Page 7

Tessa

My nerves have been on edge since I opened my eyes this morning.

I’ve vacuumed the floor twice, scrubbed my tiny kitchen until it smelled like bleach, and folded the same towels three times.

I even dragged myself to the grocery store, wandering aimlessly through the aisles, trying to remind myself this is just another day off.

But it isn’t.

Tonight, I’m supposed to go to Savage Steel. I told him I’d stop by. Told myself I’d just take a look around, admire the shop, maybe ask a few questions about guns I’ll never be able to afford, and then leave. Quick and simple.

But nothing about Torrent is simple.

He’s not just some guy I serve coffee to.

He’s the President of a motorcycle club.

The kind of man I’ve spent most of my life avoiding.

The kind of man who sets off every alarm bell in my head, but also the kind who makes my pulse race and my stomach flutter like I’m back in high school, crushing on the wrong boy.

I shouldn’t go.

I shouldn’t even be thinking about going. Stepping into that world? It’s reckless. It’s dangerous. And it’s not who I am or at least not who I’ve worked so damn hard to become.

But ever since he invited me, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.

Or him.

About the way his voice dropped when he told me I should stop by. The weight behind his words. The way his eyes latched onto mine like he was trying to see straight through me.

It scares me how much I want him to.

There’s something about Torrent that crawls under my skin and settles there, something dark and steady and impossibly magnetic.

It’s not just that he’s gorgeous, though, God help me, he is.

It’s the way he looks at me like I’m more than just the tired waitress with a fake smile and too many secrets. Like I matter.

And that’s dangerous too.

I’ve worked so hard to build a wall around my life. To keep people out. To keep things safe and simple. But Torrent? He’s a battering ram aimed right at those walls.

I’ve met some of his crew at the diner. Drift, Cetus, the guy they call Ganges.

They’re rowdy and loud, but they tip well and treat me with a surprising kind of respect.

Still, I know better than to judge a man by how polite he is over pancakes.

I’ve seen what loyalty to a club like that can cost. I’ve seen it ruin lives.

But I’ve also seen what loneliness does. How it eats at you. How it whispers that maybe one night of letting go wouldn’t be so bad. That maybe letting a man like Torrent look at me like he does wouldn’t be the worst mistake I’ve ever made.

I press my palms against the cool edge of my bathroom sink, staring into the mirror. My makeup’s already done, light but enough. My hair is falling into soft waves. My tight red, off-the-shoulder shirt and jeans are hugging my body like a glove. I look like a girl about to make a bad decision.

“You shouldn’t go,” I whisper, like saying it out loud will make it easier to resist.

But my heart has already made the call.

And no matter how wrong this might be, I’m still going.

I leave the bathroom and grab my purse, shoving my phone inside with shaking fingers. If I don’t leave now, I’ll keep circling the same damn argument in my head. What’s right? What’s wrong? What feels too good to be either.

But in the end, I’ll go anyway.

I lock the door to my apartment behind me and pause on the landing, sucking in a deep breath of crisp night air in a desperate attempt to settle my nerves. It doesn’t work. My heart’s still pounding against my ribs like it’s trying to get out. My palms are damp. My thoughts are racing.

The walk to Savage Steel is darker than I expected.

The streetlights are sparse along this stretch, casting broken pools of yellow light between long stretches of shadow.

I normally avoid this route, prefer the main roads where people and headlights are constant company, but there’s no other direct way to the shop.

Every step closer tightens the knot in my chest, coils my nerves just a little tighter. But it’s not fear that has me twisted up inside, it’s anticipation.

Like I’m walking into hell, knowing the fire’s gonna burn, but craving the heat anyway.

That’s what Torrent does to me.

He ignites something I thought I’d buried long ago. Makes me feel alive again. Makes me feel like I’m seen. And not just seen but wanted. Desired. Desired in a way that shakes me, confuses me, thrills me.

This isn’t just about checking out his new shop. It’s not about guns or a tour or even polite conversation.

This is about the line we’re toeing. The one I keep pretending I don’t see.

The truth is, I’ve been ready to cross it for a while now.

“Hey, you got a light?”

The voice cuts through the silence like a knife, and I nearly stumble, heart leaping into my throat. A man steps out from the shadows near a dumpster, his face barely lit by the flickering light above him.

“No,” I say quickly, my voice sharper than I intend. I clutch my purse tighter and pick up my pace.

He doesn’t follow. Doesn’t say another word. But my body’s gone full fight or flight, and my mind races with every awful possibility. I feel exposed, like I’m walking a tightrope with no net below me.

By the time the glowing sign of Savage Steel comes into view, I’m practically gasping for breath. I throw a glance behind me, just in case, but the street is empty.

I step into the parking lot, relief brushing over me, but not the kind I hoped for. Not the triumphant, sassy strut I envisioned. My smartass confidence is gone. All that’s left is adrenaline and anxiety.

I stop at the edge of the building and lean against the cool brick, pressing my back into it like maybe it’ll ground me. I close my eyes and take slow, steady breaths.

Then the door opens, and before I even look, I know it’s him.

I feel his presence rolling in like a storm, heavy, electric, impossible to ignore.

“Tessa?” His voice is low, rough, concerned. “What’s wrong?”

I turn to him and lift a brow, trying for playful. “What, you psychic now? Can you see through walls?”

He steps closer, resting his hand above me on the brick. His body heat curls around me. His gaze pins me in place.

“There are cameras everywhere,” he says simply. “I see everything. And I can see something’s wrong. So let’s cut the bullshit. What happened?”

I straighten, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “Well, bossy, it’s a bit of a walk here. I didn’t wanna show up gasping like a dog in heat, so I took a second to breathe. That okay with you? Or do I need to file a report with the club first?”

He narrows his eyes. He knows I’m lying. I can feel it in the silence that stretches between us.

But he doesn’t call me out.

He just stares for another beat, then shakes his head slowly and pushes open the door, holding it for me.

The moment I step inside, everything changes.

Lights blaze across the walls, illuminating gleaming gun displays and steel counters.

Music hums through a state-of-the-art speaker system.

The space is sleek, industrial, modern, and yet somehow still has that rough edge that screams Torrent.

It’s immaculate, professional, and yet unapologetically badass.

And it’s his.

“Torrent,” I whisper, my eyes wide as I take it all in. “Holy shit.”

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just watches me as I spin slowly, taking in the shop. Watches me like I’m the only thing worth looking at.

“I told you it was worth seeing,” he murmurs, his voice dipping just low enough to curl heat through my stomach.

And that’s when I know I’m in trouble.

Big, leather-clad, tattoo-covered, pulse-racing trouble.

I’m still reeling from how incredible the shop is when Torrent places a warm hand on the small of my back.

The touch is subtle, but it sends a jolt through my entire body.

He guides me toward a group of guys standing near the front counter, laughter spilling between them like they’ve known each other their entire lives.

They probably have.

“Boys,” Torrent says, his voice cutting through the noise but with a familiar ease. “This is Tessa.”

I give a small wave, suddenly hyperaware of how out of place I am in my jeans and boots, standing in a gun shop surrounded by men in cuts and confidence. These aren’t the kind of men I serve coffee to. These are the kind of men who make the world bend to their will.

One by one, they smile or nod. Some offer hands, others just a chin lift. There’s no menace in their eyes, just curiosity. But I can feel them trying to place me. Trying to figure out why Torrent has brought me into their space.

“She’s the one you’re always sneaking off to see, huh?” one of them, Crab, I think, asks with a grin as he leans on the counter.

Torrent shoots him a look that’s half-warning, half-amused. “Don’t start.”

They laugh again, and I manage a smile, but my heart is hammering against my ribs. This feels like a moment. A shift. I’m not just Tessa from the diner anymore.

I’m with Torrent, whatever that means.

After a few minutes of easy conversation, Torrent tells the guys to get things ready out back. “We’ll be out in a minute,” he adds, and the group filters toward the back door, still chatting, still laughing.

Once they’re gone, the air in the shop shifts.

Quieter. Closer.

He doesn’t say anything right away. He just watches me, his eyes softer now. Gentler in a way that makes me want to lean into him.

“I’ve got something for you,” he says finally, then turns and walks through a doorway behind the counter.

I stand there frozen for a beat, unsure what the hell that means. When he comes back, he’s holding a black case, small and sleek. He sets it on the counter in front of me and opens it slowly.

Inside is a gun.

But not just any gun.

It’s gorgeous. Matte black with chrome accents and an engraving on the slide of a rose. It’s compact, feminine even, but powerful. I don’t know much about guns, but I can feel the weight of this gift before I even touch it.

I take a shaky step back. “Torrent, what is this?”

“It’s a Hellcat. Small frame, easy to handle. Good for beginners.” His voice is calm, but there’s something behind it, something heavy. “I had it customized for you.”

I blink at him, completely overwhelmed. “You, what? Why would you do that?”

“You told me you’ve always wanted to learn. I want to teach you.”

I shake my head, emotion rising too fast to swallow. “Torrent, this is too much. I can’t accept that. I can’t afford?—”

He cuts me off gently. “It’s not about money. It’s about you being safe. It’s about me wanting you to have something that’s yours. Something that makes you feel strong.”

I cover my mouth with my hand. The tears hit before I can stop them. I try to blink them away, but one escapes, rolling down my cheek.

No one’s ever given me something like this before. No one’s ever seen me like this before.

Torrent doesn’t reach for me. Doesn’t say anything. He just lets me feel it. Lets me process it.

“I can’t take it,” I whisper. “It’s too much.”

He nods, like he expected me to say that. “Then I’ll hold onto it. Until you’re ready. Until we set up some time, and I teach you. Deal?”

I look at him, really look at him, and the weight of what he’s done, what he’s offering, crashes into me.

It’s not just about the gun.

It’s about trust.

It’s about him.

I don’t think. I just move.

I step toward him and press my lips to his.

It’s soft and uncertain at first. A question I’m too scared to ask aloud.

Then his hand slides to the back of my neck, and his other arm wraps around my waist, pulling me to him with a need that knocks the air out of me. He deepens the kiss, answering my question with a promise I feel in every inch of my body.

It’s not gentle anymore.

It’s hungry. Intense. It’s every word we haven’t said and every look we’ve stolen.

I melt into him, my fingers gripping the front of his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping me upright. The world outside disappears. The fear, the doubt, the war inside me is gone.

All that’s left is Torrent.

And the fire we’ve been pretending not to feel.