Knox would break my jaw if he ever found out.
I rolled down the window, let the cold air slap me awake, and checked my phone at the next red light. Motel address: Room 12, Yreka. The message said“Not answering now,”but the lack of panic told me Knox still expected me to deliver.
Good. I wasn’t about to disappoint.
I drove the rest of the way with both hands on the wheel, knuckles gone white under the strain. As the mountains started to rise on the horizon, the sky bruised from indigo to pale orange, and the ache in my chest sharpened into something crystalline.
Every mile that passed made it clearer—Bo was coming home, whether he liked it or not. This time, he wasn’t running. This time, I was going to hold him so goddamn tight he’d never break loose again.
In my head, I pictured him the way I wanted: on his knees at my feet, looking up with that stubborn, hungry defiance, daring me to take what I’d always wanted.
The thought made my pulse kick and my mouth go dry. I knew it was wrong. I knew it’d kill Knox to know his “brother in arms” wanted his baby brother, not just as a friend but as my lover, as property, as something to protect and use and fuck until neither of us could think straight.
I wanted Bo to stop running because I wanted to own his surrender. Not out of cruelty. Never that. But because he deserved better than the men who’d spent his whole life trying to break him down. I could give him order, boundaries, the kind of stability that never had to hurt.
The sign for Yreka flashed up on the right, and I took the exit without thinking. The first rays of sun caught the ice on the ground and set the whole world glittering. I felt a weird, hollow anticipation—like the instant before you drop the clutch and feel the whole bike surge forward.
He was going to fight me every step of the way. Good. I hoped he did. I liked a challenge.
I found the motel in five minutes, parked out front of Room 12, and killed the engine. The silence was immense, broken only by the tick of the cooling block and the distant rush of trucks on the interstate.
I took a breath, rolled my shoulders, and climbed out into the morning air. Every muscle was tensed, ready. I was going to do this right.
When I knocked on the door, I already knew what I’d see: Bo, battered but alive, surprised as hell that I’d come for him. I was ready for his anger, his tears, his mouthy bravado. I was ready to haul him home and never let him go.
The only question was whether he was ready to belong to someone for real this time.
My money said yes.
Chapter Three
~ Bodean ~
There’s a particular shade of blue in the early morning—a smoggy, acid-washed color that always makes me think of hangovers and regret. The strip of carpet between my motel bed and the door was lit up in that blue, vibrating with the pulse of the sign outside and the angry glow of a parking lot sodium lamp.
I heard the rumble of a truck engine cut out, then heavy footsteps, each one sending a fresh spike of adrenaline into my chest.
I sat up on the bed, wiped my palms down my jeans, and stared at the door. It was just a slab of painted metal, already dented near the bottom from a previous guest’s bad day, but I felt like it could open up into the void if I looked away too long.
Three knocks—sharp, like the back of a wrench on a fender.
I made myself stand. My knees weren’t having it, but I planted my boots and crossed to the door, checking the peephole first out of habit. All I saw was darkness, then a sliver of movement as something massive leaned in. The shape of it was enough to give me a shot of that old, stupid hope: broad shoulders, hair darker than the night, the suggestion of a jawline hard enough to break rocks.
The air in my lungs started fizzing like soda, and I actually caught myself smoothing my hair in the reflection of the peephole, as if I wasn’t about to look like a bloody raccoon in a police lineup.
I cracked the door just wide enough to catch a face-full of leather and motor oil. He stood there, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, booted feet braced like he expected a hurricane. Jo. And—fuck me—it hit like a stomach punch, how much I still wanted to see him.
I grinned without thinking, a smile that hurt the split in my lip, but made something else in me burn hot. “Hey.”
His eyes slid over my face, sharp and thorough. Not one speck of warmth. Just a full-body scan, top to bottom, lingering on the tape job along my cheekbone, the bruises, the shiner that probably glowed in the black light. He didn’t move, didn’t even blink, until his mouth curled into a frown that would have turned milk.
“Jesus, Bodean.”
Not Bo. Not even McKenzie, which is how most guys in the valley threw it at me. The full thing, first name like a roll call, like he was making sure it was really me and not a corpse in the doorway.
I felt the heat drain out of my chest, leaving behind a soggy, ice-cold lump. Jo wasn’t here for me. He was here because Knox sent him, because I was a problem to be collected and delivered, not a person worth the rescue.
I stepped back, cleared my throat, and tried for casual. “Come on in, man. Room’s five star.” I gave the handle a jerk and let the door bang against the wall.
