I swallow hard. “I don’t understand. You did the right thing.”
“I protected you,” he replies. “Didn’t have to. Bethany thinks I should’ve sent you home and let the night handle you.”
The porch light across the road flickers like it’s listening.
“Do you love your wife?” I ask.
Silence stretches.
He doesn’t answer.
He doesn’t have to.
I take a step back. “You want to come in?”
He looks at the house, the dark windows, the empty drive. “That ain’t a good idea.”
“I’ll lock the door.”
“That won’t stop her,” he says. “And it won’t stop me from coming through it if I have to.”
I nod like that makes sense because right now it does.
“Get inside,” he says. “Lock it. Call Lottie if anything feels off.”
“And you?” I ask.
“I’ll be around,” he says.
He rides off, taillight bleeding red into the dark.
Inside, the house feels too quiet. Too empty.
I shower fast, scrub the smell of smoke off my skin, and miss it the second it’s gone. When I step back into the kitchen, I notice the back gate.
Unlatched.
I know I latched it.
I stand there staring until my chest tightens, then I go inside and lock every damn thing twice.
In bed I stare at the ceiling.
I don’t know him. Not really.
I know his hands are careful. I know his silence is loud. I know he doesn’t answer when I ask if he loves his wife.
That should be enough to keep me safe.
We don’t have anything. No dates. No promises. No right to feel like this.
And still, as sleep drags me under, one thought won’t let go.
I think I’m falling in love with a biker who belongs to someone else.
And Hell, Kentucky never lets a girl love the wrong man in peace.
Chapter 6
