Page 12

ten

Meadow

The day seemed to drag on, and my phone has been blowing up with other nurses and staff asking if I’m okay because my name has been circling the news.

If I wanted my identity to be kept a secret, that’s out of the window. My face has been splashed all over, saying how I started a revolution.

It’s around ten at night and everyone has drifted away to their rooms, houses, and the guest cabins. No one has left the premises and I love that everyone is here.

The door opens, and Mason walks in with his hair wet, like he just took a shower, changed into a pair of sweatpants and a white shirt.

But my eyes can’t be torn from the front of his sweatpants because something very large is trying to reach its way toward me.

Mason’s eyes lock on to mine, dark and hungry. The air crackles between us, charged with months of pent-up desire. My breath catches as he stalks closer, and the thin fabric of his sweatpants does little to hide his arousal.

“Like what you see, darlin’?” His voice is gravel and sin.

I swallow hard, unable to tear my gaze away from the impressive bulge straining against the soft material. “Mason,” I breathe, my own voice barely a whisper.

He stops inches from me, close enough that his body heat envelops me. The scent of his soap mingles with leather and something uniquely him. My head swims.

“Tell me what you want, Meadow.” His fingers ghost along my jawline, leaving fire in their wake. “Say the word and I’ll stop. But if you want this as bad as I do…”

My heart pounds so hard I swear he must hear it. Desire coils low in my belly, hot and insistent. I meet his gaze, drowning in those dark eyes.

“I want you,” I confess, the words tumbling out. “God, Mason, I’ve wanted you for so long.”

A growl rumbles in his chest, primal and possessive. His lips crash against mine, hot and demanding. I melt into him, arms wrapping around his neck as he pulls me flush against his body. The kiss deepens, tongues tangling as months of longing explode between us.

Mason’s hands roam my body, leaving trails of fire. I arch into his touch, desperate for more. He breaks the kiss, both of us panting.

“Bed,” he demands. “Now.”

He lifts me effortlessly, my legs wrapping around his waist. The impressive length of him presses against my core, drawing a gasp from my lips. We tumble onto the mattress, a tangle of limbs and heated skin.

Mason’s weight settles over me, delicious and overwhelming. His hands slide under my shirt, calloused fingers tracing patterns on my ribs. I shiver, arching into his touch.

“Mason,” I whimper, need clouding my thoughts. “Please.”

He pulls back, eyes dark with desire. “You sure about this, darlin’? Once we start, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

The raw honesty in his voice sends another wave of heat through me.

“I’m sure,” I whisper. “I want this. I want you.”

Something flashes in his eyes—relief? Joy?—before he captures my lips in another searing kiss. His hands fumble with the hem of my shirt, breaking the kiss just long enough to pull it over my head.

But there is one secret that I haven’t told him yet, and I need to let it out before we go further.

I reach forward, cupping his jaw in my hand. “I have to tell you something.” My throat feels suddenly thick.

Mason’s hands still on my skin, his touch electric. His eyes search mine, dark and intense. “What is it, darlin’?”

My heart pounds, blood rushing in my ears. The words stick in my throat, choking me. I swallow hard. “I… I’ve never…”

Understanding dawns in his eyes. The raw desire softens, replaced by something tender. “You’re a virgin.”

I nod, unable to meet his gaze. Heat floods my cheeks. “I’m sorry, I should have?—”

“Don’t.” His finger tilts my chin up, forcing me to look at him. The intensity in his eyes steals my breath. “Don’t you dare apologize. Not for this.”

His thumb traces my bottom lip. I shiver.

“You have no idea what this means to me, Meadow.” His voice is low, rough. “That you’d trust me with this… it’s everything.”

Relief crashes over me, followed by a wave of desire so strong it makes me dizzy. “I want it to be you,” I whisper. The words tumble out, unstoppable. “I’ve wanted it to be you for so long.”

A growl rumbles in his chest. Primal. Possessive. “Are you sure?” His voice is strained, barely controlled. “Because if we do this, there’s no going back. You’ll be mine, Meadow. In every way.”

His words send lightning down my spine. I reach up, fingers threading through his hair. “I’m sure,” I breathe. “Make me yours, Mason.”

He leans down, forehead pressing against mine. “I promise,” he murmurs, breath hot on my lips, “I’ll make this good for you, darlin’. I’ll take care of you.”

His lips meet mine. The kiss is achingly tender, a stark contrast to the urgency from before. The slow-burning intensity steals my breath. Mason’s hands roam my body, reverent. Each touch ignites sparks beneath my skin.

Clothing falls away. Skin meets skin. I lose myself in the sensations.

Mason’s lips blaze a trail down my neck, each kiss igniting sparks beneath my skin. His stubble scrapes deliciously, sending shivers racing along my nerves. I arch into him, desperate for more contact.

“Fuck, Meadow,” he says against my collarbone. “You’re perfect.”

His calloused hands map my body, rough palms sliding over soft curves. I gasp as he cups my breast, thumb circling my nipple. The contrast of his hard body against mine is intoxicating.

“Mason, please,” I whimper, not even sure what I’m begging for.

He answers by taking my nipple into his mouth. Hot, wet suction sends lightning bolts of pleasure straight to my core. I cry out, fingers tangling in his hair to hold him close.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he murmurs, switching to my other breast. “Let me hear you.”

His teeth graze sensitive flesh. I arch off the bed, a needy moan escaping my lips. Every nerve ending feels electrified, hyperaware of his touch.

Mason works his way lower, open-mouthed kisses trailing fire down my stomach. My muscles quiver beneath his lips. Anticipation coils tight in my belly as he settles between my thighs.

His eyes lock with mine, dark with hunger. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, Meadow,” he promises, voice rough with desire. “Gonna worship every inch of you.”

The first swipe of his tongue draws a strangled cry from my throat. Pleasure explodes through me, white-hot and all-consuming. Mason groans, the vibration sending shock waves of sensation rippling outward.

“Mason,” I gasp, hips bucking involuntarily. “Oh God, Mason!”

He throws one arm across my hips, pinning me in place as he devours me. His tongue is relentless, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention on my clit. I writhe beneath him, lost in a haze of bliss.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmurs, the words muffled against my flesh. “Let go for me. Wanna feel you come on my tongue.”

He slides one thick finger inside me, then two. The stretch burns in the best way, a delicious counterpoint to the pleasure of his mouth. When he curls his fingers, hitting that spot inside, I shatter.

“Mason!” I cry out, back bowing as waves of ecstasy crash over me. He doesn’t let up, drawing out my orgasm until I’m trembling and oversensitive.

Finally, he pulls away, pressing a kiss to my inner thigh. I lie boneless on the bed, chest heaving as I try to catch my breath. Mason crawls up my body, a predatory gleam in his eye.

“We’re just getting started, darlin’,” he says, claiming my lips in a searing kiss.

Mason’s kiss consumes me, hungry and possessive. The taste of myself on his lips sends a shiver down my spine. His body covers mine, a solid wall of muscle and heat. His hardness presses against my thigh, insistent and promising.

“You okay?” His voice is rough, barely controlled.

I nod, words failing me. My body hums with lingering pleasure, but a new tension coils low in my belly. Want. Need.

Mason’s calloused hand cups my cheek. The tenderness in his touch contrasts sharply with the fire in his eyes. “We stop anytime you want. Just say the word.”

My heart swells. I trace the strong line of his jaw, feeling the stubble rasp against my fingertips. “I don’t want to stop,” I whisper. “I want you, Mason. All of you.”

His chest vibrates against me, I can feel how intensely he wants me. His lips crash into mine, claiming, devouring. He shifts, and I feel him positioned at my entrance.

“Might hurt,” he warns, breaking the kiss. His eyes search mine, dark with desire and concern. “I’ll go slow, but if it’s too much?—”

I silence him with another kiss. “I trust you,” I breathe against his lips.

Mason nods, jaw clenched tight. He begins to push forward, achingly slow. The stretch burns, unfamiliar and intense. I force myself to relax, focusing on the warmth of his skin against mine, the rapid beat of his heart.

“Breathe, darlin’,” he murmurs, peppering kisses along my jaw. “That’s it. You’re doing so good.”

Inch by torturous inch, he sinks into me. When he finally bottoms out, we both groan. The feeling of fullness overwhelms me, teetering on the edge of too much. Mason holds still, muscles trembling with the effort.

“You okay?” His voice is strained, barely above a whisper.

I nod, adjusting to the new sensations. “I’m okay,” I whisper back. “You can move.”

Mason starts slow, shallow thrusts that gradually deepen. The initial discomfort fades, replaced by sparks of pleasure that shoot through me. I wrap my legs around his waist, drawing him closer, wanting more.

“Fuck, Meadow,” he groans, burying his face in my neck. His breath is hot against my skin. “You feel amazing. So tight, so perfect.”

His words send another wave of heat through me. I arch into him, meeting his thrusts. “More,” I gasp. “Please, Mason.”

He obliges, picking up the pace. The room fills with the sounds of our pleasure—skin against skin, breathy moans and whispered endearments. I lose myself in the sensations, in the feeling of Mason moving inside me, around me, consuming me.

Pressure builds low in my belly, coiling tighter with each thrust. Mason’s hand snakes between us, calloused fingers finding my clit. The dual stimulation is overwhelming, pushing me closer to the edge.

“Come for me, darlin’,” he says, his voice raw with need. “Want to feel you come around me.”

His words, combined with the relentless rhythm of his hips and fingers, send me hurtling over the edge. Pleasure explodes through me and I cry out his name.

Mason’s thrusts become erratic, his breathing harsh against my neck. With a final groan, he stills inside me, his body shuddering with his release.

For a long moment, we lie tangled together, hearts racing, skin slick with sweat. Mason’s weight presses me into the mattress, grounding me as I float in a haze of bliss.

“You okay?” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to my temple.

I nod, unable to form words just yet. My body feels boneless, pleasantly sore in ways I’ve never experienced before.

Mason starts to pull away, but I tighten my arms around him. “Stay,” I whisper, not ready to lose the connection.

He settles back against me, one hand stroking my hair. The tenderness in his touch brings tears to my eyes.

Mason’s body covers mine, a comforting weight. His heart thunders against my chest, matching my own frantic rhythm. Sweat cools on our skin. The room smells of sex and leather and us.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, lips brushing my ear. “I’m not going anywhere.”

I burrow closer, savoring the warmth of his skin. My body hums with lingering pleasure, deliciously sore in new ways.

“Oh shit,” Mason says, tensing. “We forgot protection.”

My eyes snap open. Panic flares then fades just as quickly. “I have an IUD,” I tell him. “No worries there.”

He relaxes, a low chuckle rumbling through his chest. “Smart girl.”

His fingers trace lazy patterns on my back. Goosebumps follow in their wake. I shiver, pressing closer.

“Cold?” Mason asks, concern lacing his voice.

I shake my head. “Just… feeling everything.”

He pulls back slightly, dark eyes searching mine. “Good everything or bad everything?”

“Good,” I assure him. “Really good.”

A smile tugs at his lips, softening the hard planes of his face. It transforms him, makes him look younger. I want to see that smile more often.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, thumb tracing my cheekbone.

I consider deflecting, hiding behind a joke. But the tenderness in his gaze disarms me. “That I want to see you smile like that all the time,” I admit.

His eyes darken, something fierce and possessive flashing in their depths. “Keep looking at me like that,” he hisses, “and you just might.”

He brushes a stray hair from my face, his calloused fingers leaving trails of fire on my skin.

“Be right back, darlin’,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

The mattress shifts as he stands. My eyes drink him in, all taut muscle and inked skin. Scars map his body, each one a story I long to hear. He stretches, muscles rippling beneath his tattoos. My mouth goes dry.

He pads to the bathroom, feet silent on the hardwood. The door clicks shut. Water runs. I close my eyes, savoring the lingering warmth of his body on the sheets. His scent surrounds me, leather and sweat and Mason.

My body hums with satisfaction, deliciously sore in new ways. I stretch, feeling the pleasant ache in muscles I didn’t know I had. A giggle bubbles up, unbidden. I clamp a hand over my mouth, but it’s too late.

“What’s so funny?” Mason’s voice, low and amused, comes from the doorway.

I open my eyes to find him leaning against the frame, a damp washcloth in hand. His lips quirk up in that crooked smile that makes my heart skip.

“Nothing,” I say, heat rising to my cheeks. “Just… happy, I guess.”

Mason’s touch is gentle as he cleans me, his eyes soft with tenderness. The damp cloth feels cool against my heated skin. I shiver, but not from cold.

“Thank you,” I murmur, suddenly shy under his intense gaze.

He tosses the cloth aside and crawls back into bed, pulling me close. I mold my body against him, savoring the warmth of his skin.

“No need to thank me, darlin’,” he rumbles, pressing a kiss to my temple. “Taking care of you is my pleasure.”

His words send a flutter through my chest. I tilt my head up, meeting his gaze. The intensity I find there steals my breath.

“Mason,” I start, not sure what I want to say but needing to say something.

He silences me with a soft kiss. When he pulls back, his eyes are dark and serious. “I need you to know something, Meadow,” he says, voice low and rough. “You mean so fucking much to me, you’re it for me. If you try to leave, I will just have to kidnap you.”

He says it so casually, but it doesn’t lesson the fact that he just said that I’m it for him.

My heart pounds. “You’re it for me too,” I whisper.

Mason’s arm tightens around me. “Good, because I don’t plan on letting you go. You’re mine now, Meadow. In every way.”

The possessiveness in his tone should scare me. Instead, it sends a thrill down my spine. I reach up, tracing the strong line of his jaw.

“Yours,” I agree, the word a promise.

His eyes flash with something primal. In one smooth motion, he rolls us so I’m pinned beneath him.

“Damn right.”

* * *

Warmth envelops me as consciousness seeps in. Mason’s body curls around mine, a living fortress of muscle and ink. His breath tickles my neck, slow and steady. I shift, stretching languidly, and freeze. His hand cups me intimately, possessive even in sleep.

Heat floods my cheeks. Memories of last night flash through my mind—his touch, his taste, the way he made me feel. My body responds, a slow burn kindling low in my belly.

Mason stirs, his fingers twitching against my sensitive flesh. A soft groan rumbles through his chest, vibrating against my back. His grip tightens, pulling me flush against him.

“Mornin’, darlin’,” he rasps, voice rough with sleep and something darker. His lips brush my ear, sending shivers down my spine. “Sleep well?”

I nod, not trusting my voice. His thumb traces lazy circles, stoking the fire building within me. I bite back a whimper, torn between embarrassment and desperate need.

“Mason,” I breathe, unsure if I’m asking him to stop or begging for more.

He chuckles, low and wicked. “Like that, do you?” His teeth graze my earlobe. “Tell me what you want, Meadow. I’ll give you anything.”

My hips rock involuntarily, seeking more friction. “I… I don’t know,” I admit, flustered by the intensity of my own desire. “This is all so new.”

Mason’s free hand tilts my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. His eyes blaze with hunger and something softer. “We’ve got all the time in the world to figure it out,” he murmurs. “No rush, no pressure. Just us.”

He leans in, capturing my lips in a searing kiss. I melt into him, last night’s shyness forgotten. His fingers move with purpose now, stoking the flames higher. I gasp into his mouth, overwhelmed by the sensation.

A sharp knock shatters the moment. We freeze, hearts pounding in tandem.

“Mason!” Christopher’s voice is urgent. “We’ve got a situation. Peterson’s made contact.”

Mason tenses, a low sound rumbling in his chest. “Fuck,” he mutters. His eyes meet mine, conflicted. “I’ve gotta?—”

I nod, pushing down my disappointment. “Go,” I say. “It’s okay.”

He kisses me hard, pouring unspoken promises into the contact. Then he’s up, pulling on clothes with swift efficiency. I watch him transform from my tender lover to the dangerous biker, armor settling into place with each layer.

Mason pauses at the door, his gaze intense. “This isn’t over,” he vows, voice low and heated. “We’ll finish what we started. Count on it.”

With that, he’s gone. The door clicks shut behind him, leaving me alone with the lingering warmth of his touch and the growing dread of what news awaits us downstairs.

* * *

MASON

I stride into church, fire simmering beneath my skin. Christopher’s poorly timed interruption still grates, but the weight of club business settles heavy on my shoulders. The familiar scent of leather and stale smoke hits me as I take my seat.

Liam’s eyes bore into me from across the table. I meet his gaze, unflinching. Let him stare. I’ve got nothing to hide.

“Nice of you to join us, brother,” Christopher quips, a smirk playing at his lips.

I grunt, not rising to the bait. “What’s the situation?”

The room falls silent. Tension crackles in the air. Liam leans forward, his knuckles white as he grips the edge of the table.

“Peterson made contact,” he repeats. “Left a message at the hospital. For Meadow.”

My blood runs cold. Rage claws at my insides, demanding release. “What kind of message?”

Christopher slides a photo across the table. My stomach turns as I take it in. A dead rat, its belly sliced open. A note pinned to its corpse: You’re next, bitch.

Red bleeds into the edges of my vision. I want to tear Peterson apart with my bare hands. Make him suffer for daring to threaten what’s mine.

“Where?” I demand, my voice barely human.

“Left at the nurses’ station,” Liam replies. “Security footage shows a kid dropping it off. Paid courier.”

I slam my fist on the table. The resounding crack echoes through the room. “We need to end this. Now.”

Liam’s eyes narrow. “And how do you propose we do that, hotshot? Peterson’s in the wind. We’ve got no leads.”

I lean back, forcing myself to breathe. “Liam, you may be Meadow’s father, but disrespect me again and I will lay you out.”

Liam pushes his seat out. “Fine, you and me in the ring.” He points between the two of us.

I grin; this is the best news I’ve heard all fucking week, and I can hear my brothers grumbling under their breaths.

We all trail out of the room toward the basement where we have a gym and in the middle of the room is a boxing ring.

The ring. Familiar territory. My boots sink into the worn canvas as I step inside. Liam circles opposite me, eyes narrowed.

The basement air is thick with the scent of sweat and leather. The fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows, highlighting the grim determination on every face. My brothers form a loose circle around the ring, tension crackling in the air like electricity.

I roll my shoulders, muscles coiled tight with anticipation. Across from me, Liam strips off his cut, revealing arms corded with muscle. For a man his age, he’s kept himself in fighting shape. This won’t be easy.

Good. I don’t want easy.

“You sure about this, old man?” I taunt, unable to resist needling him. “Wouldn’t want you to throw out your back.”

Liam’s eyes narrow, a dangerous glint sparking to life. “Watch your mouth, boy. I’ve been beating punks like you since before you were in diapers.”

We circle each other, feet light on the canvas. The room falls silent, save for the creak of leather as our brothers shift restlessly.

Liam strikes first, a quick jab that I barely dodge. His fist grazes my cheek, a warning shot. I counter with a hook to his ribs, satisfyingly solid.

We trade blows, testing defenses. Liam fights smart, economical. Every punch has a purpose. But I’m younger, faster. I dance around his guard, peppering him with quick strikes.

A right cross catches me off guard. Pain explodes across my jaw. I taste blood. Fuck.

“That all you got?” I spit, grinning through bloody teeth.

Liam’s answering smile is all predator. “Just getting warmed up, son.”

The fight turns brutal. We abandon techniques for raw aggression. Knuckles split. Bruises bloom. Each impact reverberates through the room, punctuated by grunts of pain and exertion.

I lose track of time. The world narrows to this, fists and fury and the burning in my lungs. Liam lands a vicious body shot that steals my breath. I retaliate with an uppercut that snaps his head back.

We’re both bleeding now, sweat-slicked and panting. But neither of us is willing to yield. This isn’t just about Peterson anymore. It’s about respect. About proving ourselves worthy of Meadow.

The thought of her ignites something primal in my chest. With a roar, I charge forward, tackling Liam to the canvas. We grapple, a tangle of limbs and desperation. My fist connects with his temple. Once. Twice.

“Enough!”

Meadow’s voice cuts through the haze of violence like a knife. My fist freezes mid-swing, Liam’s blood hot on my knuckles. We lock eyes.

“What the hell is wrong with you two?” she demands, fury blazing in her gaze.

Shame burns through me, hotter than any punch. I scramble off Liam, the canvas rough against my palms. The taste of copper floods my mouth.

Meadow storms into the ring, all righteous anger and flashing eyes. “Fighting like animals while Peterson’s out there? Are you insane?”

Her words sting worse than my split lip. I reach for her, but she jerks away. “Meadow, I?—”

“Save it,” she snaps. She turns to Liam, who’s struggling to his feet. “And you. My own father. I expected better.”

Liam has the decency to look ashamed. “Princess, we were just?—”

“Just what? Proving how tough you are?” Meadow’s voice drips with disdain. “While that psycho’s running free, threatening people I care about?”

The room falls silent, her words hanging heavy in the air. My brothers shift uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact.

Meadow takes a shaky breath, hands clenched at her sides. “If you two are done with this macho bullshit, maybe we can focus on the real problem.”

She turns on her heel, stalking toward the exit. Every eye in the room follows her.

“Meadow, wait,” I call out, desperation clawing at my throat.

She pauses at the door, not looking back. “Clean yourselves up. We have work to do.”

The door slams behind her, the sound echoing through the suddenly too quiet basement. I meet Liam’s gaze, seeing my own regret mirrored there.

“Fuck,” I mutter, wiping blood from my chin.

Liam nods, wincing as he prods a rapidly swelling eye. “You heard the lady. Let’s get our shit together.”

* * *

MEADOW

I storm out of the basement, fury pulsing through my veins. The cool air outside does little to calm the fire raging inside me. My fists clench at my sides, nails digging into my palms.

Idiots. Both of them.

I kick a trash can, sending it clattering across the pavement. The metallic clang echoes in the empty lot. Not enough. I want to scream, to break something. To make them understand.

“Meadow?”

Elle’s voice, soft and uncertain. I whirl around, chest heaving.

“What?” I snap, immediately regretting my tone. It’s not her fault.

Elle flinches but stands her ground. “You okay?”

A laugh bubbles up, harsh and bitter. “Okay? My father and my…” I falter, unsure how to label Mason. “They’re down there beating each other senseless while Peterson’s out there plotting God knows what.”

Elle steps closer, her hand on my arm. “I know. It’s fucked up.”

An understatement if I’ve ever heard one. I take a shaky breath, trying to rein in my anger. “I just… I don’t understand. How can they be so…”

“Stupid?” Elle offers with a wry smile.

I nod, grateful she gets it. “Exactly.”

We stand in silence for a moment, the muffled sounds of the clubhouse drifting out to us. My mind races, replaying the scene in the basement. Mason’s bloody knuckles. Dad’s swollen eye. The primal fury in both their gazes.

“You know,” Elle says slowly, “in a weird way, it’s kind of a good sign.”

I blink, thrown off guard. “How the hell is them trying to kill each other a good sign?”

Elle shrugs. “Mason stood up to your dad. Held his own, too. That’s not nothing in this world.”

I open my mouth to argue, then pause. She has a point. Not that I’m ready to admit it.

“Still doesn’t make it right,” I mutter.

“No,” Elle agrees. “But it means Mason’s serious about you. Serious enough to face down Liam fucking Beckham.”

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. The anger drains away, leaving a confusing mix of emotions in its wake. Pride. Fear. Something deeper I’m not ready to name.

The clubhouse door creaks open. Heavy footsteps approach. I tense, not ready to face either of them yet.

“Meadow.” Mason’s voice, low and rough.

I turn slowly, bracing myself. He stands a few feet away, battered but unbroken. Blood trickles from a split lip. A bruise blooms on his jaw. His knuckles are raw and swollen.

Our eyes lock. The intensity in his gaze steals my breath.

“I’m sorry,” he says, the words weighted with meaning.

I swallow hard, torn between the urge to yell at him and the desire to throw myself into his arms. “You should be,” I manage, my voice steadier than I feel.

Mason takes a step closer. “I know. But I’m not sorry for fighting for you.”

My heart stutters. “Mason…”

He closes the distance between us, his hand cupping my face. “I’ll always fight for you, Meadow. Against anyone. Even your old man.”

The last of my anger crumbles. I lean into his touch, overwhelmed by the raw honesty in his voice.

“Just… no more fistfights, okay?” I whisper.

A ghost of a smile tugs at his battered lips. “No promises, darlin’. But I’ll try.”

I roll my eyes and accept that there are some things that I can’t change and this world is one of them.

* * *

PAISLEY

My husband stumbles through the door, a walking bruise. Blood trickles from his split lip. His left eye’s swollen shut, already turning an angry purple.

My stomach lurches. “Jesus Christ, Liam!”

I rush to him, hands fluttering over his battered face. He winces as my fingers probe a particularly nasty cut above his eyebrow.

“What the hell happened?” I demand, voice sharp with worry.

Liam’s chuckle rumbles deep in his chest. It turns into a pained cough. “Just a friendly chat with Mason. In the ring.”

“Friendly?” I hiss, grabbing the first aid kit from under the sink. “You look like you went ten rounds with a meat grinder.”

He shrugs, then grimaces at the movement. “Had to be done, Pais. Club business.”

I bite back a retort. Twenty-five years, and I still don’t understand this world sometimes. The constant need to prove themselves, to establish dominance.

“Sit,” I order, pointing to the bed. “Let me clean you up before you bleed all over the sheets.”

Liam obeys, sinking onto the mattress with a barely suppressed groan. I dab at his cuts, the sharp scent of antiseptic filling the air.

He falls silent, jaw clenched. I continue my ministrations, mind racing.

“Pais.” Liam’s voice is softer now. His hand covers mine, stilling my movements. “I know you’re worried. But this is how things work here. It’s how we sort shit out.”

I meet his gaze, seeing the man I fell in love with all those years ago. Stubborn. Fierce. Loyal to a fault.

“Just… promise me you’ll be careful,” I whisper, the words catching in my throat. “I can’t lose you to this life, Liam. Not now.”

He pulls me close, arms wrapping around me despite his injuries. I breathe him in, leather and sweat and something uniquely Liam.

“Never,” he murmurs against my hair. “You’re stuck with me, darlin’. Till the bitter end.”

I pull back, searching his face.

“Remember when we met?” I ask, a smile tugging at my lips despite everything. “You saving me from that creep janitor?”

Liam’s eyes darken, fury flashing even after all this time. “Still go by his grave weekly. Leave my own special offering.”

My jaw drops. “You what?”

He grins, wincing as it pulls at his split lip. “Caught Caiden there once, too. Like father, like son.”

I stare at him, torn between shock and laughter. “You’re telling me our son pissed on that bastard’s grave?”

Liam nods, pride evident in his voice. “Chip off the old block.”

I shake my head, a chuckle escaping me. It’s absurd. It’s juvenile. It’s so perfectly Liam.

“You Beckham men,” I sigh, leaning into him. “What am I going to do with you?”

His arm tightens around me, solid and warm. “Love us,” he murmurs. “Just keep loving us, Pais.”

“You know my dad didn’t give you that hard of a time,” I point out, trying to make him ease off on Mason.

I cup his face gently, mindful of his bruises. “Listen to me, Liam Beckham. Mason is a good man. He loves our daughter. And from what I’ve seen, he’d do anything to protect her.”

“That’s what worries me,” Liam mutters.

“Why? Because he’s willing to stand up to you?” I challenge. “Isn’t that exactly what you’d want for Meadow?”

Liam falls silent, his brow furrowed in thought. I can almost see the gears turning in his head.

“She deserves someone who’ll fight for her,” I continue softly. “Someone as stubborn and protective as her father.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at Liam’s battered lips. “You saying I’m stubborn, woman?”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t hide my own smile. “Like you don’t know it.”

Liam sighs, his shoulders sagging slightly. “I just… I want her safe, Pais. This life, it’s dangerous. And with Peterson out there…”

“I know,” I soothe, running my fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair. “But pushing Mason away isn’t the answer. We need him. Meadow needs him.”

Liam nods slowly, wincing at the movement. “You’re right. As usual.”

I press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Of course I am. Now, are you going to let me finish patching you up, or do I need to call Meadow in here to yell at you some more?”

Liam’s eyes widen in mock horror. “God, no. I’ll behave.”

* * *

MEADOW

I follow Mason into the infirmary, my eyes roaming over his battered form. Guilt and concern war within me as I take in the damage. His split lip, the bruise blooming on his jaw, his swollen knuckles.

“Sit,” I order, gesturing to the exam table.

Mason obeys without argument, which tells me just how much pain he’s in. I gather supplies—antiseptic, gauze, ice packs. My hands move on autopilot, doctor mode kicking in.

“This might sting,” I warn as I dab antiseptic on his split lip.

He doesn’t flinch, dark eyes watching me intently. The intensity of his gaze makes my cheeks warm.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, focusing on cleaning his wounds. “For yelling at you earlier. I was just…”

“Scared,” Mason finishes. His hand comes up, cupping my cheek. “I get it, darlin’. And you were right. Fighting your old man while Peterson’s out there… it was stupid.”

I lean into his touch, savoring the warmth of his palm against my skin. “Why did you do it?”

Mason’s jaw clenches. “He questioned my ability to protect you. To handle this situation.”

“And you had to prove yourself,” I sigh, understanding dawning.

He nods, a flicker of shame crossing his face. “It’s how things work in this world, Meadow. Respect has to be earned. Sometimes the hard way.”

I finish taping gauze over his cuts. My fingers linger, tracing the strong line of his jaw. “Just… be careful, okay? I can’t lose you to this mess with Peterson.”

Mason catches my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm. The tenderness of the gesture steals my breath.

“Never,” he vows, voice low and fierce. “You’re stuck with me, Doc. For as long as you’ll have me.”

My heart swells, a lump forming in my throat. I lean in, resting my forehead against his.

“We should get back out there,” I whisper reluctantly. “Figure out our next move.”