“I’m plannin’ to teach her to drive.” It sounded thin even to me.
Devil finally set his papers down, fingertips steepled. “You sure that’s only for her?”
“That’s the point,” I said, maybe too fast. “Woman’s been told how to breathe her whole damn life. She deserves to—”
“—learn,” he finished. “Grow. Choose. I know. And I agree.” His eyes locked on mine, unblinkin’. “But don’t lie to yourself while you’re trying to help her.”
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Devil didn’t push. Didn’t smirk. He just waited.
“This isn’t about claimin’ her,” I said eventually. “It’s about… hell, I don’t know. Whatever this is.”
“I get that,” Devil said. “But be careful. I’ve never seen you this focused on a woman. She’s still learning this life. Women rebuilding from nothing… they get tangled easy. You give her hope? You mean it. You give her attention? You stand on it. You show her freedom?” His gaze sharpened. “You don’t get to take it back.”
The words landed heavy. Devil didn’t caution men often. When he did, it meant somethin’.
“I’m not lookin’ to hurt her,” I said quietly.
“I know,” he replied. “That’s why I’m reminding you.”
The kitchen hummed around us, brothers talkin’, pans clatterin’, the soft hiss from the stove, while something settled deep inside me. Not a decision. More like the acceptance of one I’d already made.
I couldn’t stay away from her. And I didn’t damn want to.
Devil picked up his paperwork again. “Just make sure you teach her more than how to turn the wheel.”
I frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Freedom’s not just the car,” Devil said. “It might be the man sitting in the passenger seat.”
A slow heat spread through me—solid, sure, impossible to ignore.
“Well,” I said, pushin’ up from the table, needing movement before the feelin’ cracked me open, “guess I’d better bring my truck around.”
“Keep it simple,” Devil called after me. “And for the love of God, don’t scare her.”
“Me?” I scoffed.
Devil’s dry laugh chased me out. “Chain, you drive like a raging asshole.”
I didn’t bother arguing.
Because the plan wasn’t in motion anymore—it was solid.
Get the truck. Find her. Ask her. Teach her.
And maybe—if she let me—figure out how the hell a woman like her made the ground move under my feet.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I’D BARELY STEPPEDout of the kitchen with Lucyand Zeynep when the noise of the clubhouse faded behind us, swallowed by the long hallway and the soft morning light pooling across the floor. Lucy was still talking, something about fundraisers and outreach programs and a meeting she wanted us all at, but my mind drifted somewhere else entirely.
Maybe because breakfast had felt… strange. Warm. Dangerous in a way I didn’t have the language for.
I tried not to think about Chain watching me from across the room. I tried even harder not to think about how it made something flutter deep in my stomach when our eyes met.
We were halfway down the hall when boots sounded behind us, unshakable, familiar, the rhythm my body had already learned to recognize.
“Lark.”
