When we finally pulled apart, breath coming fast, her eyes burned bright.She backed me toward the table, hands already working my shirt buttons, and I let her push me down into the chair I’d abandoned moments earlier.She climbed into my lap, legs straddling my hips, her weight settling across me in a way that shredded every last thought in my head.
“Marci.”I tried to slow things down, to make sure this was what she wanted.“We don’t have to --”
“I know we don’t have to.”Her fingers traced my jaw, my neck, the collar of my half-unbuttoned shirt.“I want to.Need to.Need to feel something other than scared and broken.Need to feel you.”
My hands locked around her hips, grip firm enough to leave a reminder in the morning alongside every construction ache.“I’ve got you.Whatever you need.”
Urgency answered.Our mouths crashed together again, harder, her teeth catching my lower lip before her tongue eased the sting.I slid my hands under her shirt, meeting bare skin -- warm, soft, real.She arched into the contact, gasping against my mouth, and somewhere in the frantic tangle of bodies and desire, I rose to my feet, her legs tightening around my waist.
The bedroom was three steps away, yet distance felt doubled by the hunger driving us forward.We stumbled through the doorway, her back striking the frame hard enough to pull a surprised laugh from her -- a bright, breathless sound that hit straight in the chest.Then we dropped onto the bed together, the mattress groaning under our combined weight.Her fingers flew to my belt while I dragged her shirt over her head and tossed it aside.
Clothes vanished in a trail from door to bed.Her jeans.My shirt.Her bra -- fumbling hands until she reached back and unhooked the clasp herself, a smile forming across her mouth, no shadows anywhere in her expression.Once we were skin to skin, nothing separating us, I forced myself to slow down.Forced myself to see her fully.It had taken time, but the bruises along her collarbone, the rope marks around her wrists, and the fear in her eyes, had all faded until they’d disappeared, and were now a thing of the past.
“You’re beautiful.”The words came out rough.
“I’m covered in bruises and scars.”
“Still beautiful.Always beautiful.”
My mouth found every mark Mercer’d left behind -- gentle devotion against violence, reverence against harm.She trembled under me, her hands sliding through my hair, down my back, mapping every ridge and plane of muscle, learning me as thoroughly as I learned her.When I finally lowered my body over hers, when we joined in a shared gasp, her eyes stayed on mine, holding steady, no fear anywhere in her gaze.
We moved together in a rush of need tempered by tenderness.Her nails dug into my shoulders, my name spilling from her lips in broken gasps and low moans driving me closer to the edge faster than I wanted.I needed the moment to stretch, needed to prove through touch she was safe and wanted and home.Her urgency matched mine, her body demanding more, faster, harder, until both of us disappeared into sensation and connection.
When she broke beneath me, back arched and my name ripped from her throat, I followed seconds later.We collapsed in a tangle of limbs, sweat-slick skin pressed tight, breath coming hard, hearts hammering against each other.
After the storm passed, we lay twisted in sheets scented like us -- soap, smoke, sex.The golden sunset had faded to purple twilight, the room dim except for a streetlight outside throwing shifting shadows across the ceiling.I traced slow lines along her bare shoulder, following the collarbone to fading bruises marking her skin.
“No one will ever hurt you again.”
She turned her head to look at me, and for the first time since I’d met her in the bar that morning she’d asked for work, her eyes held no shadows.No fear lurking at the edges.No calculation about escape routes or worst-case scenarios.Just peace.Trust.Home.
“I believe you,” she whispered.
She shifted closer, fitting herself against my side like she belonged there -- because she did.Her breathing slowed, evening out, her body relaxing completely in a way I’d never seen before.No tension in her shoulders.No readiness to bolt if danger appeared.Just soft, trusting surrender to sleep.
I watched her drift off, committing this moment to memory.The way her hair fell across the pillow.The slight curve of her lips like she was dreaming of gardens and roses and futures we’d build together.The absolute stillness of her body that said she finally felt safe enough to truly rest.
Outside, the compound was quiet.Inside, the woman I loved slept peacefully in my arms.
Chapter Twelve
Ace
The Broken Spokeroared back to life the second we opened the doors.Packed tables, bodies three deep at the bar, air thick from heat and laughter spilling over the country track humming through the speakers.I planted my palms on the rebuilt counter, breathing in beer, whiskey, pine, sawdust, while my world filled with leather, denim, and the kind of joy born from surviving hell as one unit.Three months since Mercer tried to burn us out of existence, and here we stood -- rebuilt, reopened, and busy enough no one questioned whether we’d risen from the ashes.
Amber light from the hanging lanterns washed over the room, softening the rough edges but highlighting everyone I cared about.Brothers in cuts.Old regulars.New faces.White lights wrapped the new support beams.
General poured beer like a machine.Prospects hustled under Rebel’s command, eager to prove they belonged on a night this big.Sound swelled around me, conversations weaving together as the room pulsed from a deep gratitude.
Through all of it, my attention kept finding her.
Marci moved through the chaos like she owned the place.One hand balanced a tray of drinks, the other free to skim someone’s arm in passing.Her patched jacket carried Property of Ace across her shoulders, bold and undeniable, and my pulse kicked every time a gaze paused on those words.Possession didn’t strike the hardest, though.Freedom did.She no longer flinched at raised voices.No more tracking exits.No bracing for impact.She leaned into the noise, thrived in the noise, belonged in the noise.
Wildcard cracked a joke at his table and she laughed, tossed her head back, genuine sound cutting through everything around us.Three months ago she would’ve folded in on herself, waited for danger.Now she touched the back of Knuckles’ chair while taking orders, relaxed and smiling, trusting the room instead of anticipating harm.
I poured beers without looking down, observing her cross the floor.She paused at the server’s station, checked her notes, tapped Madison’s shoulder in greeting, and let a Prospect carrying a full tray slip past without a flicker of alarm.Confidence had settled into her bones, quiet and solid.
“Your woman is a damn natural.”General lined up foaming pints with perfect precision.
