“It wasn’t a polite request.”
She stares at me for a beat, probably trying to figure out if I’m serious. There’s no way I’m letting her wander the hall at night, not when Ragnor is still here.
She steps into my room like it’s enemy territory, cautious, arms crossed, chin high.
Her eyes flick around the space, taking in the unmade bed, the worn leather jacket hanging on the back of the chair, and the faint scent of smoke and motor oil that’s soaked into the walls after years.
“This is it?” she asks, one brow raised.
“This is it,” I say, closing the door behind us.
“Charming.”
She drops her bag onto the bed and looks at me. “Where are you sleeping?” My eyes fall to the bed, and a smirk pulls at my lips. She gives a sharp laugh. “You think I’m sharing with you?”
I step in closer, slow, not touching her but close enough she can feel my shadow over hers. “I think you’re under my roof and I’m not letting you out of my sight. That’s what I think.”
Her eyes flash with defiance. “You’re unbelievable.” She shakes her head, brushing past me towards the wardrobe, like she’s trying to put space between us. I catch the faint trace of her perfume, something light, fresh, and it’s enough to make my pulse jump.
“You know,” she says, turning back to face me, “you don’t get to tell me who I can talk to, ride with, or—”
“Ragnor isn’t just some guy in a bar, Remi. He’s a club president. Everything you say, everything you do, gets his interest, puts you on his radar. And if he decides he wants you . . .”
She smirks. “Then you can’t have me.”
My jaw tightens. I take another step towards her, but she holds her ground, eyes fixed on mine. “Get some sleep,” I say finally, my voice low. “Door stays locked. If you need anything, you call me.”
“I don’t have your number,” she states, arching a brow.
“You do. It’s in your phone.”
Her eyes narrow, but I don’t elaborate further or explain how I took her mobile earlier when she was distracted and added my number as her emergency contact. I can’t even make sense of it in my own head.
For a second, neither of us moves. The air’s thick with tension, but if I lean in, she’ll either slap me or kiss me. I don’t risk finding out which. I turn, forcing myself towards the door before I do something stupid.
I catch her reflection in the mirror as I leave, and she’s still watching me with a hint of a smile pulling at her lips.
Chapter Four
Remi
I wake up to the low rumble of bikes starting outside and sunlight cutting through the thin curtains.
For a second, I forget where I am, then the smell of leather and motor oil hits me and I remember.
Shadow’s bed.
Not that he was in it. No, he’d left me alone all night, door locked from the inside like he’d ordered, but his presence lingered in the space anyway. The way his voice had dropped when he told me to get some sleep. The way he’d stepped close, like he could block out the rest of the world if he wanted to.
God, the nerve of him.
I should still be mad. Iammad. Nobody tells me who I can talk to, especially not a grumpy, bossy biker who thinks glaring counts as conversation. And yet, every time I think about him cutting in last night, there’s this little fizz low in my stomach I can’t shake. I hate that I like it. I hate that the memory makes my pulse race a bit faster.
I stretch, burying my face in his pillow before I realise what I’m doing. It smells like him––warm, clean, faintly smoky. It’s ridiculous, but it makes me smile like a giddy teenager.
If I’m honest with myself—and I’m usually not—I do fancy him. Not in the harmless “he’s hot” way. It’s worse than that.
I fancy the way he watches me like he’s trying to work me out. The way he makes me feel noticed, protected, and Lord knows I need that.
