"Kitchen," she mumbles, yawning. "Making dinner. She said the tavern food was yucky."
I cross the room in heavy steps, boots thudding on the hardwood. I swing into the kitchen, adrenaline tunneling my vision.
Bianca stands at the stove, stirring a pot. After the tavern, she’d clearly tried to scrub the scent of that place off her, shedding the sundress for one of my old flannels that swallowed her whole. It’s unbuttoned at the top, revealing the curve of her throat. She spins around as I storm in, the wooden spoon clattering to the floor. Her gaze drops to the gun in my hand, then snaps up to my face.
"Shane?" Her voice trembles.
I holster the gun, but the tension in my shoulders refuses to release. The enemy is at the gates. I march to the back door, checking the lock. Locked. I check the window latches. Secured.
"Shane, what is it? You’re scaring me. You look like you’re ready to start a war."
"I am," I growl, staring through the blinds into the twilight. Nothing but trees and shadows. But I know they’re out there. I can scent the change in the air. "You should be scared. Get Maddie. Pack a bag."
Silence.
I turn to face her. She hasn’t moved. She stands in the middle of the kitchen, hands gripping the edge of the granite island. The sight of her in my shirt hits me in the gut—a visual claim that makes my cock twitch even in the middle of a crisis. She looks like she belongs in my clothes. She looks like she belongs in my bed.
"Did you hear me?" I snap, my voice sounding like gravel. "Pack a bag, Bianca. I’m taking you into town. You’re staying at the Lodge tonight, and tomorrow you’re going home."
She blinks, her lush mouth parting. "What? No. I’m not going anywhere."
"I am not negotiating," I snarl, stepping into her space. I need to intimidate her. I need to make her leave for her own good, even if the thought of it makes me want to burn this mountain to the ground. "I saw a scout at the end of the driveway. A black SUV. Costa’s men. They saw you today, Bianca. They saw me put my hands on you. That makes you a target."
"Who are the Costas?" she demands, her chin lifting with that Philadelphia grit that makes me want to kiss her and shake her at the same time.
"The people who put scars on men like me," I say, leaning down until our noses are inches apart. Her scent hits me—fragile wild orchid, rain, and the faint, unmistakable musk of her own arousal, she’s dripping for me. "The people I warned you about. You saw what happened at the tavern. That was playtime. If they get their hands on you, they won’t just talk. I will not let you get caught in the crossfire of my life."
"I’m not leaving Maddie," she says, her voice steady.
"Maddie goes to Logan’s. The clubhouse compound is a fortress. It’s locked down. You go home. To Philadelphia. To your paints and your concrete."
"This is my home now!"
The words hang in the air between us, heavy and impossible.
I stare at her, stunned. Her eyes shine with unshed tears, burning with a fire that matches my own. "This isn't your home, Bianca. This is a fortress. A target. And I am the man who brings the violence to the doorstep. Look at my hands. Do you see the blood under the nails? That is your future if you stay."
"I don't care about the blood," she whispers, stepping closer to me, into the heat radiating off my body. "And I wasn't scared of you at the tavern, Shane."
My breath hitches. "You were shaking. I felt it through your arm."
"Because of the adrenaline," she says, her hands coming up to rest on my chest. Her palms feel warm through the leather of my cut. "Because when you grabbed him... when you told the whole room I belonged to you..." Her pupils blow wide, swallowing the hazel. "My pussy was already drenched, Shane. I was dripping through that dress because for the first time in my life, I felt completely, totally safe. I knew you would kill for me. And God help me, I loved it."
The confession hits harder than a bullet to the chest.
She felt safe. With the monster. She felt aroused by the violence.
"You're crazy," I rasp, my resolve crumbling like dry earth in a storm. My cock is pulsing now, straining against my jeans, demanding to be buried inside the woman who finds safety in my rage.
"Maybe," she whispers, her fingers curling into the leather. "But I’m not leaving. I’m not leaving Maddie, and I’m definitely not leaving you. I’ve spent my life running from things that scared me. I’m not running from the one thing that finally made me feel like I could breathe. So if there’s danger, lock the doors. Protectus. Do what you do, Sergeant at Arms. But don't you dare send me away."
My heart hammers a slow, heavy rhythm against my ribs. I look at her—really look at her. She’s wearing my shirt, standing in my kitchen, telling me she wants to stay in the fire.
"The mountain is changing, Bianca. The Costas are scouting the perimeter, and Tristan found tracks near the nursery window this morning. This isn't a game. I can’t protect a 'nanny' with the full weight of the club. But I can protect an Old Lady. I can protect a woman who carries my patch on her back and my seed inside her."
She sucks in a sharp breath.
"I'm not asking you to stay for the paycheck anymore," I tell her, my voice dropping to a low rumble that vibrates in my chest. "I’m telling you that you’re the only light this house has seen in three years. I'm claiming you—not just for Maddie, but for me. I want the whole valley to know that if they touch you, they’re at war with the entire Broken Halos MC."
