Page 7 of Her Dirty Biker (Savage Kings MC #3)

Chapter seven

Diesel

The garage smells like grease and hot metal when I roll in. Beckett’s under the hood of an old Chevelle, humming off-key. He glances up when I kill the engine.

“About damn time,” he says.

“You miss me that bad?”

“Nah. Just wanted to see if you were still alive.”

I grunt, ignoring the smile tugging at my mouth.

“She’s safe?”

“She’s fine,” I say. “Spooked but solid. Smarter than most.”

Beckett wipes his hands on a rag and leans back against the workbench. “You sure she doesn’t know more than she’s letting on?”

I meet his eyes. “She didn’t even know what she overheard meant.”

He whistles low. “She’s green.”

“She’s real,” I snap. “Not like the girls who hang around the bar looking for ink and trouble.”

“You saying she’s different?”

I don’t answer because he knows the answer. Because I know the answer.

After checking in with Rock, I don’t go back to the safehouse right away.

Instead, I ride. Not aimlessly, nothing I do is without purpose, but I need to breathe. To stop picturing Willow in my bed, looking up at me like I’m important.

I end up at the overlook outside town. Pull off the highway, kill the engine, and climb out to sit on the hood of my truck.

The town sprawls below, quiet, sleepy, all its sins hidden away.

I lace my fingers together and stare out at it, trying to force my thoughts into a straight line.

All I can see is her.

The way she touched my arm was like it anchored her. She said my name like a prayer, and now I can’t get the sound out of my head.

She’s too soft for this life. Too untouched. Too good for a man like me. That doesn’t stop me from wanting her again and keeping her until no one—not Langford, not Guardrail, not the goddamn Devil—could take her from me.