"You wouldn't understand," she says quietly.
I stand, moving closer to her. "Try me."
She stares at me for a brief moment, like she's weighing how much to reveal, how much to keep hidden. Finally, she takes a deep breath.
"My mother died when I was young. Nine. Cancer." Her voice is flat, emotionless. "After that, my father started drinking. At first, he just yelled. Called me worthless, stupid, blamed me for everything wrong in his life."
I feel my jaw tighten but say nothing, giving her space to continue.
"I was this tiny, shy kid. Never stood up for myself, never asked for help. Just... took it." She looks away. "Then the hitting started. Nothing major at first—a slap here, grabbing my arm too hard there. But it escalated."
"Jesus, Maddie—"
She holds up a hand. "I don't want your pity. I'm telling you this so you understand. When I got out, when I was finally old enough and strong enough to leave, I promised myself I'd never be that helpless again. Never. I would control every situation, anticipate every outcome, never rely on anyone else."
Now her need for control makes perfect sense. It's not arrogance or stubbornness. It's survival.
"That explains a lot," I say finally. "But Maddie, learning to trust someone isn't the same as being weak. Sometimes it takes more strength to let someone in than to keep them out."
She snorts. "That's some fortune cookie wisdom right there."
"Doesn't make it less true." I step closer. "You can trust me, you know."
She pushes off the wall, pointing a finger at my chest. "Should I? Trust someone I just met two days ago because he happens to be the brother of my best friend?"
"No," I say firmly. "You should trust me because I came when you called for help. Because I fought for you. Because I risked my neck and my standing with the club to keep you safe." I catch her hand, lowering it gently. "Trusting me is the least you could do, considering."
Her expression shifts, frustration evident as she pulls her hand away. She starts pacing the small living room, running her fingers through her hair. "You don't get it. Trust isn't something I give away. Ever. To anyone."
I try to focus on her words, but I'm distracted by the way her hips sway as she moves, the curve of her ass in those tight jeans. She's fucking sin incarnate, a test of my willpower that I'm rapidly failing.
She turns, catching me staring. "Are you even listening to me?"
"Every word," I say, though we both know my mind was elsewhere.
She shakes her head. "You're impossible."
"So I've been told." I take a step toward her, making a decision I know is reckless.
James gets out in five days. Once he's here, whatever this is between Maddie and me becomes impossible. She's his best friend, practically his sister. There are codes, boundaries. But right now, in this moment, with adrenaline still coursing through our veins and the uncertainty of tomorrow hanging over us, those boundaries feel less important.
I close the distance between us in three strides, catching her hand and pulling her to me before she can retreat. Her body collides with mine, soft curves against hard angles. Her face is inches from mine, eyes wide with surprise.
"What the fuck are you doing?" she demands, but she doesn't pull away.
"I have no fucking idea," I admit. "But it feels right, having you this close."
Her eyes search mine, a battle clearly raging behind them. "It does," she agrees softly. "But it can't happen, Dice. Not here with your biker brothers right below us. And what would we tell James?"
"I don't have answers for any of that," I say honestly. "And I don't care. Everyone says I'm impulsive, reckless… It's who I am. Take it or leave it."
A slow smirk spreads across her face. "I've always had a thing for men who act first and think later."
She places her hands on either side of my face, her touch surprisingly gentle. Her eyes flutter closed as she leans in, and I meet her halfway.
Her lips are softer than I imagined, with a hint of vanilla from her lip balm. The kiss starts slow, a question being asked and answered. Then something awakens, breaks loose, and suddenly we're devouring each other.
We stumble across the room, lips and hands never leaving each other's bodies. I tear at her shirt, she pulls at mine, both of us desperate for skin-to-skin contact. I manage to lock the door before turning back to find her standing there in nothing but black lace underwear, her curves on full display.
