I open my mouth to argue—and for a split second, I’m back there. Headlights filling my windshield. The screech of metal. The world spinning, glass shattering, my own scream lost in the impact.
I blink and it’s gone, but my hands are trembling in my lap.
He’s right. I know he’s right. Summit has cartel connections, and cartels don’t believe in half-measures. If they want me dead, they’ll keep trying until they succeed—unless someone stops them first.
“I don’t need a babysitter,” I say, but there’s no heat in it.
“Then think of it as a strategic relocation until we neutralize the threat.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then I’ll post guys outside your house, and you’ll spend the next few weeks tripping over bikers every time you leave.” He almost smiles. “The clubhouse has better coffee.”
I glare at him. He gazes back, implacable.
“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“No.”
“And if I fight you on it?”
“I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you there myself. Broken ribs and all.”
“That’s kidnapping.”
“Sue me.”
We glare at each other. His eyes are steady, unyielding. Whatever else has happened between us, whatever confusion still lingers—in this moment, he’s the president of the Stoneheart MC, and he’s not going to budge.
“Fine,” I say through gritted teeth. “But this is temporary. And I want it on record that I’m agreeing under extreme duress.”
“Duly noted.”
“And I’m not going to be some damsel locked in a tower. I have work to do. Cases to manage. A DA filing to complete.”
“You can work from the clubhouse. We have WiFi.”
“How modern of you.”
“We also have Netflix. I’ll even spring for HBO, if that sweetens the deal.”
I snort despite myself. “You’re a jerk.”
“So I’ve been told.” He stands, stretches—I try not to notice the way his shirt pulls across his shoulders, or the strip of toned stomach that appears when his shirt rides up. He stops atmy bedside, his thumb brushing across my cheekbone, feather-light.
My breath catches.
“You had fluff there,” he says, removing his hand.
Somehow I don’t believe him.
“Get some rest.” His voice is low, rough. “I need to make some calls, set up the security rotation. I’ll be back in an hour.”
He’s nearly out the door when I call his name. He stops, turning back toward me.
“Thank you.” The words come out grudging, but genuine. “Even if you are being a high-handed asshole right now, I appreciate it.”
His mouth curves into an almost smile. “You’re welcome. Even if you are being a stubborn pain in the ass.”
