Page 23

Lainey

“Do you really think it’s a good idea to take my first ride on your motorcycle on the way to a photoshoot?” I asked, shielding my eyes from the sun with the flat of my hand. “I can just stay at the clubhouse.”

Duane shook his head like I’d just said I wanted to ride a unicycle down the interstate. Without warning, he plopped the helmet on top of my head and secured the strap beneath my chin. “No, you can’t,” he said as he brushed his fingers under my jaw. “Because no one’s gonna be here besides the dogs.”

I looked over toward the porch where Harley and Davidson were splayed out, panting dramatically like the sun had personally offended them.

“They’d keep me safe,” I joked. “They love me.”

Duane pressed a kiss to my lips, warm and brief, then turned to shrug on his cut. “You’re with me. Always.”

God, I loved it when he talked like that—like I was something he’d hold onto no matter what storm came. That I mattered. That I belonged.

I, of course, wanted to go with him. But I didn’t want to be in the way.

“And who’s going to be with Lottie when she gets out of school?” I asked. My mom-brain never quite turned off. I knew Duane had said someone was always watching her, but that didn’t stop the worry from creeping in.

“The same guy we’ve got watching her, Lainey,” he said calmly. “I promise on everything—she’s safe.”

And I believed him. I’d seen it in his eyes the night she went missing. He would burn the world down to keep her safe—just like he would for me.

I reached up and adjusted the strap under my chin. “In that case, let’s ride.”

He chuckled and kissed me again. “Okay. I’ll get on first, then you climb on behind me, yeah?”

I gave him a thumbs-up. “Got it.”

He threw one leg over the bike like he’d been doing it since birth. Meanwhile, I stared at the narrow seat behind him like it was a balance beam I hadn’t trained for. I gripped his shoulders and started to swing one leg over—except I misjudged the angle, and my foot caught on the edge of the seat.

I flailed.

“Whoa, babe!” Duane caught me mid-stumble, one hand on my arm and the other steadying the bike.

I landed halfway on the seat and halfway on him, laughing nervously. “I’m fine. Just testing your reflexes.”

“Passed with flying colors,” he said with a grin. “Try again, slower this time.”

I did. With a little less flair and a lot more caution, I climbed on and scooted in behind him. My hands settled on his waist, and I leaned forward until my chest touched his back.

“Now what?” I asked, slightly breathless.

He chuckled. “Now I crank her up, and you hold on. Yeah?”

“Seems simple enough.”

When the engine roared to life, I nearly jumped out of my skin. The rumble vibrated through my chest, loud and raw and wild. It wasn’t like hearing it from a few feet away—this was inside me, and I felt it in my bones.

“Ready?” he called over the engine’s roar.

I nodded, then realized he couldn’t see me. I leaned in close to his ear. “I am ready!”

I felt him laugh, the sound of it swallowed up by the bike. He kicked the stand up. “Hold on, babe!”

We took off.

My arms tightened around him, and my legs gripped the sides of the seat. The wind slammed into us, cool and sharp. I let out a little squeal I wasn’t proud of, but within seconds, something shifted.

It was fun.

It was terrifying and thrilling and weirdly peaceful, all at once.

By the time we reached the warehouse, I didn’t want to get off the bike. A guy in a headset and sunglasses flagged us down and waved toward an overhead door. Duane gave him a nod, and we rolled forward into the shade of the building.

The bike echoed against the walls as we moved through a large open space and onto a freight elevator. Duane didn’t seem fazed at all, but I leaned back a little, eyeing the industrial metal platform beneath us.

“This is crazy!” I called.

Duane patted my leg. “This is a first for me too, babe.”

The elevator clanked and groaned, then started its slow ascent. We rose three floors before it stopped with a loud thunk, and the doors opened.

He rolled us forward onto a smooth concrete floor. At the far end of the space, I saw lights, camera rigs, and several people bustling around. And beyond all that—the club.

Duane pulled us to a stop and cut the engine. The silence after the ride made my ears ring.

“‘Bout time you got here,” Cue Ball called.

Smoke walked over and stretched his arms like he’d just finished a twelve-hour shift. “Thank God it’s your turn. Pretty sure they took, like, a thousand pictures of each of us.”

“Dice,” Yarder called from behind a backdrop. “You’re up first.”

Duane groaned. “Jesus. I didn’t even get a chance to relax.”

I slid off the bike and planted my feet on the ground, trying to look casual despite my jelly legs. He dismounted too, much more gracefully than I was.

I didn’t know where to go or what to do. Everyone else here seemed to know the drill. Me? I still couldn’t believe I was standing in a warehouse being ushered into a photoshoot for a reality TV show.

Duane leaned in and pressed a kiss to my lips. “Stay close, okay?”

The man was about to go full GQ biker mode, and he was worried about me .

“I’ll be right here,” I promised. Then I winked. “Knock ‘em dead, hotshot.”

“Hotshot?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

I nodded, grinning. “Yup. You are definitely a hotshot. Reality TV? Big photoshoots? You’re practically famous.” I rested my hand against his chest. “Hotshot.”

He laughed and tugged me closer, pressing another kiss to my mouth. “ Your hotshot, babe.”

Damn right. I looked up at him and smiled. “My hotshot.”

And with that, he turned and walked toward the flashing lights and the waiting cameras.

And I stood there, wondering how I’d ended up here.