"Yes, sweetheart. Tank is keeping all the monsters away."
She sighs contentedly, already drifting back to sleep. "Good. I like him. He's not scary like Daddy."
I pull her closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
"No, he's not," I agree softly. "Now sleep, my brave girl."
I listen to her breathing even out, becoming slow and regular as she sinks back into dreams that I hope are filled with brave rabbits and protective bears rather than the real-life monsters she's already faced.
Despite my earlier certainty that sleep would elude me, exhaustion pulls at my limbs, dragging me toward unconsciousness. The last thing I register before surrendering to it is the sound of Tank's heavy footsteps passing our door—a sentry on patrol, keeping watch through the night.
For the first time in years, I fall asleep without fear dogging my heels. Without the need to stay half-alert even in rest. Without wondering if tonight will be the night Derek's rage finally goes too far.
Instead, I drift away with the strange, unfamiliar sensation of being protected. Of being safe.
Of being seen.
Chapter 7 - Tank
Four hours isn't enough sleep. Never has been. But I've trained my body to function on less, especially during operations. And that's what this is—an operation. Not some fucking fairy tale with bedtime stories about brave rabbits and protective bears.
Jesus Christ, what's happening to me?
I lie on the too-small bed, staring at the ceiling, my feet hanging off the edge. My mind replays the moment Amelia stepped into my arms, the way she fit against me, her face pressed to my chest as if seeking shelter there.
I don't do hugs. I don't do comfort. I'm the VP of the Savage Riders, the man King sends when diplomacy has failed and pain needs to be administered. I break bones for a living, for fuck's sake. And yet today I've hugged not just my estranged sister but a woman I barely know.
And that's not even the worst of it.
My cock twitches in my briefs, hardening at the memory of Amelia's soft curves pressed against me, the scent of her hair, the warmth of her breath through my shirt. I shift uncomfortably, disgusted with myself. The woman is running from an abusive ex, and here I am getting hard thinking about her vulnerability.
"Fuck," I mutter, running my hand over my buzzed hair in frustration.
This is what happens when you start caring. When you let people get close. It messes with your head, makes you soft in places you can't afford to be soft. Makes you imagine things that can never happen.
I'm not father material. I'm not even decent boyfriend material. I'm the guy women fuck when they want to piss off their daddies,the one they call when they need a thrill but never the one they bring home to meet the family. And that's exactly how I like it. No attachments, no complications, no disappointments.
So why can't I stop thinking about the way Amelia looked at me, with gratitude? Something I haven't seen directed at me in a very long time?
A soft knock at my door interrupts my thoughts. I sit up, instantly alert, hand reaching for the gun I placed on the nightstand.
"Yeah?" I call out quietly.
The door cracks open, and Beast's massive frame fills the entrance. "You awake?"
"No, I'm sleep-talking," I growl. "What do you want?"
He steps into the room, closing the door behind him. In the dim light from the window, I can see his shit-eating grin. "Just checking if you're okay. You seemed... distracted after your little moment with our guest."
I stand up, not wanting to have this conversation from a prone position. "I'm fine. Just about to grab some sleep before I relieve you."
"There's nothing wrong with actually caring about someone, you know. Maybe even falling for them."
I roll my eyes, uncomfortable with how close his observation hits to my own internal struggle. "I have no idea what you're talking about. She's my sister's friend. A job. That's all."
"A job," Beast repeats, clearly not buying it. "Right. That's why you were looking at her like you wanted to devour her whole. That's why you told her kid a bedtime story. Because she's just a job."
"I'm the VP," I remind him, as if he could forget. "We're in the middle of a fucking war with the Iron Eagles. I can't afford to get distracted."
