Those two words again, sending a flutter through my stomach.
Rowan rolls her eyes. "Yes, I gathered that from the way you're hovering over her like she might disappear if you blink. Don't worry, I'll take care of her."
Once Fury reluctantly leaves, Rowan links her arm through mine. "You look like you could use some food and a friendly face. Come on."
She introduces me to a formidable older Black woman in an impeccably tailored dark purple and lime green pantsuit.
"This is Mama Pat," Rowan explains. "She knows everything about everyone, and she's the only person who can tell the president to go to hell without consequences."
"Because I changed his diapers and whooped his behind,” Mama Pat declares, her voice rich and melodious. "And I'll be doing it again if these boys don't start making smarter decisions."
She hands me a plate piled high with food. "Eat, child. You're too skinny by half."
As I eat—realizing suddenly how hungry I am—Rowan and Mama Pat join me.
As the three of us eat, Rowan explains the hierarchy of an outlaw motorcycle club—the officers, the brothers, the prospects still earning their place.
Just as I’m finishing my plate, Fury reappears, his face grim. Without a word, he takes my hand and pulls me to my feet.
"Time for bed," he says, his voice brooking no argument.
We climb a staircase to a second floor lined with doors. Fury leads me to the end of the hall, unlocking a door and ushering me inside.
The room is surprisingly nice—a large bed dominates the space, with simple but sturdy furniture. It's clean and comfortable, if sparse.
"Bathroom's through there," Fury points. "Go ahead and get cleaned up."
I obey without question, my body responding to his commands almost instinctively. In the shower, I let hot water wash away the stress and fear of the day. By the time I emerge in my oversized t-shirt, my body feels heavy with exhaustion.
Fury sits on the edge of the bed, his shirt off, revealing a torso covered in elaborate tattoos. My breath catches at the sight of him—all hard muscle and dangerous beauty.
"Come here," he orders softly.
I cross the room to stand between his spread knees. His hands settle on my hips, warm and solid.
"You've had a hell of a day," he observes, his eyes searching mine. "You should rest."
"I don't want to rest," I whisper, suddenly brave. "I want you."
His grip tightens. "Kayla?—"
"You called me yours," I interrupt. "Did you mean it?"
"Yes." No hesitation, just absolute certainty.
"Then make me yours." I place my hands on his shoulders. "All the way." I step closer, my body flush against him.
Understanding dawns in his eyes, and he groans aloud.
His fingers tighten on my hips, but then he seems to come to some sort of decision.
“I will, baby doll, I will,” still holding my hips, he pushes me back an arm’s length. “But not tonight.”
He motions for me to climb onto the bed, slides in next to me, and cradles me against his chest. “Tonight we sleep."
Chapter 6
Fury
