Then, though, almost like I’d fucking summoned her, there she was.
She stepped out of the side door of the barn, sucking in a deep breath, then wiggling her shoulders on the exhale.
She didn’t clock me, making me figure I must have mostly been cast in shadow since I was hard to miss usually.
Her gaze was fixed on the horizon, watching the sun sink down behind the trees, a soft look on her face.
I couldn’t really see her brilliant blue eyes this far away, but I imagined they looked even brighter than usual.
Standing there in her yellow outfit with the glow of my favorite color all around her, yeah, it did something to me. Something that felt even more dangerous than the simple attraction I felt earlier.
I wouldn’t admit under the pressure of fucking torture how long I stood there looking at her like a damn creep.
It wasn’t until I heard the squeal of tires that I snapped out of it.
I wasn’t close.
I was several dozen yards away.
But at the first sound of the tires, I broke into a dead run.
I didn’t pause to look, to decide if there was an actual threat.
This was a mafia venue.
I was an outlaw biker.
Shewas a princess.
It was better to overreact right away than to delay and have someone lose their life.
So I ran.
And watched as she stiffened, as she turned.
There was something primed about her posture, like she was taking in something, assessing it, deciding how she felt about it.
I didn’t dare look.
I didn’t want anything to distract me from reaching her before, God fucking forbid, someone else did.
But I knew it the second she became aware that itwasa threat.
Her whole body went ramrod straight.
Whether she noticed it or not, her feet instinctively turned, ready to run.
Either someone was running toward her.
Or there was a gun pointed at her.
Either way, my only thought was to get to her first, to put my body between her and either of those fates.
A third of that instinct was pure desire to protect an innocent woman. Another part was knowing the club would have my head if I let her get hurt in my presence. The last third, though, that felt different. More personal somehow. Despite only having a handful of conversations with Gracie over the years.
There was no time to analyze that as I finally closed the distance between us and flew at her.
I was quick enough to wrap my hands around the back of her head to brace against the impact as I tackled her.
