I let out a breath that is half laugh, half resignation.
“The man is going to drive me insane.”
The night is cool and quiet, the street empty, as usual, and there he is. On Isla’s porch, sleeves pushed up, and the tiny LED flashlight slipped between his teeth, flashing every time he moves. And goddamnit, he’s using an antiquated brace and bit instead of a power drill, so he doesn’t wake Isla as he fits the security cameras he got Wren to purchase for him.
“You’re gonna wreck your shoulders, again,” I mutter.
Like always, he’s painfully focused and determined.
My chest squeezes with the kind of affection I’ve always felt for him. He might mask it behind the scowl, and the monotone voice complaining about all the ways the world sucks, but he cares.
More deeply and more fiercely than anyone I’ve ever met, and yet, I’m not sure he’s ever felt safe enough, even with me, to fully unleash it. The love he has for me isn’t the showy kind. It’s not packed with PDA and never demands anything in return.
And he shows the rest of the world he cares through his acts of service. We’re both solid mechanics, but he’s helped just about every brother strip down the engines of their motorcycles.
So, I don’t need to be a genius to figure out why he thought this was the right way to make Isla take the cameras.
Once they’re installed, he’ll have rationalized, she won’t take them down.
He’s doing this while she’s asleep to keep his distance, the same way he cleared the rest of her gutters while she was out of the house.
But every time Garrett does something like this, something so thoughtful and protective and sweet, he shows me what devotion looks like. And I know he’s worried deep down, like I am, that the club somehow damaged her bright smile.
My mind drifts to her lips and I wonder what it would feel like if she let me be the one to kiss her softly and reassure her that while the world is as cruel as she thinks, I could make it a softer place for her.
The thought feels disloyal to my man.
I put the gun down on the windowsill and wonder how I got so damn lucky that this man loves me like he does, even if it’s in his own way. And yet, as I look over to Isla’s house, I wonder if it would be good for him to have someone else to love just as much. There’s a whisper of a thought that he might be into her.
I wonder if he thinks about what it would feel like to kiss her too?
Or maybe I’m projecting, because I’ve always found her smile to be one of the prettiest things about her. Although, before I sound too sweet, I think about that figure of hers, especially how round and high her tits are.
I debate pulling on some joggers to go join him. He might be able to work faster if I hold the flashlight. But if I go out there, he’ll only tell me to get home out of the cold. Me, anaccomplished tracker who can sleep outside in a shelter made from tree trunks and pine branches.
Instead of arguing with him, I return to bed. Somehow, he always finds his way back to me by morning, so I trust that tonight will be no different and pull the covers up to my chin. “Good night, love,” I say, knowing full well he can’t hear me, but hoping he can feel it all the same.
8
SHADE
The cold gnaws at my knuckles as I tighten the screw into the last mounting bracket. I’ve worked in worse conditions. Rainstorms, busted roofs in the dead of winter, broken down bikes at the side of the road. But something about Isla’s porch makes me more careful.
First, it’s so goddamn rotten that I can hear it splintering beneath my feet. One wrong step off the cross joists, and I feel like the sucker may collapse and open up a sink hole.
But also, I don’t want to scare her any more than she already is. My mind runs riot with all the things that could have happened to her. Was she raped by one of the hangarounds or prospects or bikers? The younger guys with old ladies are loyal, but the old guys that come from a different era, not so much.
The tiny LED light flickers, annoying as hell, but I need both hands to use the bit and brace.
I line the camera into the bracket and hear it click home. I just need to put one on the opposite corner of the porch and another above the back door, and then Isla’s got a protective grid that no stalker cousin or uncle with anger issues can break.
There’s probably some symbolism that the house feels vulnerable without the functioning cameras, because I’m starting think its occupant is the same.
My jaw ticks.
I don’t like that feeling.
I don’t like that the pane of her window would fall right out with one solid nudge. I don’t like that she lives alone. The woman needs a dog or something. A big one that will love her and bite the arm off an attacker on command. I don’t like that her uncle and cousin have already scared her once. And I especially don’t like that she won’t seem to accept our help, even though it’s crystal clear that she needs it.
