He loves you,I tell the mirror.He made you a steel rose.
He stalked you for three months,the doubt counters.He watched you like a hawk watches a field mouse. Is that love? Or is it ownership?
I dry my face and step back out into the hall. As I turn to head back to the bar, a voice drifts from the end of the corridor—from behind the double doors Tristan warned me about.
"...burned a clean house for a piece of tail, Blake. That cabin was off the grid for a reason." The voice is sharp, jagged with irritation. Austin. I freeze, my heart hammering against my ribs. I should run back to the bar, but the coldness in the air keeps me rooted to the floor.
"The fuckers were already on the scent," Blake’s voice cuts through, flat and lethal. There’s no trace of the man who worshipped me in the kitchen. "I didn't bring them to the Forge; they followed the trail. I wasn't going to leave her out there for Ramon’s dogs to tear apart. Bringing the girl in was the only move."
The girl.Not Tiffany. Just a subject.
"Is your head in the game, or is it buried in her pussy?" Logan’s voice is heavy, authoritative. "You’ve been stalking this chick since the first snow. We let you play your little game because you were supposed to be watching the perimeter. Now you’ve brought a civilian into the middle of a lockdown. If you’re thinking with your cock instead of your cut, I’ll have your patch."
The silence that follows is suffocating, thick with the scent of old tobacco and unspoken threats.
"My head is right where it belongs," Blake says, his voice devoid of any warmth. "I’ve spent three months learning exactly how she breaks. I know her triggers. She’s soft, easy to handle because she’s looking for a savior. She thinks I’m the hero, which makes her the perfect tether. I’m going to use her to reel Ramon in so I can put a bullet between his eyes. She’s the bait, Logan. That’s all she’s ever been."
The world tilts on its axis. The hallway spins.Perfect tether. Going to use her. Bait.
Bile rises in my throat. The memories of Ramon crash over me—him telling his friends I was "trained well," him bragging about how he molded me. Blake isn't Ramon. I know that. But hearing him speak about me like I’m a piece of equipment, a tactical advantage to be deployed... it shatters the fragile trust I’d built in the last twenty-four hours.
Was the tenderness in the kitchen a lie? Was the way he held me while I slept just a way to keep the "asset" calm?
"Alright," Logan says. "As long as you can pull the trigger when the time comes. If Ramon gets to her..."
"He won't," Blake interrupts. "Because I'll kill him first. She’s mine."
Mine. Before, the word felt like a promise. Now, it feels like a cage.
I back away, my heart thundering so loud I’m sure they can hear it through the oak doors. I turn and stumble back toward the main room, my vision blurring. I need air. I need to get out of this suffocating place. I burst back into the common room. Tristan looks up from the bar, frowning.
"Tiffany?" he calls out.
I ignore him. I push past a biker who smells like cigarettes and hit the heavy front door, shoving it open. The mountain air hits me, cold and sharp, but it doesn't cleanse the betrayal burning under my skin. I walk to the edge of the porch, wrapping my arms around myself. The compound buzzes with activity, men working on bikes, but I feel utterly isolated.
"Tiffany!"
The door bangs open behind me. I don't turn around. I can feel him. His presence is a physical weight, a gravitational pull I hate myself for responding to. Blake’s boots crunch on the wooden planks. He stops right behind me, his heat radiating against my back.
"I told you to stay at the bar," he growls.
I spin around, putting distance between us. He looks immense in the daylight, his cut stretching over his broad shoulders, his face hard.
"I needed air," I snap. "Or is that not allowed for the asset?"
Blake freezes. His eyes narrow, dark irises darkening instantly. He steps forward, crowding my space, forcing me to tilt my head back to look at him.
"You were listening," he says. He states it as an accusation.
"I heard enough," I say, fighting the tears burning my eyes. "I heard you call me bait. I heard you tell him I was easy." I shove at his chest, putting every ounce of my betrayal into it. "You made me feel safe just to set a trap? You're worse than him."
Blake’s hand snakes out, his fingers locking around my wrist like a shackle. With one jerk, he hauls me into him, my chest slamming against the hard leather of his cut. I can feel the heavy weight of his cock hardening against my stomach, a thick, rigid line of heat that contradicts every lie he told Logan.
"You think last night was tactical?" His voice is a low, dangerous vibration I feel in my teeth. "I don't fuck 'assets' until they scream. I don't spend hours with my face buried in a mission’s pussy because I’m following orders. You’re not a job, Tiffany. You’re a fucking addiction."
"I know what I heard!" I yell, and I see a few of the bikers in the yard stop working to watch. I don't care. "You watched me for three months without me knowing. You manipulated everything. And now I’m just a piece on a chessboard to help you kill Ramon."
"Yes," Blake snarls, the sound vibrating deep in his chest as he crowds me against the porch railing. "You are bait. Because Ramon is a dog who only responds to the scent of what he wants most. But if you think for one second that makes you just an asset, you haven’t been paying a-fucking-attention."
