Page 31 of Gonzo’s Grudge (Saint’s Outlaws MC: Dreadnought, NC #1)

Gonzo

I tasted forever on her mouth and knew I couldn’t outrun it. I didn’t want to.

We were still standing in the middle of my cabin, breathless, the door half shut on the rest of the world. She’d laid it out clean—no agenda, no secrets, no sharing—and I’d said the truest thing I’ve said in years: I’ll never walk away. I’ll give you my world. It’s for life.

For life.

I’d thrown around lifetime words at different points in my life. I’d carved them into wood at graves that weren’t supposed to be made yet. But I’d never said it to a woman and felt the floor hold under the weight.

She pulled back a fraction, cheeks flushed, eyes lighting bright. “You mean it.”

“I don’t do pretty lies,” I told her. It came out rough.

“Good,” she whispered, like she’d been waiting to hear a thing that might still break us both.

I set her down slow, boots finding wood. We didn’t rush. Big promises were like engines; you don’t redline them fresh off the rebuild. You idle, listen for a knock, then ease it into gear.

We spent the evening in various rooms doing many things that involved being naked including eating dinner without dressing because we couldn’t get enough of one another.

Having her in my arms again, feeling her pussy clench around my dick as she came, it all calmed the chaos inside me.

She was home. The morning of a new day was creeping in as she began to stir against me in the bed.

“Hungry?” I asked, because feeding someone is the only way I knew how to ask will you stay?

“Always.” Her smile nicked something in me and made it bleed in the best way.

I cooked like a man making offerings—eggs, bacon, skillet toast, coffee black enough to strip paint. She perched on the counter in one of my shirts, bare legs swinging, watching me like the stove flame mattered to her because it mattered to me.

“Rules,” she began, when I slid a plate to her.

“Hit me.” I had to admit, normally this wouldn’t sit right to be bossed around by a woman. With her, though, I wanted to have clear expectations because this was something good and not to mess up.

“No secrets means no secrets.” She wrinkled her nose.

“I know that sounds dumb to say out loud. But I grew up with secrets obviously that destroy. If you’re going to keep something from me, you better be keeping it from me because you plan to keep me breathing, not because you’re trying to keep me pretty at your side.

I know you can’t share everything about your world.

The stuff that crosses lines I don’t want to be part of or know.

But if something involves me, us, then I deserve to know and I expect that to come from you. ”

“Pretty’s a losing battle because baby, you’re fucking gorgeous,” I replied. “Breathing, I can do because I’ve had a taste of not having you and I don’t want to live life without you again.”

She laughed about my pretty comment, then sobered. “And no sharing.”

“Shay’s done,” I said. “Everybody is. They were done when you climbed on the back of my bike the first time; I just hadn’t said it in a way the room could hear.”

Her chin tilted. “Say it in a way the room can hear.”

“I will,” I said.

She gave her attention to her plate and ate like she believed me.

After breakfast, I walked to the small safe behind the bookcase no one guesses a biker keeps. Pop put the habit in me—keep cash, keep papers, keep proof. I scrapped the idea of making it a ceremony. I just swung the shelf, spun the dial, and opened the heavy steel like a door into me.

“What is this?” she asked, curious, not scared.

“My head in metal,” I said. Inside, stacks of cash just in case; a few pistols I don’t leave in drawers; the envelope copy of everything Devyn had already filed; the old Pop photo GJ snuck in there after we lost him; a velvet bag with the only ring I’ve ever kept.

I pulled cash, two burners, and the envelope with our new door codes from Shanks.

“Keys to the kingdom.” I handed her a small key on a split ring.

“Safe. If I ain’t breathing and you need something in here, you don’t ask anyone.

You come get it. You leave town with the cash and you don’t look back. ”

She stared at the key a second too long, then closed her hand over it. “You think giving me a way out makes me more likely to use it?”

“It makes me sleep,” I shared, “my world can be ugly. I’ll do everything to shield you from that, but no secrets means laying shit out right.”

She tucked the key into the pocket of my shirt she’d stolen and buttoned the button. “Then it’s mine.”

I showed her the alarm panel by the back door. “Code is Pop’s birthday. Change it if the number starts to feel like a target.”

“I’ll remember.” Her fingers brushed mine at the keypad. Little contact. Big voltage.

“And here’s your drawer,” I said, opening the bottom one on the right of the dresser. “That’s where a toothbrush goes. Hair ties. A T-shirt I pretend isn’t mine anymore.”

She slid the drawer open and closed twice like she was testing if it would vanish if she blinked. “No woman’s ever had this drawer,” she stated. Not a question.

“No,” I said.

“Good.” She smiled. “I don’t like feeling second.”

We grinned like thieves.

I texted the club: Church. One hour. Full table.

Loco answered with a skull and a prayer hands—which, coming from him, is hilarious—and Burn with a thumbs-up that always means I’ll fucking be there, but it better be worth it. It was.

At the table, the room smelled like smoke and oil and a history that doesn’t wash out. The brothers settled—Tower, Disciple, Shanks, Pull, Lead, Dippy, and Loco who was carrying his shoulders a little looser since his friend Juanita came to town.

I let the gavel hit once. “We’ve got business and I’ve got personal. Business first. Devyn filed. GJ’s out. Walsh gave us everything he promised and then some. Juanita’s got Hampton’s seat in lockdown until the feds decide if they want it or want to pretend it doesn’t exist. Burn?”

He threw a folder down. “Bank trails match the shells. Darlene’s little getaway fund is empty now that the US government put a lock on it.”

“Good,” I said. “Now personal.”

Heads lifted. You can feel when a room braces to catch you if you fall.

“Effective now,” I shared, voice steady. “I’m a taken man.”

A couple grins, a whoop from the pool table, Shay’s name hanging in the air and not landing. Burn arched a brow. “Like that, huh?”

“Like that,” I stated. “Nobody puts hands on IvaLeigh. Nobody bumps her. Nobody ‘just says hi’ to see if I’ll twitch. Prospect sees anyone give her shit in our house, and doesn’t step in, he learns how brooms work from the wrong end. She’s my woman. That’s not a discussion.”

Loco’s smirk was older than sin. “You claiming an old lady, Prez?”

Silence ate the table and then belched. I breathed slow. Titles cut, and once you carve them, you don’t scrape them off. I knew she’d said no sharing and for life. I also knew that doesn’t automatically translate to a property patch she didn’t ask for.

“Not yet,” I explained. “She gets to choose that for herself. I’m telling you who she is to me. That’s enough.”

Shanks thumped the table once. Disciple nodded once like a prayer. Tower grinned like a man who likes being told where the lines are because it means he gets to break other ones instead.

“And if Catalina walks in here and wants to set something on fire?” Peanut asked, half sounding like he wanted to stir up the trouble.

“She can set it outside,” I stated firmly. “She doesn’t come through my door unannounced ever again and she doesn’t get to IvaLeigh.”

“Last thing,” I said. “Shay.”

Burn smirked like a man seeing a car wreck he can’t help looking at. “She’s not going to like this part.”

“I’m not here to be liked,” I explained what everyone knew. “She’s done. We don’t punish her for being what this place made her, but she doesn’t get the run of my space anymore. Set her up somewhere not here.”

“Church adjourned,” I said, and hit the gavel.

As brothers peeled off, Burn lingered. “You sure you’re built for this?” he asked softly, just us in the echo. “No exit she accepts the title?”

I let the question sit. “I’ve only ever had exits. Maybe they’re how I kept from burning. Maybe they’re how I’ve stayed cold. And maybe being tied down is exactly what I need.”

He watched me for a long beat, then slapped my shoulder. “Then light it up, brother.”

On the way back to the cabin, I stopped by a hardware store and bought things men buy when they’ve decided to make a place hold—hooks for helmets, a second fire extinguisher, a drawer organizer because apparently those exist, a small safe that wasn’t my safe.

I installed the helmet hooks by the door.

One high, one low. She hung hers and grinned like a kid at Christmas.

“You made me a spot,” she squealed delightfully.

“I made myself a spot to see you when I walk in,” I challenged.

Her smile softened, then sharpened. “Don’t think giving me hardware gets you out of the other stuff.”

“What other stuff?”

“Talking.” She smirked, and then, because she knows what I am, “But you can do it while your hands are busy.”

We talked while I fixed. She asked about Pop.

She asked about Catalina and I didn’t pretty it up.

I gave her the ugliest parts because I’d promised no secrets .

She didn’t flinch, just filed them under things that built the man in front of me and kissed me once for each one like she was stapling the pages together so they couldn’t fly away and cut someone.

“What about GJ?” she asked. “Heard you on the phone telling him about us. What did he say when you told him this is for life?”

“Called me old man and told me not to run.”

She smiled. “Smart. Because I’d catch you.”

I pulled her toothbrush out of the bag she’d brought, unwrapped it, set it in a cup by mine. It looked obscene in its simplicity. Like a stake in the ground made of plastic.

“Sleeping over?” I asked.