Trixie’s body in his hands was all he could think about, and that was the worst distraction of all. He drove another punch into the bag and felt the chain rattle. He should’ve pushed her away last night. He should’ve kept his distance. Hell, he should’ve remembered he was acting Prez, responsible for everybrother in this place. Instead, he’d taken her to bed knowing it would tie him to her in ways he couldn’t untie.
He hit the bag again, the entire stand wobbling. And then—he felt her. Before he saw her, before he heard her steps, her presence slid across his senses like heat—slow, immediate, and unwelcome only because he needed her too damn much. He turned his head just as Trixie stepped into the yard.
She had on her boots and was wearing his jacket. Her hair was tousled, and judging from the look in her eyes, she had her guard up. Cyclops knew that the knife was probably hidden somewhere on her body. Trixie was beautiful, dangerous, and standing too close to where his restraint had already been shredded.
She stopped when she saw him, and his world tightened. “Trixie,” he said, voice rough from exertion and something far stronger—need.
She lifted her chin. “I needed air.”
He nodded once, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist. “Then breathe.” She did. He watched her chest rise and fall like she was learning the motion for the first time.
Behind her, Venom and Ink lingered by the door like two tattooed guard dogs pretending not to be watching them. Cyclops shot them a look, and Venom took two steps back, seeming to read his mind. Ink grinned, but didn’t budge.
Cyclops rolled his eye. “Both of you scram,” he growled.
Ink saluted with two fingers. “Yes, sir.” He knew that Ink was going to give him shit later, but he’d worry about it then. Right now, he wanted to focus on Trixie. Venom growled at him, but followed. The door shut behind them, leaving him alone with Trixie. That was dangerous. More dangerous than the scouts, their guns, or her father’s blood money.
Cyclops unwrapped his hands slowly, tossing the tape aside. “Didn’t think you’d want to be around people yet.”
“I don’t,” she said honestly. “I just needed space.”
He nodded. “You can have all you want here.”
She hesitated. “Space isn’t the same thing as being alone.”
His chest tightened. “You feel alone?”
She shrugged, arms folding across her stomach like she was bracing against something only she could feel. “I always feel alone,” she admitted. Damn if hearing that didn’t break his heart.
He stepped closer, trying to be careful, slow, and deliberate. The last thing he wanted to do was spook her and have her run back to her room. “You’re not alone here.”
Her eyes lifted. They were dark and sharp. He could see her vulnerability looking back at him. It was something that she couldn’t hide—not from him. “Cyclops, I don’t know how to do this. Any of it. Being protected by you and your club and being part of something isn’t something that I’ve ever had. Being—” She swallowed. “With someone,” she almost choked on those two words.
He exhaled. A long, steadying breath. “I know.”
“No, you don’t,” she whispered. “I don’t know how to stay. I don’t know how to let people close without losing pieces of myself. I don’t know how to trust that what you said upstairs was real.” He didn’t touch her. He wanted to, but he didn’t.
Instead, he spoke quietly. “What part didn’t feel real?”
She blinked hard—once and then again, as though trying to figure out how to answer him. “You said you chose me.”
“I meant it,” he breathed. It was easy to admit because it was the truth. They had only known each other for about forty-eight hours, but with her, time seemed irrelevant.
“Cyclops,” Her voice cracked. “Don’t say that unless you mean it. People say things like that to get things from me. And I—I can’t handle that from you. Not from you.” Her words landedlike a punch to his ribs. He stepped closer, slow enough that she could pull away if she wanted to, but she didn’t.
He ran his hand down her cheek when she looked away from him. “Trixie. Look at me.” She did, and he took that as a good sign.
“You think I want something from you?” he asked.
She nodded—barely. “Everyone wants something from me.”
“Yeah,” he murmured. “I do want something.” Her pulse jumped under his palm. He lowered his voice to a gravel-soft whisper. “I want you safe. I want your father six feet under. I want you to sleep without checking the shadows. I want you where I can find you when I wake up.” He paused. “And yeah. I want you in my bed again.” Her breath hitched. “But not because you owe me,” he added. “Not because I’m cornering you. Not because you’re scared.” He leaned in just enough that his breath brushed her lips. “I want you there because you want me.”
Trixie trembled. “Cyclops,” she whispered.
He touched her then; his fingers brushing her waist, light as a whisper, like she might bolt. But she didn’t. Instead, she stepped closer. “Last night scared me,” she admitted, her voice small. “Not because it was wrong, but because it wasn’t.”
Cyclops’s jaw clenched. “Trixie,”
