This isn’t just some bar fight. Or a jealous moment. Or posturing. This is war prep. And Blade is ready to burn down the world before he lets harm touch me.
As soon as my shift wraps, I don’t linger. I don’t run my mouth or wander around pretending I’m not living inside a crime thriller. I grab my purse, shove the office keys into my pocket, and head straight for the lot because following Blade’s rules suddenly feels like following the laws of physics. If I break them, the universe will flip me inside out.
The guys are already rolling their bikes out, engines rumbling low like growls waiting to explode. Riot tosses his helmet onwith a scowl. Rev pulls up his bandana like he’s gearing for a brawl. Switch tightens his grip on his handlebars and cracks his neck like he wishes someone would give him a reason.
They all look ready. Ready for whatever comes next. Ready to throw hands. Ready to go to war.
Blade is standing beside his bike and scanning the street like he’s calculating sniper angles. His eyes cut to me the second I step outside. His whole posture shifts, coiled and primed and locked onto me like nothing else exists.
I walk straight up to him, trying not to show how shaky I feel. He grabs me by the waist and pulls me in without asking. Like I belong there. Like my body was custom built to fit right up against his.
“Ready to go?” he asks, voice rougher now that the others are watching.
“Yeah,” I breathe.
Blade studies my face like he’s memorizing every millimeter before shit gets real. Then he cups my jaw with one hand, tilts my head up, and crushes his mouth to mine. It’s not soft. It’s not polite. It’s possessive, hungry, and fierce. Every fear and threat and protective instinct rolled into one moment that makes my legs threaten mutiny.
His other hand slides into my hair, keeping me right there in his space while his tongue steals the breath from my lungs. By the time he pulls back, my lips tingle and my brain is soup. He leans in close enough that his stubble tickles my cheek. “Remember what I said. You go straight home. You pack a bag. And you lock those doors.”
I nod because words are temporarily canceled.
“All of them,” he adds, eyes locked on mine so I know he’s dead serious.
“I will,” I promise.
His thumb sweeps over my bottom lip, looking way too tempted to kiss me again. But there is business to handle and bad guys to hunt, so he drops his hand and steps back.
The loss of his body heat feels like a sudden winter.
Blade swings his leg over his bike, boots hitting metal like a warning shot. Riot growls something about wanting to crack skulls. Blade revs the engine once, loud enough to shake the pavement. His eyes hold mine while the bike vibrates beneath him, like he’s willing me to feel safe even while he rides into hell. “Go,” he tells me.
I move fast, practically diving into my car before my nerves can talk me into freaking out. I slam the door and hit the lock button immediately because fear turns me into a one-woman security system. One by one, the Reapers fire up their bikes and peel out of the lot, engines roaring like a thunderstorm you definitely don’t want to mess with. Blade mounts up last, taking his position as Tail Gunner, the final guardian in the line of leather and steel.
I watch them disappear in my rearview mirror, their taillights swallowed by the dark. My grip on the steering wheel tightens as I take a steadying breath and point myself home. Whatever nightmare is brewing in this town, I know one thing for sure. I’m not facing it alone.
By the time I get back to my apartment building, my nerves are totally fried. I park in my usual spot near the stairwell and take a second to breathe, even though breathing feels like trying to drink through a clogged straw. My fingers fumble the keys because apparently anxiety turns me into a baby deer learning motor skills.
I get inside the building fast, punching in the door code like someone is chasing me. The hallway feels too quiet, too dim. When I reach my apartment door, I unlock it, slam it shut behind me, and double check the lock. Then I double check it again because paranoia is now my roommate.
Ansley is curled up on the couch with a blanket and her laptop, watching something that looks way too peaceful for the panic swirling in my chest. Her eyes lift to me and immediately widen.
“Whoa,” she says, sitting up straighter. “That is your ‘Blade just told me something scary’ face.”
She knows me too well. My laugh comes out thin and brittle. “Something like that.”
She tosses the blanket aside and stands. “Okay, spill. What happened? You’re white as a sheet. Well… whiter than usual.”
I drop my purse, toes kicking off my shoes automatically as I pace a groove into the floor. “There’s some club trouble. Serious stuff. Blade wants me to stay with him for a bit until they take care of it.”
Ansley’s mouth tightens. Concern radiates off her in waves. “Are you in danger?”
“No,” I say quickly, then soften my voice. “Not directly. Blade is just… Blade. He sees a threat and his protector brain goes full ‘protect the girl I love’ mode.”
Her shoulders lower as relief comes through, but she still looks me over like checking for bullet holes. “And what about me? Am I safe here?”
“Yes,” I assure her, stepping close and taking her hands. “This is between the club and whoever they’re going after. You don’t have any ties to the Iron Reapers besides me, and Blade made it clear they’re only going after those connected to the club. You are not in the line of fire.”
She nods slowly, squeezing my fingers. “And you will be with him.”
