"Go wash up," I say gently. "Put on some real clothes. The club is here."
She nods, clutching the flannel shirt tighter around herself. "Blake?"
I pause at the door, hand on the heavy steel handle. "Yeah?"
"You said you're keeping me."
"I did."
"Good." She swallows hard. "Because I don't think I can go back to being alone. Not after this."
I look at her, burning the image into my brain. "You're never going to be alone again. Now go."
As she hurries toward the bathroom, I turn back to the door and crack my knuckles. The kiss settled one thing—she’s mine. The frustration in my blood is a problem for later. Right now, I have to keep the rest of the world from taking her away.
I open the door to the biting wind, ready for whatever storm my brothers are bringing to my doorstep.
5
TIFFANY
The heavy thud of the steel door slamming shut echoes through the cavernous space of the Forge, vibrating in the soles of my feet. Usually, that sound would make me flinch—a conditioned reflex from years of living in a house where loud noises promised pain. But tonight, it doesn't signal danger. It signals safety. The drawbridge pulling up. The castle sealing against the monsters outside.
Logan and Austin are gone.
I stand in the center of the living area, arms wrapped around my middle, still feeling the phantom pressure of Blake’s large hand from twenty minutes ago. The air in the loft is thick, charged with testosterone, motor oil, and the lingering musk of my own arousal.
Blake turns the deadbolt, the metal screeching a heavy, final note of security. He stands there, back to me, shoulders impossibly wide, straining the black thermal shirt. He stands like a mountain carved from granite—immovable, silent, and terrifyingly lethal.
"They're handling it," he rumbles, voice low and gravelly without turning around. "Logan has the boys patrolling the perimeter of the bakery. Austin is pulling footage from the traffic cams. If Ramon is in Pine Valley, we’ll know."
Ramon. Even the name makes my stomach clench, a wave of nausea threatening to ruin the fragile heat blooming in my veins. Then Blake turns, and the nausea evaporates, scorched away by the intensity of his gaze.
His eyes are dark, predatory. Ramon looked at me like a bug he wanted to crush. Blake looks at me like raw ore he wants to forge into something unbreakable. He looks starving, and I’m the only sustenance he’s seen in years.
"Are you okay?" He steps toward me. His movements are unnervingly quiet, unexpected for a man of his size. One second he’s at the door, the next he’s invading my personal space, heat radiating off him like a furnace.
"I don't know," I whisper. I feel adrift. My life has been upended in forty-eight hours. My bakery is under siege, my abusive ex-husband found me, and I am locked in a high-tech fortress with a man who admitted to watching me from the shadows for months. God help me, all I want is for him to put his hands back on me.
"I didn't mean to stop," he says, voice dropping to a low rumble. He’s talking about the kitchen. About the way he unraveled me on the counter until I screamed his name, only for his brothers to roll up the driveway and drag us back to reality.
"I know." I look up at him. He towers over me, a wall of muscle and dominance. "Blake..."
He reaches out, his calloused thumb tracing the line of my jaw. The touch is rough, abrasive against my skin, but gentle in its pressure. "You’re shaking, Tiffany."
"I'm not scared," I lie. Then I correct myself. "I'm not scared of you."
His pupils blow wide, swallowing the iris. That possessive glint returns.Mine. "Good. Because you’re never leaving here until I say it’s safe. And even then... I don't think I'm letting you go."
The declaration should terrify me. A cage. But after running for so long, a cage built by a monster who wants to keep the other monsters out feels like freedom.
"I don't want to go," I admit, the words barely audible.
Blake freezes. His hand slides from my jaw to the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair, holding me in place. He lowers his head until his forehead rests against mine. I smell him—clean sweat, heated iron, and that crisp mountain pine scent clinging to his skin.
"Be sure, Tiffany," he warns, breath hot against my lips. "You know what I am. I’m not the hero in the storybooks. I’m the guy who welds the doors shut. I’m the guy who watched you sleep through a lens because I couldn't stay away. If we cross this line... if we finish what I started in the kitchen... I’m claiming everything. Your body, your safety, your secrets. All of it."
My heart hammers against my ribs, a frantic rhythm echoing low in my belly. My nipples harden against the thin cotton of the t-shirt he gave me. I’m painfully aware that I’m naked beneath it. I hadn't even bothered to put my lace back on after the shower, the memory of his hand on my bare skin too electric to cover up.I’m open, dripping, and completely exposed under the weight of his cotton.
