Page 35 of The Vows We Keep

I can’t seem to move out of Niro’s arms, which hold me so tightly, I feel the faintest whisper of safety. Not the kind of safety that comes from knowing I can take care of myself. Not the kind of safety that comes from my association with a motorcycle club.

But the kind of safety I found when Mamá used to hug me in the morning.

The kind of safety that comes from your own home, when your father isn’t there telling you to grow up, to be strong, to hide it when you get scared.

Tears sting my eyes, and I blow out a breath and look up at the ceiling, willing them not to appear.

No, this is just the side effect of a stressful couple of days, limited sleep, and a stellar pair of orgasms. Not the tug of wanting to belong in yet another place I won’t be welcome.

“You okay, Cat?” Niro asks, placing a row of kisses behind my ear.

I swallow deeply, forcing all the emotions swirling around inside me back into their boxes, where I can control them. When I was younger, my emotions bled all over everywhere. Home. School. The clubhouse. Dad told me the secret to life was to be measured at all times. Never to let anyone know what I was really feeling. Mentally, I get a handle on myself and visualize locks closing.

“I’m good. Thanks.” I push him away and drop down off the counter.

“Let me,” Niro says, moving to pull up my leathers, but I grab them.

“I’ve got it.” I shimmy them up my hips with my underwear and fasten them both. Glancing around, I find my bra hooked over the knob on the oven. I turn my back to Niro as I fasten it. I don’t need his help. I’ve managed just fine on my own for so long that letting him do something as simple as fastening my buttons feels like an invasion of my space.

Which, given the way we just fucked, is messed up.

By the time I’ve pulled my T-shirt back over my head, Niro has removed and dealt with the condom, and I’m back in control. “I want to check on Neva. And then I want to leave.”

Niro reaches for his T-shirt and pulls it over his head. When he’s done, he places his hands on my biceps. “Two more minutes before we move on.”

He leans in to kiss me again, but I put my hand out. “No. We had sex. It was great. Now we need to go and figure out what your club knows about my father.”

What I really want is to do as he says. To lean into him for those two minutes before I become me again and put this momentary weakness behind me. Instead, I grab my hoodie and tug it over my head, needing the warmth of it to shore up my defenses.

I tug the knife out of the wall and place it on the counter.

“At least let me make you a sandwich,” Niro says.

He’s trying to be nice.

Fine, I’ll play along. “I’m hungry. But I’m worried about my friend.”

Niro pulls on the rest of his clothes, then grabs his phone. “Can you bring Cat’s friend to the kitchen? ... No, we’re done ... Fuck off.” He ends the call. “Bates is going to figure it out with King. Just have some fucking food. You must be starving.”

I sit back on the stool. “Can I help?”

“Just let me feed you.”

I watch as he cleans the counter then makes the hoagies like he’s chiseling the Venus de Milo. Buns are sliced perfectly down the middle. He starts assembly, every piece of meat precisely laid.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

“What?”

“Forgot to put the mayo on the bottom.”

“So put it on the top.”

“Then the oregano sticks to it in clumps instead of being even.”

“You’re putting oregano on the sub?”

Niro grins. “No, I’m putting oregano on the hoagie.”