Page 2 of Gunner (Iron Sentinels MC #3)

D awn wrapped her fingers around a cool glass of whiskey. She had only agreed to one drink, but she found herself savoring it more than she expected.

Maybe it wasn’t just the alcohol. It was the man sitting opposite her, his heavy presence wrapping around her like something solid, something grounding.

Gunner leaned back in his chair, one thickly muscled arm draped casually over the back. He nursed his own drink, but his dark eyes stayed locked on her, smoldering with an intensity that made her insides tighten.

“So, tell me, sweetheart,” he drawled, the deep rumble of his voice making her shiver. “You always pick shitty dates, or was tonight just special?”

She huffed out a laugh, shaking her head. “I swear I don’t make a habit of it.”

He smirked. “Lucky me, then. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have met you.”

Her stomach flipped. The way he looked at her—like she was something worth studying, something worth wanting—was doing things to her she wasn’t prepared for. Dawn could feel her nipples tightening under her thin blouse and wondered if he noticed.

She should have been wary, should have kept her guard up. But somehow, with him, the tension that had been wound tight in her chest all night started to loosen.

“I’m starting to think you might be trouble,” she teased, raising her glass to her lips.

Gunner grinned, slow and dangerous. “Darlin’, I don’t think you’d mind a little trouble.”

Heat curled low in her belly. She licked her lips, watching the way his gaze darkened as he followed the movement.

God, she was in trouble.

Somewhere between the teasing, the drinks, and the way he leaned in just slightly when she spoke, Dawn found herself forgetting all about her no-show date.

Gunner was unlike any man she’d ever met—confident without arrogance, playful but firm. And he made her feel ... interesting, wanted.

When he finally set his empty glass down, he tilted his head at her. “Place like this ain’t exactly the best for conversation. What do you say we go somewhere quieter?”

Her heart skipped. The suggestion carried weight, possibility. Her mind screamed at her to be careful, but her body had already decided.

“There’s a diner not far from here,” she said, trying to sound casual. “Good coffee, half-decent pie.”

Gunner nodded, clearly amused. “Sounds perfect.”

They left the bar together, the cool night air rushing over her heated skin. She gave him the name of the diner, then climbed into her car as he swung a leg over his Harley.

The rumble of his bike sent a thrill through her as she followed behind him, watching the way he handled the machine with ease, like it was an extension of himself.

By the time they pulled into the diner’s nearly empty parking lot, she was buzzing, not just from the whiskey, but from the anticipation curling in her stomach.

Inside, they slid into a booth, the warm scent of coffee and fried food wrapping around them.

The atmosphere was relaxed, and with Gunner across from her, the conversation flowed more easily than she expected.

She found herself telling him things she hadn’t planned to, about how she was juggling two jobs just to make ends meet.

About how her dad had died from cancer last year, and she was still drowning in the hospital bills.

Gunner listened, his expression unreadable but his focus unwavering. And when she finally stopped, feeling exposed in a way she hadn’t before, he surprised her by saying, “I know what that’s like.”

Her brows pulled together. “You do?”

He nodded, running a hand through his short-cropped hair. “Lost my old man a few years back. He was in the MC, like me. Got caught in a shoot-out with a rival club.”

She inhaled sharply. “Jesus.”

He shrugged, but she could see the tension in his shoulders. “It’s the life. Doesn’t make it easier, though.”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. But it wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it felt like something had shifted between them, an understanding settling in the air.

She studied him, taking in the rough edges—the tattoos peeking from beneath his shirtsleeves, the slight scars on his knuckles.

He was the kind of man she had always told herself to stay away from.

But here, in the soft glow of the diner, he didn’t feel dangerous.

He felt solid. Real. And she liked it. Liked him.

“You ever think about getting out?” Dawn asked quietly, tracing the rim of her coffee cup with her finger. “Leaving the MC?”

Gunner smirked, but there was something unreadable in his gaze, something that told her this wasn’t the first time someone had asked him that question.

“Nah. It’s in my blood.” He tilted his head slightly, watching her. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want more, though.”

“More?” she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper.

He leaned forward, his forearms resting on the table, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that sent a wave of heat through her.

“Yeah. More.”

The way he said it sent a shiver down her spine. It wasn’t just the word itself, but the weight behind it—the unspoken promise, the hunger laced within it.

And for some reason, Dawn pictured herself riding behind him on that massive motorcycle, arms locked around his waist, the roar of the engine drowning out everything else. The image was so vivid it nearly stole her breath.

Dawn clenched her fingers around her cup as she swallowed hard, trying to ignore the rush of something dangerously close to longing. She barely knew this man.

He was a biker, part of a world she didn’t belong to, a world that had danger and chaos written all over it. And yet, something about him made her feel seen, grounded, like if she leaned just a little closer, she might understand him in a way no one else did.

Gunner flicked his gaze down to her hands. A slow smirk curled at his lips, but it wasn’t teasing—it was knowing. Like he could read every thought running through her mind. Damn him.

She forced herself to look away, staring at the diner’s checkered floor, the hum of the neon sign outside a quiet distraction. But even then, she felt his presence, like a storm cloud on the horizon, waiting to roll in and change everything.

Thankfully, he must have sensed the shift in her, because after a moment, he leaned back in his seat, the tension between them easing just slightly.

“So,” he said, his voice lower, rougher, but still carrying that ever-present edge of amusement. “You always this deep after midnight, or is it just me?”

She let out a breath, shaking her head with a small, nervous laugh. “I think it’s just you.”

And damn if that wasn’t the truth.

****

G unner had seen plenty of women home before. Hell, he’d walked out of too many beds, slipped away before dawn, leaving nothing but the scent of whiskey and leather behind. He never lingered. Never cared enough to. His club came first—always had, always would.

But as he pulled his bike to a stop in front of Dawn’s apartment, he didn’t feel that familiar detachment. Instead, he found himself gripping the handlebars tighter, reluctant to let the night end.

He swung his leg over his Harley, his boots heavy on the pavement as he followed Dawn to her door. She moved with an easy grace, but he didn’t miss the way she glanced back at him, her lips slightly parted, her expression unreadable.

Damn, she was something else. The kind of woman who didn’t fit into the world he lived. Too good for it. Too good for him. But he wanted her anyway.

He took his time as they reached her door, letting his gaze sweep over her. The glow of the corridor lights cast shadows along the curve of her jaw, the slope of her neck. Gunner itched to trace that path with his fingers, to see if her skin was as soft as it looked.

“Well,” she said, turning to face him. “Thanks for the drink and seeing me safely home.”

He smirked, tilting his head. “You always this polite after a first date?”

She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “This wasn’t a date.”

Gunner stepped closer, closing the small space between them. “Felt like one.”

She swallowed, and his eyes dropped to her throat, to the way her pulse fluttered.

The air between them thickened. Tension stretched, electric and heady. He could hear his own breathing, could feel the steady drum of his heart picking up pace.

Dawn’s gaze flickered to his mouth, and it was all the invitation he needed. He reached up, cupping her face with a gentleness he hadn’t known he was capable of. Her breath hitched, and for a brief second, he hesitated. But then she leaned in, and he was lost.

Gunner’s lips pressed against hers, firm and sure. She responded instantly, her hands gripping his jacket as she melted against him.

The kiss deepened, her mouth soft and eager beneath his, the heat of her sending a rush of something dark and possessive through him. Her body felt perfect against him, her breasts soft, and he wondered if he looked down, he could see her nipples hardening underneath her blouse.

He hadn’t expected this. Hadn’t expected her to feel this damn good. But then she stilled, just slightly, her breath shaky as she pulled back.

Gunner forced himself to stop, resting his forehead against hers. He could feel the way her body trembled, not in fear, but in uncertainty. She wasn’t ready. And for once in his damn life, he cared enough to wait.

“Get some rest, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice rough.

She exhaled slowly, nodding as she stepped back, her fingers slipping from his jacket.

He let her go, let her disappear behind her door, even though every part of him wanted to stay.

As he walked back to his bike, his jaw clenched. He had no business wanting more from a woman like her. His world was violence and loyalty, asphalt and gunpowder.

But Dawn had slipped under his skin, and he had a feeling there was no shaking her loose.

****

T he roar of Gunner’s Harley echoed in the night as he rode back to the clubhouse, the wind whipping against his face.

The ride should have cleared his head, but it didn’t.

His thoughts kept circling back to Dawn—her lips, her scent, the way she trembled just slightly when he kissed her.

She wasn’t like the women he usually spent time with.

She was soft in a way that unsettled him, made something deep in his chest twist.

He pulled into the lot outside the Iron Sentinels’ clubhouse, parking his bike beside a row of Harleys before stepping inside.

The scent of booze, sweat, and cigarette smoke hit him instantly.

A few members were already deep into their drinks, the bass-heavy music drowning out their voices.

Sliding into his usual seat at a corner table, Gunner signaled the bartender for a whiskey.

The burn of the liquor did little to dull his restlessness. He barely heard the conversation around him until a familiar voice purred at his ear.

“You look tense, Gunner.”

He turned his head slightly, finding a blonde leaning against his chair, her heavily painted lips curled into a knowing smirk. Candy. One of the club whores. She ran her fingers over his shoulder, her touch light, teasing.

“Want some help unwinding?” Candy asked.

He shook his head. “Not tonight.”

Surprise flickered across her face, but she recovered quickly, her lips pulling into a pout before she turned to another biker at the table.

“Your loss,” she said, running her nails down the guy’s chest.

Twitch, one of the newer members, grinned and pulled her onto his lap. “Guess that means I get lucky.”

Gunner barely paid attention as she giggled and whispered something in Twitch’s ear. Instead, he tipped his glass back, downing the rest of his drink.

A heavy presence settled into the empty chair beside him. Beast, the club president and Gunner’s best friend. The man was built like a damn tank, with a thick beard and sharp eyes that missed nothing.

“How’d the meeting with Razor go?” Beast asked, resting his arms on the table.

“Fine,” Gunner replied. “Shipment’s coming in next month. Should be a clean exchange.”

Beast nodded, but his gaze stayed fixed on Gunner, sharp with something else.

“What’s got you all twisted up, brother?” Beast asked.

Gunner exhaled through his nose, rolling the empty whiskey glass between his fingers. Beast knew him too damn well.

“Met someone tonight,” Gunner finally admitted.

Beast’s brows lifted slightly. “Yeah? And?”

Gunner hesitated, then muttered, “She’s different.”

Beast smirked, amused. “A woman’s a woman, Gunner. Whatever hold you think she has on you, it’ll pass,” Beast pointed out.

Gunner wasn’t so sure. He didn’t say that, though. Just grunted and signaled for another drink.

Later that night, alone in his room at the clubhouse, he lay on his bed staring at the ceiling, the low hum of voices and music from downstairs fading into the background. He slept nude as he usually did. Sleep did not come easy.

His mind drifted back to Dawn—her laugh, the way she’d looked at him with both wariness and curiosity. Gunner pictured her naked and at his complete mercy. He curled his fingers over his dick and began to stroke.

He could see her on his bed, imagine the generous swell of her breasts, her gorgeous body and the tempting valley between her legs.

Gunner imagined she would taste incredibly sweet as he kissed and sucked his way down to her pussy.

Could hear her cries and moans as he made her come over and over again.

Gunner groaned, stroking faster now until he came. He regretted not asking for her number.

But then he remembered. She’d mentioned the diner where she worked. Maybe he’d pay her a visit sometime.