“And because for the first time in forever,” she said, “I wasn’t thinking about running. I was thinking about staying.” Cyclops swallowed hard. The words hit him like a freight train. He set both hands on her hips—firm, claiming, but careful.
“You stay as long as you want,” he said. “And if you want to leave one day, you say the word, and I’ll put you on the back of my bike and ride with you wherever you need to go. Because if you go, I go.”
Her eyes widened. “You’d leave your club?”
“For you—in a heartbeat,” he breathed.
She closed her eyes like the weight of that nearly brought her to her knees. “You can’t say things like that.”
“It’s the truth,” he said.
She opened her eyes again and swiped at the hot tears that spilled down her face. “That’s what scares me most.”
He leaned his forehead against hers. “Good. Means it matters.” Her hands lifted, hesitantly resting on his chest. And for a single, breathless moment, the world narrowed down to two people in the cold morning light, holding onto each other as though they were afraid to let go.
The moment was shattered when the compound alarm shrieked. Cyclops’s head snapped up as Trixie jerked back from him, fear flashing across her face. Ink’s voice boomed from the watchtower. “We have movement on the North perimeter!”
Cyclops’s hands curled into fists. “Get inside,” he ordered.
Trixie grabbed his arm. “Cyclops—” He looked at her—just once, long enough to make a promise without words. I’m coming back. Then he was gone, sprinting toward the danger, because if she had asked him to stay with her, he would have. And right now, he needed to go and kill anyone who threatened his woman.
TRIXIE
Trixie stood alone in the yard with her heart thundering in her chest. She had realized a brutal truth—that she wasn’t afraid of the men at the fence. She was afraid of what she’d lose if Cyclops didn’t come back to her.
The alarm wasn’t just loud—it was piercing, vibrating through the concrete floor and echoing in her chest like a warning meant only for her. Trixie had watched Cyclops sprint toward the perimeter, his body cutting through the cold morning like a blade drawn for war. Venom was close behind him. Ink vaulted over the deck railing with a curse, yelling for someone to shut the damn siren off.
The yard dissolved into chaos. Brothers spilled out of doorways and hallways, grabbing weapons, shouting positions, falling into formation with a discipline that spoke of far too many mornings like this.
And she stood frozen, not with fear, but with something far more dangerous. She’d never felt it before—this sharp, crushing panic that wasn’t about her own life, but someone else’s. Cyclops. If something happened to him out there—if he didn’t come back, she didn’t know what it would do to her. And thatterrified her more than the siren or the threat of her father’s men trying to breach the perimeter.
Ink sprinted past, barking orders she barely registered. “Venom—north gate! Razor, flank left! Spade—stop losing your damn gun, it’s a seven-pound piece of metal, how do you keep dropping it?—”
“Trixie!” Her head snapped toward the voice. Nick, one of the older men in the club, was at the doorway to the secure wing.
“Inside!” he barked. “Now!”
She shook her head. “No. I’m not hiding while they’re out there.”
“Not a request,” Nick snapped. “Cyclops will skin me alive if I let you stand out here.” That did it. Not Nick’s bark, and not the command he’d given her. The mention of Cyclops was all she needed to hear to get her ass running for the door.
Nick slammed the reinforced door behind her. The hallway’s silence hit her like a punch to the gut. There was no shouting, no boots thumping down the hallway, and no deafening sirens. The only things she heard were the distant thud of footsteps outside and her own heartbeat pounding in her chest.
She forced herself deeper into the wing, pacing the short hallway like a caged animal. Every instinct screamed at her to go after him. To do something to help Cyclops and his men. Running was familiar. Running was comfortable. But running out there wouldn’t save Cyclops. It would only distract him, and she wouldn’t do that to him.
Her legs buckled before she reached the end of the hall, and she caught herself against the wall, palms braced flat. “Get a grip,” she whispered. “He’s fine. He’s always fine.” But was he?
Her father didn’t send amateurs. He didn’t send idiots. His men were skilled. If he’d escalated twice already in less than twenty-four hours, then whatever was happening at the north gate wasn’t a small distraction.
She dragged in a shaky breath. “I shouldn’t have stayed with him. I shouldn’t have made this worse.” That was another lie that she told herself. She had tried running alone, and she knew exactly how that would end if she tried to run again. Her father would have his way, and she’d be back in his house—or worse.
She pressed her forehead to the wall, squeezing her eyes shut. You’re not afraid of the men at the fence. You’re afraid of what happens if he doesn’t come back. The thought hit her again—harder this time, sinking straight into her chest like a weight she couldn’t lift.
She let someone in. She slept beside him. She wanted him—God, she still wanted him. And now he was out there, possibly bleeding from a fight she brought to his doorstep.
Her breath caught in her throat. A frantic, helpless sound clawed up from inside her. Footsteps thundered toward the secure wing, and she spun so fast her vision blurred, her heart was in her throat. The hall door slammed open, and Cyclops stormed in, his chest heaving, shirt half-untucked, and adrenaline still crackling off him like static.
Trixie’s knees nearly buckled with relief. He wasn’t bleeding. He wasn’t limping. He wasn’t dead. He was alive and coming straight toward her. “Trixie,” he breathed.
