"I know," she replies.
King nods, accepting this without offense. "Your situation has changed. You're under club protection now."
Holly straightens her shoulders, looking remarkably composed for someone who was shot at less than an hour ago. "Because the Iron Eagles think I'm connected to Steel."
"Yes." King looks between us. "Are you?"
Before I can respond, Holly answers, "He saved my life tonight. I'd say that's a connection."
King's mouth twitches in what might almost be a smile. "Fair enough. Steel will show you where you'll be staying. We'll talk more in the morning when things have settled."
He claps me on the shoulder as he passes, leaning in to murmur, "Be careful, brother. She's not a club girl."
Translation: Don't fuck her unless you're prepared to deal with the consequences.
As King walks away, I'm left alone with Holly. There's plaster dust in her hair from the bullets hitting her apartment walls, her waitress uniform is torn at the shoulder, and dark circles have formed under her eyes.
"Come on," I say, gentler than before. "Let's get you inside."
She follows me through the back entrance that leads past the club's auto shop front and into the main building. The clubhouse is divided into sections. The public areas where we hold parties and conduct business, and the private quarters where members stay. There's also a separate wing with guest rooms, used for visitors or, in cases like this, people under club protection.
"This place is... not what I expected," Holly remarks as we walk through the main room with its leather couches and well-stocked bar.
"What were you expecting? A cave with motorcycles parked inside?"
She laughs, the sound unexpected and bright in the tension of the night. "Maybe. Or walls covered in stolen goods and weapons."
"The weapons are locked up," I say with a half-smile. "And we don't steal. Not anymore, anyway."
Her eyebrows raise at that, but she doesn't comment. I lead her down a hallway toward the guest rooms, aware of her eyes taking in everything. The surprisingly tasteful artwork on the walls (Luna's influence), the clean floors, the overall sense of order that most people wouldn't associate with an outlaw MC.
"This will be your room," I say, opening the door to one of our nicer guest rooms. It's simple but comfortable: queen bed with fresh linens, private bathroom, dresser, and a small desk. "Lunausually keeps some clothes here for... emergencies. They should be in the dresser. Probably not your style, but clean at least."
Holly steps inside, setting her backpack on the bed. "Luna is King's woman?"
"Yeah. You'll probably meet her tomorrow."
She nods, then turns to face me fully. In the soft light of the bedside lamp, I can see the fine tremor in her hands, the only outward sign that she's not as composed as she appears.
"Thank you," she says quietly. "For everything tonight. For not hurting James when he attacked you. For saving me from the bullets. For bringing us here."
I shift uncomfortably under her gratitude. "Don't thank me. If I hadn't shown up at your place, none of this would have happened."
"That's not true." Her eyes are steady on mine. "James's debts would still exist. The Iron Eagles might have targeted him anyway because he owes money all over town. At least with you..." She pauses, seeming to search for words. "At least with you, I feel like we have a chance."
Those words hit me square in the chest, and my cock, which had finally started to soften, roars back to full attention. No woman has ever looked at me with such open trust before. In the club, the women know what we are and what we do. They come for the danger and the excitement, not because they think we're their salvation.
But Holly's looking at me like I'm something good, something safe. If she knew the things I've done, the men I've hurt, would she still look at me that way?
"You should get some rest," I say. "Bathroom's through there. Lock your door when I leave."
I turn to go, needing to put distance between us before I do something stupid like push her up against the wall and find out if she tastes as sweet as she looks.
"Steel," she calls softly, stopping me at the threshold.
“You can call me Jacob.” He tells me.
I turn back, trying to keep my expression neutral.
