It’s not a request. It’s not even a suggestion. It’s Orien deciding my night for me, and my Alpha instincts bristle at the presumption.
“I don’t play babysitter,” I snap, teeth bared.
Orien remains unmoved. “Didn’t say you did. Said the rich guy needs backup, and I’m busy.”
I take a deep breath. This is about Micah and the traffickers who almost took someone I care about. This is a chance at a revenge Orien knows I want more than my next breath.
Gabriel’s gaze tracks across my face, down to my clenched fists, and back up as if he can read the thoughts racing through my mind.
I hate it. I hate Gabriel needing me instead of simply wanting me, and I hate how much the difference matters. Need makes sense. Need has purpose and structure. Want is messy, complicated, and dangerous.
“I have time if you don’t,” Rowan offers from behind me, and my hackles rise.
I recognize the curl to his lips. If I leave Rowan alone with Gabriel, he’ll either beat the Alpha bloody or have his name added to a ledger and on payroll bymorning.
The thought drags a snarl up my throat before I can stop it.
Rowan’s eyebrows lift, interest sparking at my reaction. I clench my teeth against offering an excuse for why the idea of him and Gabriel together sets me on edge.
Gabriel takes a small step back, offering space I didn’t ask for but desperately need.
The tiny concession is the only reason I don’t walk away. “One night. That’s it.”
A relieved sigh escapes him. “Okay. One night.”
Orien steps back toward the door, his mission accomplished.
The door slams shut, leaving Gabriel and me alone in the alley with Rowan, who studies us both with newfound interest.
Gabriel’s mouth opens, then closes, as if he can’t decide what to say. For once, the endless confidence that irritates me at the club is nowhere to be found.
I turn toward my motorcycle parked at the curb.
Gabriel follows a few steps behind, his thousand-dollar shoes scuffing the concrete.
I rip open the saddlebag and grab my leather jacket, shrugging it on. Then I lift my helmet fromwhere it hangs on the handlebar, and without looking at Gabriel, I shove it at his chest.
“Get on,” I order. “And don’t talk.”
The helmet connects with his sternum with more force than necessary, but Gabriel doesn’t flinch. He takes it with both hands, a soft, stupidly hopeful smile spreading across his face, and it hits me in the gut with unwelcome, confusing emotions.
Ignoring him, I mount my bike. The leather seat creaks beneath me as I settle into position, key in the ignition but not turning it yet.
Behind me, Gabriel hesitates for only a second before putting on the helmet, and the black visor transforms him into a faceless shadow.
Better that way. Easier to pretend he’s just another body I need to transport from one place to another.
The motorcycle dips as he climbs on behind me, the suspension adjusting to his added weight, and heat radiates through my jeans where his thighs hug the outside of mine. My pulse jumps in an instinctive reaction to having another Alpha so close to my back.
Breathe. Focus. This is about Micah, not about Gabriel Rockford and his intoxicating scent.
The engine roars to life beneath us, the vibrations doing little to settle my anxiety.
Gabriel shifts behind me, uncertain where to puthis hands. His knuckles brush my sides as he searches for purchase, and my muscles contract at the contact.
I hold my breath, waiting to see what he’ll do.
Hesitantly, his arms circle my waist, hands resting over my abdomen. Even through layers of clothing, his touch burns like a brand. My heartbeat kicks up another notch.
