’t fit into the neat boxes men like him build their lives around. And yeah, that’s a problem.”

I swallowed hard. I always told myself not to ask questions I wasn’t prepared to hear the answer to, but this, I guess I needed to know. “What does being an outlaw biker mean, really?”

His eyes softened, but only a little. “It means loyalty above law. It means my word to my brothers comes before anything the state writes on paper. It means when the system fails us—and it always does—we take care of our own. Sometimes with our hands. Sometimes with our blood. It means you need to know there won’t be a line I won’t cross to protect what matters to me. ”

My pulse raced. The words were heavy, dangerous. But they weren’t lies. “Am I in danger?” I asked, my voice smaller now.

He didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

The word cut sharp. Honest. No attempt to soothe.

But before fear could take root, I shook my head. “No. Not really.”

He frowned. “I just told you?—”

“I know,” I interrupted. “I know there’s danger. I know people hate you. I know being with you means walking into fire. But I also know something else.”

I stepped closer, tilting my head up to meet his eyes. “I know you are a man who will keep me safe. I can feel it every time you look at me. Every time you touch me. You’re danger, Gonzo, but not to me.”

For a moment, neither of us breathed. His eyes burned into mine, dark and intense, and I saw it happen. The shift.

Something primal broke loose inside him, something I’d only glimpsed before. My words had lit it. My certainty had unleashed it.

He caught my face in his hands and kissed me like he was starving.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t slow. It was fire catching dry grass, wild and consuming. My fingers dug into his shirt, dragging him closer, needing more. He lifted me with ease, setting me on the counter, his mouth never leaving mine.

“Say it again,” he growled against my lips.

“I know you’ll keep me safe,” I gasped.

His eyes locked to mine, blazing. “Damn right.”

He pulled my jacket off, tossing it aside, his hands mapping every inch of me like he was claiming it. But through all of it, his eyes never left mine. Even when his mouth moved to my throat, his gaze lifted back, needing that connection, needing me to see him.

And I did. I saw everything—the outlaw, the fighter, the protector, the man who had lived in darkness and still found a way to hold me like light.

My legs wrapped around his waist as he carried me to the bedroom, his mouth devouring mine the whole way. He set me on the bed, looming over me, his breath ragged.

“You sure?” he asked, voice gravel.

“Yes.”

“Say it again.”

“I’m sure.”

That was all he needed. The bed dipped under his weight as he lowered me onto it, his body braced above mine like he was holding back an earthquake. His eyes burned into me, and for a second, the world stilled.

“You sure?” he asked again, voice ragged, jaw tight like he was fighting something.

“Yes,” I whispered, reaching for him.

He didn’t move. His eyes searched mine like he was trying to see into the deepest part of me. “Say it again.”

“I’m sure,” I said louder, steadier. “I want you. I am safe with you. Only you.”

Something inside him broke loose then.

His mouth claimed mine with a hunger I hadn’t tasted before—still careful, but this time edged with possession. Not of my body, but of my trust, my faith in him. I gave it willingly, clutching at him, pulling him closer.

The first time had been new and fragile, his touch patient, teaching me how to take him.

Each time he had been almost delicate with me in a way.

But this was different. This wasn’t teaching.

This was knowing. This was two people who had already crossed a line and were ready to burn the bridge behind them.

His hands skimmed down my body, insistent, mapping me like he needed to memorize every curve, every tremor. My breath hitched at the rough scrape of his stubble against my throat, at the weight of him pressing me into the mattress.

And still—his eyes.

Even when his mouth roamed lower, even when my body arched and shook, he kept lifting his gaze back to mine, needing the connection. His eyes locked to mine like an anchor, like he didn’t just want my body, he wanted all of me.

I let him see it. I let him own it. The part of me that was terrified. The part of me that was brave. The part of me that had never believed in anyone this much.

When he slid inside me, it wasn’t just heat and pressure—it was a claiming, a binding, a truth I couldn’t turn away from. My hands clutched at his shoulders, nails digging in, but my eyes never left his.

“Gabriel,” I gasped, his name breaking from me like a prayer.

“Mine,” he growled, his voice guttural, raw.

And in that moment, I knew he wasn’t just talking about my body. He meant my faith. My trust. My soul.

The rhythm built, fire and friction, but it wasn’t just physical—it was something deeper, something I couldn’t name. Every thrust felt like a vow, every kiss a promise he didn’t know how to speak out loud.

Pleasure rushed through me sharp and unstoppable, but it wasn’t just pleasure—it was love. Wild, reckless, terrifying love. It broke me open and remade me, left me clinging to him with tears streaking my cheeks, overwhelmed by how much I felt in this moment.

He saw them, of course. He always saw. His pace slowed, his hand brushing the wetness from my face, his lips pressing to my temple. “IvaLeigh…” he murmured, voice shaking like he hadn’t expected this either.

I kissed him, hard and desperate. “Don’t stop. Please.”

His control snapped. He drove into me harder, faster, but his eyes never left mine. Even as I fell apart again, my vision blurring, he held me there, made sure I saw him, made sure I knew this was more than heat, more than need.

When he finally groaned my name and followed me over the edge, collapsing against me, it felt like the world had shifted.

The room was quiet except for our breathing, ragged and uneven, hearts pounding in sync. Sweat cooled on my skin, but I didn’t shiver—not with his weight pressing me into the mattress, his arms caging me in, his body still inside mine like he couldn’t bear to let go.

I turned my head, pressing my lips to his temple. His eyes were closed, but his hand still gripped mine, our fingers laced tight.

For the first time in my life, I didn’t feel small or lost.

I felt strong. Claimed. Loved, even if he couldn’t say the word.

I traced his jaw with my fingertips, memorizing the roughness of his beard, the scars, the man who was both danger and safety.

“I love you,” I whispered before I could stop myself. The words slipped out raw, unplanned, but true.

His eyes opened, blazing, locking on mine. He didn’t say it back. I hadn’t expected him to. But the way he kissed me then—slow, deep, endless—told me I didn’t need him to.

Because I already knew.