“I’m not—” She started.
“Trixie.” He slid closer to her, leaning into her body. “Last night didn’t change the plan. It didn’t chain you to me. You don’t owe me anything.”
She stared at the blanket twisted in her fists. “I know.”
“You can still walk away whenever you want.”
Her throat tightened painfully. “You don’t get it. If I walk away, I die.”
“Then stay,” he said simply.
“That’s not a plan,” she insisted.
“No, but it’s for your protection,” he corrected.
She let out a frustrated, helpless sound. “I’m not your responsibility.”
“You’re not,” he agreed easily. “But you’re under my protection.”
She laughed bitterly. “Same thing.”
“No,” he said, lifting her chin with two fingers. “Responsibility is something you take on because you have to. Protection is something you choose to give.”
Her breath stuttered. “And I choose you,” he said quietly. “Last night or not—doesn’t matter. I chose you the second you walked into that bar and looked at me like you weren’t afraid of anything.”
“I was terrified,” she whispered.
“Good,” he murmured. “It means you know what danger looks like and you’re smart enough to be afraid of it.”
Her pulse kicked hard in her chest. “Cyclops—” He kissed her forehead—softly, gently, like she was something worth being careful with. Then he pulled away.
“We’ve got a meeting downstairs,” he said. “I’m sure that my brothers will want answers, and we’re going to give them some.”
Her stomach dropped. “Your club won’t want me here. After everything that’s happened, they’ll want me to leave.”
“They won’t get to make that choice,” he said.
“That’s not fair to them,” she countered.
“It’s not about what’s fair. It’s about survival. They all understand that. They’ve been through shit like this before, and they’ll want to help you.” He stood and grabbed his jeans, slipping them on. She watched him with a mixture of awe and dread.
He glanced back over his shoulder. “You coming?” he asked. She liked that he wasn’t giving her the order to get dressed and follow him, but she couldn’t tell him no. Not now, after the hell that she had put him and his club through.
She hesitated. “Yes.” She trusted him, and that scared her more than any shadow in the woods. Cyclops held her gaze a long moment—long enough that something warm and dangerous flickered between them again. Then he nodded.
“Good,” he said quietly. He waited for her to get dressed, and as she followed him downstairs—into a room full of armed bikers, into a future that wasn’t hers yet—Trixie realized something sharp and terrifying and true. She would fight beside Cyclops. She just hoped that the danger she brought to his doorstep wouldn’t break him in the process.
CYCLOPS
Cyclops led Trixie down the narrow hallway of the compound, every sense burning hot and sharp. After everything that happened last night. After touching her, after hearing the way she whispered his name—he should’ve felt calmer, but he didn’t. He felt wired, possessive, and ready to put a bullet in anything that looked at her wrong.
His brothers were already gathered in the main room at a long wooden table with mismatched chairs. Papers and weapons were scattered across every flat surface like some chaotic war room. Ink, Venom, Razor, and a handful of the other full-patched members were waiting. Most of them had arrived during the early morning hours, after Ink had called in backup. He was thankful that so many of them had dropped everything going on in their lives and showed up at the compound to help them out. There was power in numbers, and they certainly had the numbers.
The moment that Cyclops stepped into the room, the chatter stopped, and every gaze shifted to Trixie. He felt her stiffen behind him, and Cyclops moved subtly into her line of fire, angling his body so she was half-shielded behind him. He wassending a silent message to her and to the guys. She was his to protect, and once the guys knew that, they’d fall in line.
Ink leaned back in his chair, wearing a shit-eating grin. Cyclops knew that he was going to give him a hard time, but he didn’t have time for it. “Well, well. Sleeping Beauty lives.” Cyclops shot him a look, and Ink held up his hands like he meant no harm—even though his smile said otherwise.
Razor cleared his throat. “So, are we going to talk about the fact that the compound got scoped out last night? Or are we here to make awkward small talk about Cyclops suddenly having a guest in his room?” Cyclops ignored that one, too.
