Page 16 of Her Dirty Biker

“I’m trying not to.”

He nods once, slowly. “Trying’s not the same as succeeding.”

“I’ve got it under control.”

“You'd better.”

I bristle. “You think I’d put her ahead of the Kings?”

“I think youalready are.” He looks me over. “The way it should be.”

That lands like a fucking punch to the gut. Because part of me knows he’s right. Part of me is scaredhe’s right.

“She doesn’t belong in this shit,” I say quietly. “But now that she’s seen it, we don’t have a choice.”

“You saying she’s a liability?”

“I’m saying she’s innocent.”

Rock’s jaw ticks up into almost a smile. “Not for long.”

He turns and walks out without another word.

Later that night, I ride.

The wind doesn’t help. The cold doesn’t bite the way I need it to. I end up circling back to the safehouse, my bike rumbling low as I pull up the gravel drive and kill the engine.

The porch light’s on. A warm, yellow glow spills onto the steps.

And then there she is, Willow, standing just inside the screen door, wearing nothing but one of my old T-shirts that hangs too big on her and clings in all the wrong ways.

Her bare legs are like a fucking invitation to sin.

“Hey,” she says, stepping onto the porch.

“Hey.”

My voice is rougher than I mean it to be.

She folds her arms, shifting nervously. “You were gone a while.”

“Had things to do.”

She nods, but something flickers in her eyes. Disappointment? Hurt?

“You hungry?” she asks.

“I’m always hungry.”

It’s a bullshit answer, but she smiles anyway. “There’s leftover pizza. You like pepperoni?”

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll eat whatever.”

She tilts her head. “You always this easy to please?”

“Maybe.” I take a step closer. “But you keep feeding me, and we’ll find out.”

The air between us tightens. She’s close now, so close I can smell her shampoo and the faintest trace of vanilla lotion. Her fingers twitch at her side.