He seems to notice, because his voice softens when he speaks again.
“I’m not mad you came,” he says. “Just surprised.”
“I was surprised too,” I admit. “I drove halfway before I talked myself out of turning around.”
“What made you keep going?”
“You,” I whisper, before I can stop myself.
Something in his eyes catches fire.
He clears his throat, visibly trying to dial it back. “Alright then. Let’s take a breath before the guys see me looking like I got hit by a truck.”
I laugh shakily.
He reaches out—slowly, like he’s giving me a chance to pull away—and tucks a piece of hair behind my ear.
“Welcome to Salemburg, Holley.”
My heart stutters.
His thumb brushes my cheekbone.
“I’m glad you’re here.”
A beat.
“More than I should be.”
I swallow hard. “Can we start small? Just today?”
His mouth curves—not a smirk this time, not cocky. Something gentler. Warmer.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Just today.”
But the look he gives me says he’s not fooling either of us.
Today is only the beginning.
Sixteen
Stud
The thing about having a woman like Holley in my world is this:
Everyone sees it.
They don’t say anything at first—not while she stands beside me in the compound’s hallway, bag slung over one shoulder, my hoodie swallowing her frame. But they see it. And I feel it. The shift in the air. The undercurrent. The Hellions don’t miss much, and they watch me with a kind of wary curiosity usually reserved for threats or miracles.
I’m not sure which category she falls into yet.
Holley stiffens beside me, the buzz of the clubhouse loud around us—voices, laughter, the clank of tools from the garage, country music spilling from a back room. It’s organized chaos. My chaos. And now she’s standing in the middle of it, small and quiet and trying not to look overwhelmed.
She’s not scared, though. That’s the part that gets me. She’s alert, cautious, but not shrinking.
“Relax,” I murmur low, brushing my knuckles against her lower back as I step past her. “No one here bites.”
“Except you?” she whispers back.
