Then he carefully pulls out and guides me down onto the bed, pulling me against his chest so I'm tucked under his arm with my head resting over his heart.
I can hear it beating, fast at first, then gradually slowing, and I close my eyes and let myself sink into the warmth and safety of being held.
My body feels used in the best way, pleasantly sore and satisfied, and I'm drifting on the edge of sleep when I hear the sound of engines outside, low and rumbling, followed by the sweepof headlights flashing through the trees and cutting across the bedroom wall.
I freeze, my heart slamming against my ribs, and Morgan is already moving, his body tensing as he pulls away from me and reaches for his clothes.
"Stay here," he says, his voice hard and cold, and then he's gone, moving down the stairs with lethal efficiency while I'm left alone in the bed, my heart pounding as the engines idle outside and danger crashes back in.
Chapter 5 – Morgan
I'm down the stairs and moving before my brain catches up to my body, every instinct honed by years in the military snapping into place, because this is exactly what we’ve been waiting for.
They took the bait.
Three engines, maybe four, idling in formation rather than rolling through, which means they're not passing by, they're positioning. The headlights sweep across the cabin walls in overlapping arcs, meaning they're blocking exits and controlling sight lines just like we figured they would.
I grab my gun from the lockbox near the door, check the magazine by touch, and move to the window in a crouch, staying below the sight line. The glass is cold against my cheek as I angle for a view, and what I see makes my jaw clench hard enough to hurt.
Four bikes, Deadwood colors visible even in the dim glow of their headlights. Three riders still mounted, one already dismounted and moving toward the porch.
I move back from the window and take the stairs two at a time, finding Megan already sitting up in bed, eyes wide and alert, clutching the sheet to her chest. She's scared but not panicking.
I’d hoped she’d be asleep when this happened, she wouldn’t have to see any of it.
"Get dressed," I say quietly, keeping my voice calm and level despite the adrenaline flooding my system. "Fast as you can. Stay away from the windows."
She nods and reaches for her clothes with shaking hands. I turn my back to give her privacy and move to the window, watchingthe dismounted rider reach the porch steps. He's big, broad-shouldered, moving with the kind of confidence that comes from thinking you've got the upper hand.
He's wrong.
Behind me, I hear the rustle of fabric as Megan dresses, and I force myself to stay focused on the threat outside rather than the memory of her body still warm in my bed.
There'll be time for that later—if we survive the next ten minutes.
"Morgan?" Her voice is steady despite the fear I can hear underneath.
"Yeah."
"What do we do?"
I glance back at her. She's dressed now, standing near the bed, and the trust in her eyes when she looks at me does something to my chest that I don't have time to examine. "You're going to stay behind me. You're going to do exactly what I tell you, when I tell you. Understand?"
She nods.
"Good." I move to the stairs, gesturing for her to follow. "Stay close."
We descend together, her hand gripping the back of my shirt, and I position us near the kitchen where the angles give me cover and sight lines on both the front door and the side window. The wood stove still radiates heat, but my skin feels cold, every sense heightened the way it used to get before raids overseas.
The knock on the door is loud, knuckles on wood that rattles the frame.
"Morgan Hale." The voice is rough. "We know you're in there. We just want to talk."
Bullshit. If they wanted to talk, they wouldn't have come at night with backup and blocked escape routes.
I keep Megan behind me, one hand reaching back to make sure she's pressed against the wall, and I call out without opening the door. "You're on Night Wolves territory. Turn around and leave."
There's a pause, then a low chuckle that makes my trigger finger itch. "See, that's the thing. We're not here for club business. We're here for the girl."
