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Reagan

Jesse King is a pain in the ass.

A very tall, very muscular, ridiculously hot, and not-very-charming pain in the ass.

Lucky for me, my life has been plagued with the presence of difficult men, so I’m not scared of a challenge.

He circles back into the clubhouse, stopping in front of me. I tip my chin, refusing to let his scowl get under my skin. His gaze might notch the temperature up in the room, but I don’t let him see it because I doubt his ego needs the fuel.

We hold the standoff.

Him—annoyed.

Me—pretending I can handle what’s going on here.

When Great-Aunt Margaret said she was a nanny for a biker, I didn’t picture this . I envisioned a single dad who rode a motorcycle on the weekends with his friends. It wasn’t until I was waved through the gates of the compound that I realized this is more than recreational.

Judging by the madness around me, it’s a lifestyle. One I don’t fit into. There’s a couple fucking in the hallway while everyone is unfazed and drinking like it’s the end of the world.

What have I gotten myself into by coming here?

My life is uneventful at best. I’ve spent the past year working as a secretary at an elementary school with very little excitement. The Twisted Kings clubhouse is the opposite of everything I’m used to.

Indulgence.

Debauchery.

Disorder.

And I get the impression Jesse sees straight through it. Like he senses the razor edge I’m walking, trying not to stand out among them as he stares me down in a challenge.

I pull my shoulders back and remind myself that I’m here for Margaret. Jesse’s seductively malicious gaze might be distracting, but it won’t scare me away. Even when a girl drops to her knees across the room and gets to work, I refuse to break eye contact.

“Can I help you with something?” I glare at Jesse when he’s been staring silently for so long that he’s boring a hole through my patience.

Luna chuckles at my right, clinging to the arm of her very tall, tattooed biker boyfriend. She was always more comfortable in scenes like this in high school, so it makes sense that she seems to fit in here.

“I’m taking you to the airport.” Jesse’s voice is nearly as intoxicating as his attention.

“There aren’t any more flights tonight, so I don’t think you are.” I angle my chin up farther, refusing to back down.

“Well, you’re not staying here.”

“Who says you get to make that decision for me?” I cross my arms over my chest and try to seem unaffected.

From the corner of my eye, I spot one of Legacy’s biker friends chuckling as he takes a sip of his beer. He’s the same friend who offered me a ride home. And every time he looks at me, Jesse’s jaw ticks in irritation.

Jesse might not like me being here, but he’s clearly protective of Margaret with how angry he is at his friend checking me out. What I don’t understand is why he’s so resistant to my help if he trusts her so much.

“Fine.” After a long, silent standoff, Jesse finally breaks my gaze. “Let’s go.”

He grabs my suitcase and storms toward the hallway, not waiting to see if I’m following. I’m tempted to stay put just to piss him off more, but without him blocking me from the rest of the room, it’s suddenly overwhelming.

I shrug my purse over my shoulder, hurrying after him. “Where are you taking me? I already told you there aren’t any more flights tonight. And even if there were, I’m not getting on one. Margaret asked for my help, and she wouldn’t have done that unless—”

“Do you always talk this much?” He glares.

“Are you always so much of an asshole to people you don’t know?” I shoot back, irritated.

Jesse grumbles, not answering.

“If you can point me in the direction of a hotel, I’ll stay there until I can talk to her,” I concede.

“You’re not staying at a fucking hotel,” he huffs out. “We’re going to my house.”

“Wait…” I drop my chin, trying to process. “You don’t live here ?”

Jesse stops suddenly, and with my gaze down, I almost run into his chest as he spins to face me. His hands catch my arms before we collide, and he holds me less than a foot away.

Gentle but firm.

Close enough that I get an inhale of his woodsy cologne.

I tip my head back to look into his blue eyes, but his gaze fixes on my throat as I swallow. We’re standing too close for me to think straight.

He must notice, too, because he releases my arms and takes a step back. And for the first time since we started our verbal sparring match, I really look at him.

I always assumed bikers were dangerous and rough around the edges. Which, I suppose Jesse is, given his constant glare and the ripped skin on the back of his knuckles from a fight he must have recently been in. But the longer I stare, I see something more than the leather vest or the red-flag warning in his eyes.

The faintest pinch of his eyebrows borders on concern.

Like he’s not just annoyed that I’m here, but he’s worried for me .

I wet my lips, and his gaze falls to my mouth .

This man might be irritating and lethal, but he’s downright gorgeous. I’ll give him that. Everything from his blue eyes to his strong jawline has me leveling my breath. He crosses his thick arms over his chest, and I realize that, unlike the rest of the men in the clubhouse, there’s not a tattoo on them. His dark-blond hair is messy but trimmed short on the sides, and the faint scruff on his jaw is perfectly kept.

It’s ridiculous for a man to be this beautiful, especially when he’s a total asshole.

“What?” I clench my jaw, hoping the snap in my tone hides the burning sensation prickling my cheeks.

“I have a house at the other end of the property.” Jesse finally breaks my stare, raking his hair off his forehead. “You’ll stay there tonight, and then I’ll take you to the airport in the morning. I already told Margaret I had things handled, and nothing’s changed. So, you might as well go back to wherever you came from.”

“Are you always this delightful with the ladies?” I roll my eyes.

“Guess you bring it out of me, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart .

That’s the second time he’s called me that, and I wish it didn’t make me want to drop my panties because Jesse is infuriatingly rude.

A dark smile curls in the corner of his mouth like he’s reading my thoughts. Or, at least, he’s reading the blush climbing up my chest and neck. And that small hint of a smile catches me off guard, so I brush past him, refusing to let him think he flusters me.

“Don’t start looking amused now,” I warn him, refusing to meet his gaze. “Wouldn’t want your pretty face to pull a muscle.”

“Good to know you think I’m pretty.” He chuckles, leading me to his truck to set my suitcase in the back and popping open the door for me.

“I thought bikers rode motorcycles.”

“Are you gonna climb on the back of my bike wearing that little number?” His eyebrow hitches in a challenge as his gaze falls to the short hem of my sundress. But before I can respond, his gaze darkens, and he cuts me off. “Never mind. Just get in the fucking truck.”

“Such a gentleman.” This man’s moods are giving me whiplash.

It takes careful maneuvering not to flash my underwear as I climb in. Not that it seems like he’d care to see them, since he slams the door behind me the second I clear it.

I watch him pull out his phone and circle the truck while I latch my seatbelt. He types something into it before climbing in himself, and I wonder if he’s letting Margaret know I arrived. I tried to call her when my flight landed, but she didn’t answer, so I assumed she was sleeping and decided to find my way on my own.

Maybe it would have been smarter to book a hotel room for the night and show up when Margaret was around to act as a buffer.

The short drive to Jesse’s house is nearly unbearable in such a confined space. Part of me wants to lean closer to smell him, and the other part of me wants to slap him across the face every time he scoffs in my direction. I manage to not do either, opting to stare out the window at the dark desert instead.

I watch as a cluster of lights get larger until a small row of houses comes into view. Jesse wasn’t joking about owning a house on the property, and this must be what Margaret has been talking about when she mentions the neighborhood they live in.

Jesse stops at a house near the middle of the cluster and immediately climbs out.

This far from the clubhouse feels like another universe than the one I was just standing in. The air is clear, and the night is quiet. Stars are fuller without light pollution to dull them, and the moon casts a cool blanket over the desert.

Jesse’s house isn’t what I’d expect of him at all. Unlike him, it’s inviting. Plants decorate the porch, and white shutters frame the windows.

None of it makes sense. Not that anything about this man seems to.

Jesse takes long strides as he circles the truck, looking annoyed when I start to open my door, like he expected me to wait for him. He snatches it from my hand when he’s within reach, nearly tugging it out of my grip. And when I’m fully out, he slams it behind me and grabs my suitcase from the back.

Everything about Jesse King is a contradiction, and I wonder what side of him he shows Margaret to have kept her around all these years .

Whenever she mentioned Jesse, she had good things to say.

He’s strong-willed.

A protective father.

She made him sound kind—sweet even. Nothing like the grumpy biker frowning at me while he waits for me outside his front door.

“Nice house.”

He grunts, pushing the door and holding it open for me to walk in. “Shoes off.”

There’s a small shoe rack inside the foyer, but he discards his boots in what must be their designated corner. A mild dusting of dirt and rocks has collected there.

I slip out of my sandals and find an empty spot on the rack, which is filled with rows of tiny shoes—mostly pink.

Cowgirl boots, sneakers, flip flops.

Jesse doesn’t wait for me as he makes his way down a hallway that cuts the house in two. And when I follow him, I’m surprised by how modern everything is. While the clubhouse had sticky wood floors and cigarette-smoke-saturated walls, Jesse’s house is nearly spotless. Clean lines and contrasting tones of white and dark gray are accented with black edges. The limited decorations are minimal and clean. And besides the little hints of his daughter, there’s no other indication of a woman’s touch.

He leads me into the kitchen, and I find the only pop of color in the house. His stainless-steel fridge is almost completely covered in bright, colorful drawings .

“Are these Bea’s?” I point to a drawing of a horse.

“How do you know her name?” He snaps the question.

My eyebrows pinch as I turn toward him. “Margaret told me.”

His face relaxes as he nods, and I wonder what he’s experienced in his life for his guard to be so high all the time. It’s one more side to a man I thought I’d figured out at first glance when I walked into the bar and caught him staring at some girl’s ass.

He’s protective, yes. But beyond that is something I don’t know if he’s even willing to admit to himself—fear. And it flares for his daughter the second I mention her name.

Jesse might trust Margaret, but it’s clear he doesn’t trust me.

He glances over at Bea’s pictures, silently working something over as his gaze skips from one to the next. And for the first time since I met Jesse, his cold facade slips long enough for him to appreciate his daughter’s artwork.

“She’s a fan of pink,” I say, trying to soften whatever was riled up inside him just now. “And horses?”

“She wants to be a cowgirl when she grows up.” His gaze slides to me.

“And what do you think about that?”

“At least if she’s riding a horse, then she’s not on the back of a motorcycle.” He shrugs.

I’m not sure what to make of his comment, when it sounds like he doesn’t want his daughter participating in the life he clearly chose, but I know better than to think it’s my place to ask.

“I’ll show you to your room.” Jesse grabs a water bottle and walks out of the kitchen, once again not asking me to follow, even if I do it anyway.

“You can stay here.” He pauses at a door at the end of the hall and sets my suitcase just inside. “There’s a bed and a private bathroom. Margaret keeps it stocked with soap and fancy shit, so you should have everything you need.”

“Fancy shit?”

“Yeah.” He digs his fingers into his hair, avoiding my gaze. “Conditioner, lotion that smells like flowers. Fancy shit. You know what I mean. We’ll head to the airport in the morning.”

He shoves the water bottle at me, and I take it.

“Thanks—” The word is barely out before Jesse brushes past me, leaving me standing in the doorway to the guest room, speechless.

No you’re welcome .

No goodnight .

Nothing.

I don’t know how Margaret has worked for him for so long or why he’s nothing like she described. But I guess that will be a question for her in the morning.

Stepping into the guest room, I shut the door and lean my back against it. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying not to think about how badly Jesse wants me to leave. How little he wants my help.

Especially when I need to convince him otherwise .

You can do this.

I take a deep breath.

After all, I have no choice. Jesse might be a jerk, but I can’t go back to Arizona. And if there’s one good thing about a ruthless man, it’s that maybe he’ll protect me from the one I’m running from.