As I finish cooking, I notice the other woman perk up.
Penelope nods behind me, and I turn to see Hammer waiting. He’s resting against the entrance, his arms crossed at his chest. While his expression is completely unreadable, it’s clear that he’s interested in what I’m doing.
From his point of view, it must look like I’m making myself right at home. Does he like what he sees? Is that it?
“If he’s here, then that means the meeting is over. I’ll leave you two to it.” Giving me a curl of her lips, she slips right past the brute, forcing me to be alone with him.
He prefers less company, only moving when it’s just the two of us.
Leaving his spot, he drifts toward me, staring at my work. Then he lifts his eyes, his gaze staring at my mouth.
Even when he’s sober, he can’t hide what he’s thinking. My skin warms instantly, and I ignore any suggestive thoughts that tease the idea of enjoying his mouth than my attempt at cooking.
“Don’t let it get to your head.” Scoffing, I nudge one toward him before letting the thoughts win. “I just made too much, that’s all.”
He snorts, but doesn’t poke fun. Interestingly enough, he thanks me.
“How did your thing go?” Searching for anything to eat with, he finds the plastic forks first. “Crimson Road?”
He scowls at the name, his frown returning because of my knowledge. “We’re going to war with them. We have a few days to prepare, but we’re going to take them out. All of them.”
Caught off guard by the confidence in his voice, I realize that means that he’ll have to leave to help them. With how much control that club has on the town, they’ll need everybody they can get.
“What if you get hurt?” The worry hits me instantly, and my skin warms as the words slip past my lips.
He tilts his head, surprised as well. “Someone needs to watch the clubhouse while it goes down. A few of us are staying to keep the women safe.”
“You’re staying then?” Relief flickers around in my chest. It’s making me realize that I care for him enough that I don’t want to lose him.
“For as long as they’ll let me.” Shoveling my cooking into his mouth, he grimaces. “This is terrible.”
My worry instantly transforms into annoyance. “Then don’t eat it.”
He doesn’t let me take it out of his hands, only wincing when he forces another bite in. “Hurry up and eat yours. There’s a place I’d like to visit. A couple, actually.”
The mention of leaving this place after being stuck here for days is a distraction. I don’t realize I’m smiling until my face aches.
He stares, his lips parting. Like he has something to say, he decides to clear his throat instead. “I’ll show you where the seasonings are for next time.”
Seriously. What a jerk.
7
Hammer
I want to kiss her again. The thought is running on repeat in my head, pounding harder against my skull the longer I leave it unaddressed. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve looked at her mouth, tracing the shape each time she speaks.
It’s a new kind of obsession, one that has nothing to do with a threat or a target and everything to do with enjoying her sweet flavor again. If her tongue tastes like candy, what does the rest of her taste like?
That first night, I’m a fool for not appreciating what I had. An utter fool.
“I’ve never ridden on a motorcycle before.” Destiny stares at my bike, her arms wrapped around herself in a defensive little hug. “And do I really have to wear this?”
She insults my cut like she hates it, but my eyes catch the truth—the way her fingers trace the worn leather, the way shehugs the garment tighter, as if pulling a piece of me closer. She’s a terrible liar. It’s her best quality.
“You’ll complain if you get cold, that’s why.” The lie falls easily, a convenient cover as I busy myself with unhooking my helmet, just to break my gaze from her. If I look too long, I forget to breathe. She frowns when I plop it on her head, and the expression is so her that it aches.
My knuckles brush against her hair as I fasten the clasp beneath her chin. It’s thick, her curls growing wilder and fuzzier by the day, a rebellion against her attempts to tame them. It feels like spun silk against my skin, and I’m lost. I let my fingers linger, stealing a touch, pretending it’s necessary. My throat feels tight.
