One Month Later
My hands are sweating as I walk into the Blackwater Falls Police Station. It's been a month since I gave my statement about Hayes, a month since Danny gave his testimony, a month since my whole world tilted on its axis.
A month since I fell completely, irrevocably, in love with a biker who hates cops.
"You okay?" Danny's voice is low beside me, his hand on my back.
"Yeah." I lean into his touch, drawing strength from it. "Just nervous."
"Whatever happens, you've got me." He squeezes gently. "You know that, right?"
I do know. I know it in my bones, in my soul, in every part of me that he's claimed over the past month.
I told him he could stay home this morning. That I could handle this meeting with Chief Morrison alone. But Danny insisted on coming, on being here for me, and god, I feel safer with him beside me.
Because he's my boyfriend now. The word still makes me smile—boyfriend. Danny asked me officially a week after our first time together, after a night of fucking that left me unable to walk straight and absolutely certain I was falling for him.
"Be my girlfriend," he'd said, his blue eyes intense. "Officially. I want everyone to know you're mine."
I said yes without hesitation.
Since then, I've been spending most of my time at his place—a small house not far from the clubhouse that's slowly becoming our space. My clothes hang in his closet. My toothbrush sits next to his in the bathroom. My coffee mug has a permanent spot in his kitchen.
We've been fucking every single day. Sometimes multiple times. In his bed, in the shower, on the kitchen counter, against the wall, on his motorcycle in the garage. I've gotten so much better at it, learned what he likes, what makes him groan, how to take his cock deep in my throat until tears stream down my face.
But more than the sex, as incredible as it is, we've been sharing our lives with each other.
I told him about the bullying I suffered when I was younger. How kids called me fat, ugly, worthless. How I ate lunch alone in the bathroom for two years because sitting in the cafeteria meant hearing the cruel comments. How I promised myself I'd become someone who protected people like me, the ones everyone else overlooked or hurt.
He told me about the fights he'd been in. The violence that came so easily after Nathan died. How he'd get into bar brawls just to feel something other than grief. How King had taught him to channel that rage into something productive: protecting the club, protecting the town.
We promised each other no secrets. Complete honesty, even when it hurt.
And it works. Somehow, impossibly, we work.
Everyone knows about us now. The cops at the station whisper when they see us together. The Savage Riders have accepted me as Danny's girlfriend, though I can tell some of them are still wary of having a cop around.
No one understands how two people who should be mortal enemies ended up together. A cop and a criminal. A woman who believes in the system and a man who wants to burn it down.
But no one has told us to break up. Only Chief Morrison and King have pulled us aside separately, making sure we understand what we're risking.
"This could implode both your lives," Morrison had said two weeks ago. "If it goes bad, you lose your support system. Both of you."
"We know," I'd replied. "We're willing to take that risk."
King had been more direct with Danny. "She's a cop. If this goes sideways, it could bring heat to the club. You sure she's worth it?"
"Yeah," Danny had said without hesitation. "She's worth everything."
Now, walking into Morrison's office with Danny beside me, I hold onto that certainty. Whatever happens with Hayes, whatever Morrison decides about my future here, I have Danny. And that's enough.
"Collins." Morrison looks up from his desk. His eyes flick to Danny, and something crosses his face. Disapproval, maybe, or resignation. "Mr. Wells. I didn't expect you to accompany her."
"She's my girlfriend." Danny's voice is flat. "Where she goes, I go."
Morrison's jaw tightens, but he doesn't argue. "Sit."
We sit, Danny's hand finding mine under the desk, squeezing.
