I’m just glad I made it out without me or my cat being harmed.
“Yeah,” Onyx says in a low, quiet tone. “We lucked out finding him before he kidnapped a second woman.”
“You did good work today,” he says to Onyx. “Of course, it would have been better if you hadn’t beaten the shit out of him, but at least he’s not running around being a menace to society anymore.”
Onyx doesn’t respond, but the stubborn set of his jawline tells me he’s holding back an entire speech.
Before he steps outside, Detective Morgan turns back to me. “Emily,” he says, “you need to know something.”
“What’s that?” I ask, with Frisky still trembling against my chest.
“This guy comes from money,” Morgan explains. “There’s a chance he’ll be given the opportunity to bail himself out after his arraignment. Any worries, then call me. Onyx has my number.”
Anxiety twists in my stomach. “I will.”
“If he’s out on bail, it’ll likely be with certain conditions. The biggest one is he’s to stay away from you and the second isprobably that he will be required to wear an ankle bracelet. In other words, he’ll be monitored,” Morgan adds, “I just wanted to alert you to that possibility ahead of time.”
“Thank you. I’ll bear that in mind,” I tell him politely.
Morgan nods once at Onyx before taking off.
Mica tells me, “I’m glad we got that asshole out of your house, Em. I’d stay and help clean up, but the dogs are getting antsy, so I’d better get them back to the kennels.” I reach out and give him a one-armed hug. “Please don’t apologize. You’ve been amazing today. I appreciate your help more than you’ll ever know.”
“It was my pleasure. If you need anything, call Onyx or the clubhouse and one of us will come runnin’.”
He whistles low for the dogs when he steps out the door. Forge and Sable rush to him. Their tails wagging happily. He crouches to their level, gives them a little pat and tells them it’s time to head home.
Onyx just stands there, watching his brother leave out with the dogs. I know he and Mica are really tight, so I’m not sure why Onyx stayed behind.
Once they are out of sight, Onyx and I go back inside. He gets trash bags from under my counter and begins cleaning up the smashed stuff in my living room.
“Sorry about the mess I made when we were fighting. To be honest, I wasn’t thinking about anything but kickin’ that fucker’s ass.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I tell him. “I can get it in the morning.”
“Don’t argue with me, Em. If I mess something up, I always take responsibility for cleaning it.”
“That’s mighty nice of you, neighbor.” Letting him have at it, I sit on the sofa with my cat. Frisky curls into my lap, still a little anxious.
Onyx’s eyes sweep the room as if taking stock of all the damage he did for the first time. Dropping the bag in his hand, he moves to the sink, fills a glass with water, and brings it back to me. Our fingers brush together when I take it.
“Drink,” he says. “You don’t want to be dehydrated, especially if anything else pops off today.”
I sip the water, slowly realizing this is what being taken care of by Onyx would look like. I like this caretaking side. Sure, he’s still a little worked up from the fight but he’s also thoughtful, dedicated to fixing his mistakes and doesn’t mind a little hard work.
Onyx doesn’t comment. He just crouches beside me, starts picking up shards of broken glass near my feet and pitching them into the gigantic black trash bag. He handles each piece with a devil-may-care attitude that almost looks like he doesn’t think it can cut him. He’s a badass biker, through and through.
“Be careful,” I whisper, unable to help myself.
He glances up at me through his lashes, his expression softening. “It’ll take more than some shattered glass to hurt me.”
I want to say something, but I press my lips together instead. He clears the floor with surprising efficiency. When he comes to his feet again, he touches the back of my shoulder, in a gesture meant to be supportive.
Everything about him feels different now that the crisis is over. The take-charge attitude is still there, right beneath the surface. It’s the ferocity that’s all but evaporated. Because he doesn’t need that with me, I guess.
He walks over and inspects my doorframe. “We’re gonna need to install better locks,” he says, voice low but warm. “Really high-quality ones, made of stainless steel. Maybe we could add some motion lights. A ring camera won’t hurt either.”
“Onyx,” I whisper, amused that he thinks the intruder broke into my house. “He didn’t get inside my house because my locks are old.”
