“You’re not broken.” His voice is fierce. “You survived. You kept your head, gathered intel, stayed alive long enough for us to reach you. That’s not weakness, babe. That’s strength.”
“I don’t feel strong.”
“I know.” He pulls me closer, tucking my head under his chin. “But you are. The nightmares, the fear, the moments when it all comes flooding back—that’s you being human. Your body is trying to process stress. We have to ride it out and work through it.” He kisses my forehead again. “Your sexy brain needs to recover just like the rest of your body.”
“Well when you put it like that….” I sigh, relaxing into him. “The woman they grabbed, is she okay?”
“She’s fine. Shaken up, but fine. The FBI got her statement, and she’s getting some counseling.” Stone pauses. “She asked about you. Wanted to know if the woman they were after made it out okay.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That you’re the toughest person I know.” His hand slides down to squeeze my ass. “And that you’re going to be fine. Eventually.”
Eventually.I hold onto that word like a lifeline.
“Go back to sleep,” I tell him. “I’ll be okay.”
“I’m not sleeping until you do.”
“Stone—”
“Fuck it.” He sits up, taking me with him. “I’ve got a better idea.”
I laugh. “We just had sex like three hours ago.”
“As much as I love your delectable body, get dressed,” he says, already swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Warm layers. Jeans, not sweats.”
“Okay? Where are we going?”
He’s pulling on his own jeans. “We’re going for a ride.”
“A ride.” I stare at his back, my sleep-deprived brain struggling to catch up. “It’s—” I check my phone. “—4:47 in the morning.”
“Best time for it.” He turns, and even in the dim light I can see the hint of a smile. “Trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Then get dressed. I’ll meet you downstairs in ten.”
He slips out before I can change my mind.
I sit there for a moment, bemused, before the absurdity of the situation makes me laugh. Here I am, recovering from a near-death experience, plagued by nightmares, and the president of a motorcycle club wants to take me on a pre-dawn joyride.
This is my life now.
I get dressed, chuckling.
The clubhouse is silent as I make my way downstairs—that particular quality of quiet that only exists in the hours before dawn, when even the most dedicated night owls have finally surrendered to sleep.
Stone is waiting by the back door, two leather jackets draped over his arm. One is his—worn and familiar, the Stoneheart patch visible even in the low light. The other is newer.
“Whose is that?” I ask.
He holds it out. “Yours.”
“You bought me a jacket?”
He gives me a look that says I’m crazy for thinking he wouldn’t have.
