Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 63608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Nothing about him scares me.
That might be the scariest part.
“We’re movin’ again,” he states, voice rough, eyes locked on the window as if the shadows might answer back.
I wrap my arms around myself, trying to stop the trembling in my fingers. “Mellow said they saw someone near the highway?” I ask quietly.
He nods once. “Yeah.”
“Following us?”
“Maybe.” His jaw flexes. “Or maybe just trackin’ anyone connected to the club. Doesn’t matter. I’m not taking chances.”
His words settle in my stomach like heavy stones.
My whole world is shifting too fast. My memories returning too slow.
“Where are we going now?” I ask, trying to keep my voice calm.
“To the compound,” Riot explains. “The deep one. Not the clubhouse.”
I blink. “There’s another?”
“Several,” he deadpans. “Chux likes options.”
His tone is dry, but the tension around his eyes gives him away. He’s choosing his tone carefully not to scare me. He’s trying to be gentle.
A big, tattooed, brooding biker man trying to be gentle.
Something flutters in my chest, confusing and warm.
He turns to me finally, stepping closer, scanning me for what? Injuries? Fear? Weakness?
“You hurt anywhere?” he murmurs.
“No. Just overwhelmed.”
He nods slowly. “Makes sense.”
His voice is barely above a whisper now. “You been through a hell of a lot in a matter of days.”
He moves another step closer, and suddenly he’s there right in front of me heat rolling off his body, presence filling every corner of my awareness.
I tilt my head back slightly to meet his eyes. And something flickers. A flash.
His mouth on mine. His hand on my hip.
His forehead pressed to mine in the dark, breathing hard—I gasp.
Riot freezes.
“What?” he demands softly.
“I remembered something.”
Our faces are inches apart. His breath catches.
“What did you see?” he asks. Not desperate, but close.
“It was a kiss,” I whisper. “You and me.”
His throat bobs as he swallows. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “We did that a lot.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks.
But the memory is hazy heat, warmth, want more sensation than detail.
I grab the edge of the counter to steady myself. “Riot, I’m scared.”
He steps closer, so close I can feel the brush of his shirt against my sweater.
“Of what?” he asks gently.
“Of remembering everything,” I whisper. “And of not remembering anything at all. Or not getting the chance.”
His eyes soften, losing all their hardness. “You ain’t gonna lose yourself,” he says quietly. “Not on my watch.”
He lifts a hand, hesitates, then cups the side of my face so gently it breaks something open inside me.
Warmth.
Safety.
Trust.
Pull.
My heart dives into a faster rhythm.
“You ready?” he asks, thumb brushing lightly across my cheek.
I nod. “Yes.”
He steps back slowly, like he has to physically force himself to.
I feel the loss of his touch immediately, a cold ache in my chest that makes no sense and all the sense in the world.
Packing takes seconds. There’s not much to grab as we hadn’t unpacked the bag Ally brought from my house. I had a sweater Riot tossed at me earlier, and a bottle of water.
Riot watches the door during the entire process, silent, alert, shoulders tense.
“Do you ever relax?” I ask, trying for lightness.
He huffs. Just a breath. “Not lately.”
“Because of me?”
He turns slightly, jaw tightening.
He doesn’t answer.
Which is the answer.
The drive out into the back roads is tense and quiet. He doesn’t turn on the radio. He taps the steering wheel once every few seconds in a rhythm I don’t recognize but find calming anyway.
As trees blur by, flashes spark in my mind again.
Me in his truck.
Nighttime.
His hand on my thigh — warm, protective.
My head leaning against his shoulder.
Then laughter. Mine. Loud. Unrestrained.
Then a softer moment me touching his jaw, whispering something I can’t make out.
His eyes warm.
His lips brushing my forehead.
I gasp again.
Riot’s head snaps toward me. “What happened?”
“I remembered something,” I whisper, hand trembling.
He slows down immediately. “Talk to me.”
“It was just images. Glimpses. Not enough to make sense. But I was happy. With you.”
He goes still.
An awe crosses his expression, a softness so rare on him it makes something in my chest ache.
“That’s real,” he says quietly. “You were.”
“And you?” I ask.
His knuckles whiten on the wheel. “Yeah, sunshine. Me too.”
The nickname sends a jolt through me.
I whisper, “I like when you call me that.”
He shuts his eyes for half a second, as if steadying himself. “You always did.”
Heat creeps into my cheeks.
We turn down a private gravel road that winds deep into forest. Riot slows near a heavy steel gate. Two men, Kings cuts on, both armed, both nodding at Riot. He rolls the window down.
“She’s with me,” he states the obvious.
They nod again, open the gate, and we drive through. The compound is small but fortified — a large workshop, two storage buildings, and a small house perched at the center with reinforced siding and windows with glass so thick everything is blurred.
Riot parks behind one of the garages and steps out, coming around to my side before I can open my door.