It wasn't a question.
"Are you going to tell them about me?" I asked. "The club?"
He shook his head. "I'll tell Pops I have a source inside the department. That's all he needs to know for now." His thumb traced my cheekbone. "I'm not putting a target on your back. Not ever."
"Finn..."
"Shh." He kissed my forehead. "No more talking tonight. You've done enough. You've done more than anyone should have to do."
He led me down a narrow hallway to his bedroom—a queen-sized bed with dark sheets, a dresser with a lamp, nothing on the walls but a single black-and-white photo of a man on a motorcycle. His father, I realized. The founder. The bulldog.
Finn handed me one of his t-shirts without a word. I changed in the bathroom, letting the soft cotton fall to mid-thigh, breathing in the scent of him that clung to the fabric.
When I came out, he was already in bed, the covers pulled back on my side like an invitation. Like I belonged there.
Maybe I did.
I slid in beside him, and his arm came around me immediately, pulling me close. My head found the hollow of his shoulder. My hand rested over his heart, feeling it beat slow and steady beneath my palm.
"First time you've slept here," he said quietly.
"First time you've asked."
He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. "Didn't want to push. Figured the Shady Meadows thing was more your speed."
"It was. Before."
"And now?"
I tilted my head up to look at him in the darkness. "Now I want this. Whatever this is. I want all of it."
His answer was a kiss—soft, slow, achingly tender. Not the desperate heat of Shady Meadows. Something deeper. Something that felt like a promise.
"Sleep," he said when he finally pulled away. "Tomorrow we plan. Tonight, you rest."
I closed my eyes, listening to the rhythm of his breathing, feeling the rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek. Outside,the New Mexico night was quiet—no sirens, no traffic, just the whisper of wind through the desert brush.
I was terrified. I had just bet my entire future on a man who ran guns and rode with outlaws.
And somehow, for the first time in as long as I could remember, I didn't feel alone.
I fell asleep in Finn's arms, and I didn't dream of anything at all.
8
FINN
I woke up before she did.
Dawn was just starting to creep through the blinds, painting stripes of pale gold across the bed. Chloe was curled against me, her auburn hair fanned out across my chest, one hand resting over my heart like she was keeping track of every beat.
I'd had women in this bed before. Not many, but enough. None of them had ever made me want to stay still like this. None of them had ever made me afraid to breathe too loud in case I woke them up.
None of them had ever risked everything for me.
I studied her face in the half-light. The spray of freckles across her nose I'd never noticed before. The way her lips parted slightly when she slept. She looked younger like this. Softer. Not the sharp-tongued fox who'd flirted with me through the bars of a holding cell.
That felt like a lifetime ago now.
