“Did he say no?” she says. I shake my head, and she raises a confused eyebrow at me. “What is it?”
“You and I are going to be neighbors.”
She swallows, eyes darting to the door. “You mean... I’m sleeping in the room next to yours?”
I nod grimly. “Right next door.”
Chapter Seven
Riley
The first thing I notice when I wake up is silence. Not the thin, restless quiet of the world outside my car, where sirens wail or birds chirp or dogs bark depending on where I parked. This silence is different. Smoother. Warmer. Whole.
For a second, I forget where I am. The sheets smell like clean cotton and slide gently across my skin. They’re cozy, surround me with warmth and a sense of safety; they make me smile. The window’s cracked open, letting in the scent of rain and pine. Somewhere in the distance, someone laughs — low, rough, happy.
Then it all comes back in a flash: the car, the glass, and Breaker’s hand lifting me up.
I sit up slowly, clutching the blanket, as awareness all comes back to me through the wonderful fog of feeling safe for the first time in a long time. I’m in a room off the clubhouse hallway — Breaker said it used to be a guest room. It’s too much. It’s kind. And kindness feels dangerous. Like a trap.
Even more so because it’s directly next to his.
I’m not supposed to get involved with any bikers, no complications to hold me down if I need to run, and yet, here I am, sleeping next door to the man who confuses my insides with his gruff kindness and makes me want things I know I shouldn’t?
I dress quickly, then wander toward the sound of voices.
The Noble Fir looks different this morning. Maybe it’s because I’m waking up here, that it’s not just a place of work now for me, but somewhere that’s sheltered me through a scary night. It’s quiet except for the low rumble of conversation that drifts in through an open window, coming from the garage out back. I go to the window, curious, and peer through it. Immediately, I see him there through the open bay door, sleeves rolled up, grease on his forearms. His hair’s a mess, jaw shadowed, a look of gentle contentment on his face, even though he’s working alongside Mayhem, who seems to be doing his best to show him something that looks like he fused a shotgun to a socket wrench.
Mayhem says something I can’t quite hear. Breaker laughs and puts his head back into his work, adjusting something on the motorcycle in front of him.
He looks human like this. Human, real, and safe.
Everything dangerous to me.
I should turn around. Instead, I go to the door; I open it, head outside, and I walk closer.
This is a mistake, but I can’t stop myself.
“Morning,” I call, pretending my pulse isn’t going wild.
On hearing my voice, Mayhem straightens, looks at me, then at Breaker, then back at his work with the faintest smirk. "Gonna go check on that parts order." He claps Breaker on the shoulder as he passes — just a touch too hard to be casual.
Breaker doesn't react, but I catch the slight tightening of his jaw. Then he looks up. His expression changes, softens, and his eyes catch the light — steel gray, but softer than last night, when he looked like a guard dog on alert. “You sleep alright?”
“Eventually.” I shrug. “Thanks for letting me crash.”
He nods, his smile flickers brighter for a second, and then something in his face changes, as if he’s noticing something he doesn’t like. Then he turns back to his work, smile gone, andtightens a bolt with a flick of his wrist. “It wasn’t a question of letting you. It had to happen.”
That little spark of irritation in my chest flares at the implication in his voice.How the hell can he go from caring to controlling so fast?
“You always boss people around?”
“Only when they need it.”
There’s heat in his tone. It’s confident, probing, determined, like he’s testing me. I cross my arms, pretending it doesn’t work, pretending that there isn’t a part of me that doesn’t burn hot at the authority in his voice.
“Don’t get used to it,” I say. “I’m not staying long. Just till I figure things out.”
His gaze slides over me, slow and assessing. My skin tingles as his eyes roam over me, even though part of me wants to slap him for the way he’s talking to me.
