Back in the kitchen, I set a bag of whole beans and a manual grinder on the counter. While the water boils, I pull a small carton of skim milk and a bottle of hazelnut syrup from the cooler in my truck bed. I remembered her order from the coffee shop yesterday—the way she looked at that latte like it was the only piece of her city life she had left.
I raid the rest of the stash I brought: steel-cut oats, raw honey, and crisp apples. I’m not letting her survive on scraps. If she’s going to be a Gunnar woman, she’s going to be fed.
I assemble the tray—the oatmeal swirled with raw honey and the apples I just sliced with my boot knife. I fix her coffee exactly the way she likes it, with plenty of milk and two pumps of hazelnut, while I keep mine black and lethal.
My phone vibrates on the counter. I stare at it.
LOGAN: Report.
One word. Efficient. The President of the MC doesn't waste time.
I pick it up, typing with one thumb while I slice an apple with the knife I pull from my boot.
AUSTIN: Secure. staying at the site. need a supply run. lumber, drywall, wiring. and food.
The response is immediate.
LOGAN: You’re nesting. Thought you went there to secure the asset, not play house.
I scowl at the screen.
AUSTIN: Asset secured. Permanently. Watch the eastern ridge, I’ll handle the flank. Leave us alone for 24 hours unless the sky falls.
LOGAN: Copy. Congrats, brother.
I toss the phone aside. He knows. He’s always known this was coming. The Gunnars don’t love lightly, and we don’t love twice.
The domesticity of the act of bringing her food feels revolutionary. I’ve carried ammo crates, injured brothers, and kegs of beer, but carrying breakfast in bed for my woman makes my chest tighten in a way I’m not ready to analyze. I pick up the tray and head upstairs.
When I kick the door open gently, Courtney sits up, wearing one of my heavy flannel shirts she must have dug out of the duffel bag I brought up from the truck earlier. It swamps her, the hem barely covering her pussy, and the sight of her in my colors hits me harder than a physical blow. It’s a flag. A banner flying over a conquered castle.
"Coffee," I announce, setting the tray on the nightstand.
She reaches for her mug, wrapping both hands around it. As the sweet, nutty scent of hazelnut hits her, she freezes, her eyes widening as they find mine. "You... you went and got this? After seeing me at the Cozy Cup?"
"I told you, Court. I pay attention to everything you put in your mouth." I take a slow, deliberate sip of my own coffee—bitter, black, and lethal.
She laughs. “Black, like your soul?”
I smirk. "And you’re the one who needs a dessert in a cup to wake up. Drink it while it's hot."
She takes a tentative sip and her eyelids flutter in bliss. “I can’t believe you even remembered a short encounter like that.”
"I remember everything, Court. Every conversation. Every time you wore that yellow sundress that drove me crazy. Every time you cried over math homework." I pick up the spoon, scooping up some oatmeal. "Eat."
She opens her mouth, letting me feed her. It’s intimate, primal. I watch her chew, watch her throat work as she swallows. I’m feeding her. I’m sustaining her.
"We need to talk about what you did," she says, her voice gaining strength as the caffeine hits her system. "James called me. He said you personally told him to pull the listing. He sounded... relieved, Austin. Like he was terrified to say no to you."
"He should be," I say flatly, watching her over the rim of my mug. "The house isn't fit for a showing, let alone a sale. I told him six months for renovations. Minimum."
"Six months? Austin, I can't afford to keep this place for six weeks. The inheritance tax is a noose around my neck. That’s why I had to sell. I'm drowning here."
"I have money," I say. "Clean money. From the Outfitters. And not-so-clean money, if you want it. But the club takes care of its own. We’ll cover the taxes. The boys will come up and do the labor. Blake can weld the gates. Shane can handle the security system."
She lowers the mug, her hands trembling slightly against the ceramic. "You're paying my debts? You're just... deciding I'm staying? You'd spend that kind of money for a pile of rotting wood?"
"I'm not doing it for the wood, Court," I snap, leaning in until I can see my own reflection in her wide eyes. "I'm doing it so you have no excuses left to run. This is Gunnar territory now. Strategically, it’s a strongpoint we need to hold. But personally?" I slide my hand into her hair, forcing her to hold my gaze. "It’s where I'm keeping my woman."
