Page 9

Tessa

The morning rush at the diner is chaos with plates clattering, coffee pouring nonstop, and conversations happening in every direction. Weekends are always slammed, packed with people trying to chase away the regret of the night before with greasy bacon and bottomless caffeine.

But that’s not my issue this morning.

I’m hungover, yeah, but not from alcohol. I’m hungover from Torrent.

My body’s here, pouring coffee and smiling like nothing’s changed, but my mind?

It’s still in the back room of Savage Steel.

Still tangled in the way he touched me like he already knew my body inside and out.

I swear I can still feel his fingers inside me, still feel the way my body came apart under his control.

But what lingers more than anything is how he touched me, like I mattered.

Like he’d been waiting for that moment for longer than I’ll ever understand.

And the gun.

God, the gun.

That moment will stay burned into my memory forever.

The way he held it out to me like it was something sacred, like he was offering me protection and trust and maybe even a little piece of himself.

I could barely breathe. I didn’t want to take it, not because I didn’t want it, but because I knew it meant something.

He knew I was scared, and instead of ignoring that or trying to push past it, he gave me space to figure it out.

He put the gun away, promising to teach me how to shoot it.

That kind of gesture? No one’s ever done that for me before.

Also, being with his crew, watching them joke with each other, and including me like I wasn’t some outsider peeking into a world I didn’t belong in was amazing. I laughed like I hadn’t in a long damn time.

And Torrent? He was always right there. His hand at the small of my back. His fingers brushing against mine. His eyes locked on me like I was the most fascinating thing at the party, even with the music and noise and women throwing themselves at every guy in the place.

I caught the way he watched me watch the club bunnies. I rolled my eyes at them more than once, and I saw the way he laughed, like he hadn’t expected that from me. Like maybe I wasn’t the girl he thought I was, and maybe I was the woman he needed.

The way the night ended? Jesus.

Not just the heat of his hands or the fire he built between my thighs, but the way he kissed me afterward.

Like he savored me. Like he wasn’t done, even if the moment was over.

And when he insisted on driving me home, walking me to my door like some kind of tattooed gentleman, I didn’t know what to do with that.

I still don’t.

Sleep didn’t come easy. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him. Felt him. Heard his voice in my ear when he told me he wanted me to call him if I needed anything. That he’d be there.

He’s not just getting under my skin; he’s in me now. He’s like ink beneath my skin. And what scares me most is that I don’t want to wash him off.

Being at that party, in that shop, on his bike, it felt like I wasn’t just passing through this town anymore. It felt like I’d found something solid to hold onto. Like I’d found a place to land.

Like I’d found home.

And that scares the hell out of me.

But it also makes me want more.

More of Torrent.

More of that feeling.

More of us.

I’m wiping down the counter for the third time in five minutes when I see him walk in. Leather cut, dark jeans, confidence radiating off him like heat off asphalt. Torrent pushes through the door of the diner like he’s the one in charge, and honestly, the way he looks at me, maybe he is.

My heart skips, stutters, and then starts pounding because I have absolutely no control over it, not anymore.

He heads straight for me, ignoring the couple waiting by the door for a booth and a guy who has been waiting for a refill of coffee at the end of the counter. I barely manage a smile before he leans over the counter, and without a word, no warning at all, he kisses me.

Not soft.

Not gentle.

But slow and deliberate, like he’s staking his claim right there in front of God, coffee, and the Saturday breakfast crowd.

I jerk back with a sharp breath, eyes wide as I glance around, half-expecting people to be staring. “Torrent,” I hiss, my face heating. “I’m not big on public displays of affection, especially when I’m working.”

He just grins, all smug and unbothered. “That’s about to change.”

I glare, but it’s weak because I’m fighting a smile. The nerve of this man.

“You’re impossible, but seriously not at work. I can’t afford to lose this job.”

“I am impossible, but for you, I’ll try to contain myself while you’re working.” He takes a seat at the counter and looks up at me with that cocky smile. “Even though you like it.”

I roll my eyes, but the truth is? He’s not wrong.

“Coffee?”

“Please.” He watches me pour, his eyes tracing over me like last night is still fresh in both our minds. And it is. The moment’s so easy it shocks me. I thought it might be awkward. I thought maybe I wouldn’t know what to say. But it’s not like that. Not even close.

He glances around the diner before leaning in a little, lowering his voice just for me. “What time you off tonight?”

“Six. Why?”

“I want you to come over to my place.”

My heart lurches, and not from nerves. From anticipation. From want.

But still, I bite my lip and shrug. “Can you pick me up at my place? I wanna change first.”

He raises an eyebrow, already shaking his head like he expected this. “I’ll pick you up from here, take you to your place so you can change, then we’ll head to mine.”

“So damn bossy.”

“Get used to it.”

I narrow my eyes at him, but my lips twitch, and he smirks like he knows he’s winning.

Hell, he already has.

I grab the coffee pot and move to another table, needing to get my head back in the game, but I can still feel his gaze burning into my back.

And damn it, I like it.

The second my shift ends, Torrent is waiting. Leaning casually against his bike like he hasn’t got a care in the world. His arms are crossed over his chest, those dark eyes of his finding me the second I step out the door.

It’s unfair how good he looks. Like sex and danger wrapped in leather and confidence. And he’s here for me.

“You ready?” he asks, straightening off the bike.

“Yeah,” I nod, grabbing my bag and slinging it over my shoulder. “But we have to stop at my place first.”

“I know.” He opens his hand for mine, and I give it to him without thinking. It fits. It feels natural.

Maybe a little too natural.

When we get to my apartment, I pause at the door, already pulling my key out, hesitating. “You can wait out here.”

He arches a brow. “You serious?”

I nod. “Yeah. It’s just not much. I don’t really like people seeing it.”

“Too bad,” he says, brushing past me with a grin as I open the door. “I’m not people.”

I groan under my breath as he steps inside. He looks around, taking it all in. My worn-out couch, the thrifted table, the peeling paint by the window, I keep meaning to fix.

“It’s cozy,” he says, dropping onto the couch like he’s done it a hundred times before.

“Yeah, well, it’s temporary,” I mutter, already heading toward my bedroom before he sees more. “Give me ten.”

I close the door and lean against it, heart thudding in my chest.

He’s in my space. My world. I didn’t think I’d let him in here. Not like this. But he’s here and not judging, not making me feel small.

I pull my hair out of the messy bun it’s been in all day and smooth it down.

I take out my curling iron and get to work on putting the perfect amount of curls in.

My fingers work fast as I touch up my makeup, adding just a bit more than usual, before I change into my favorite black and white sundress.

The one that hugs the top of my body just right and flows gently around my legs.

It’s simple, but it makes me feel beautiful.

And I want to feel beautiful tonight.

When I open the door, he stands immediately.

His eyes move over me slowly, heat rising behind them. “Jesus, Tess.”

I smile, suddenly shy. “Too much?”

“No,” he says, stepping toward me. “You’re gorgeous.”

He cups my cheek, brushes his lips over mine, and I melt into it. The kiss is slow but heavy, the kind that makes your knees a little weak and your heart race like it’s trying to remember how to beat. When he finally pulls back, he slides his fingers between mine.

“Let’s go.”

I climb on the bike and hold on tightly to him.

My arms wrapped around his waist as the wind tears at my dress.

I press my cheek against his back, and for the first time in a long time, I feel free.

The roar of the engine, the heat of him, the way I fit so perfectly behind him, it’s enough to make my chest ache in the best way.

When we pull up to his house, I’m surprised. I don’t know what I expected, maybe a run-down place in the middle of nowhere, but what I find is a beautiful ranch-style home with a clean exterior and a wide wrap-around porch.

Inside, it’s just as stunning.

Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a gorgeous updated kitchen with an open layout that flows into the living room. A big leather couch sits across from a mounted flat-screen. Out back, through the sliding glass doors, I can see a hot tub on a stone patio.

“This is not what I imagined,” I admit as I walk through slowly, taking it all in.

He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “I like comfort. Doesn’t mean I don’t still get my hands dirty.”

We sit on the couch after he orders food, and he turns toward me, his arm stretched across the backrest, fingers playing lightly with the ends of my hair.

“Alright, Tessa. Time we get to know each other.”

My stomach twists. I knew this was coming, but I still feel unprepared. I keep my smile in place and nod, giving him the surface level.

“I grew up in Oklahoma. Middle of nowhere kind of town. Not much to say about it.”

He watches me, waiting. “Siblings?”

“Only child.”

“Parents?”

I laugh dryly. “Not worth talking about.”

Something shifts in his expression, but he doesn’t push. He lets me steer around it.

“I left home when I was old enough to start figuring out who I wanted to be,” I say. “Tried a few places. Ended up here.”

I leave out the part where I ran away at sixteen with nothing but a backpack.

That I slept in shelters, worked crap jobs, and spent years looking over my shoulder.

I fought physically and emotionally to keep going every single day.

I don’t even know if my parents are still alive, and I don’t care.

I just wanted to disappear from their world before they destroyed me completely.

But I don’t tell him that.

I don’t tell anyone.

Instead, I ask, “What about you? You always been in Newport?”

He shakes his head. “No. I was with a different MC before. Far from here.”

“What made you leave?”

His jaw tenses for a second before he sighs. “Her name was Sarah. She had cancer. Fought like hell, but it wasn’t a fight I could help her win.”

My chest squeezes at the pain behind his voice.

“When she died, everything felt pointless. I was just stuck in the past. Couldn’t breathe without her. Haunted by it all. So I left. Newport offered me a fresh start. A chance to lead something new. I took it.”

He looks at me with a small grin. “And for a while, I was just existing. Going through the motions. Until I saw you.”

I feel my breath catch.

“You made my heart start beating again, Tessa.”

Tears prick the back of my eyes, but I swallow hard and shake my head, trying to laugh off the intensity.

“God, I don’t know how to deal with this.”

“Have you ever been in love?” he asks softly.

I bite my lip. “No. And I’m not sure I ever will be. Love means giving someone that kind of power over you, and I…” I trail off, unsure how to finish that without revealing just how broken I used to be.

“You’re stronger than you think,” he says, brushing his knuckles along my jaw. “Is that what happened with your parents?”

“No, they were suited for each other.”

I refuse to discuss them. My past is behind me for a reason. So I force myself to laugh and search his face. “How old are you?”

He chuckles and moves his hand down to rest on my thigh. “I’m thirty-eight. Never really thought about age, I guess. How about you?”

“Twenty-six.”

He’s older, which I kinda thought, but age doesn’t mean a thing. Not to me, anyway.

The doorbell rings, and he squeezes my thigh before he gets up to grab the pizza. He puts the box on the island that separates the living room from the kitchen and grins.

“Last question before we eat,” he lifts an eyebrow, and my pulse races. “What’s your last name?”

I laugh and stand up, walking toward him. “Levine.” I rest my hands on his solid chest and search his dark eyes. “What’s your real name?”

“Lex. Lex Hayes.”

It’s a simple answer to a simple question, but to me, it holds the weight of the world. He told me his real name without so much as a second thought.

It means something.

It means a lot.

As we sit at the island and eat our pizza, the questions in fact don’t stop.

“Do you have any siblings?”

“No, only child too. Parents both died when I was twenty-three in a car wreck.” He bites into his pizza like he didn’t just hit me with another tragic part of his past.

“I’m so sorry about your parents and Sarah. I’m sorry you’ve had to suffer so much,” I say.

I take a sip of my water, trying to keep my emotions in check. He’s lost so much, yet he’s so full of life. I wish I was more like that. More like him.

“Thanks. I’ve learned that losing what you love only makes you want to fight that much more for what you have.”

I nod and place my hand on his knee. “And what do you fight for?”

“My club, Savage Steel, and you.”

He says it like it’s nothing. Like it’s the most obvious answer there is.

He’s fighting for me, and I realize it’s time I do the same.

Fight for me.

Fight for him.

Fight for what makes me happy.

And just like that, he makes it a little easier to believe I’m not just surviving anymore.

That I’m finally learning how to live.