"Patrolling," I rumble, voice like gravel grinding in a mixer.
She steps closer, arms wrapped around her waist, goosebumps rising on her bare arms in the crisp air. "Coffee is brewing. Maddie is out cold. Come inside, Shane. The mountain isn't going anywhere."
"Neither are you." The words leave my chest with the force of a command.
She stops, eyes dark and intelligent, locking onto mine. A week ago, that tone would have made her flinch. Now, she tilts her head, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. She knows she holds the leash. She knows the monster likes it.
"No," she agrees softly. "I'm not going anywhere."
The rumble of an engine cuts through the quiet. Not a car. A bike.
My spine stiffens. I step in front of Bianca, putting my body between her and the driveway, hand drifting to the waistband of my jeans where the Sig Sauer rests cold against my hip. Bianca steps into my shadow, silent and trusting, letting me be the wall.
A black Harley glides up the gravel drive, the engine distinct—low, throaty, aggressive.
Logan.
My brother kills the engine and kicks out the stand. The President of Broken Halos MC looks like he hasn’t slept in a week, face grim, cut dusty from the road. He swings a leg over and walks toward the porch, boots crunching heavy on the stones. He stops at the bottom of the steps, looking up at me, then shifts his gaze to Bianca peering around my bicep.
He nods at her. A solemn dip of his chin.
"Pres," I greet him, holding my ground.
"Sgt. at Arms." Logan runs a hand through his hair. "We got word from the ridge."
My muscles coil. "And?"
"The SUV parked at the tree line? Gone." Logan hooks his thumbs in his belt. "Word is, the old man up on the eastern cliffs saw what happened at the Timber Trail. Saw you claim her."
My pulse hammers a heavy rhythm against my ribs.
"He said a man who defends his woman like that is a man worth having as a neighbor. He respects the claim. He sent word that as long as the Gunnars keep their house in order, the Costas will honor the ridge line. The girl is off the board."
The tension riding my shoulders since I dragged Bianca out of that tavern snaps. It changes weight, shifting from a crushing burden to a manageable load.
"They stay on their side?" I ask.
"They stay on their side," Logan says. "As long as we stay on ours." He looks at Bianca again, expression unreadable, then back to me. "You made a scene, Shane. The whole town knows she’s yours. That kind of protection comes with a price. She’s wearing the target now, same as you."
"I know," I growl.
"Good." Logan turns back to his bike. "Meeting at the clubhouse at noon. Don't be late."
He fires up the bike, the roar echoing off the pines, and tears back down the mountain road. Silence returns, but the air feels thinner, cleaner.
Bianca steps out from behind me. She places a hand on my back, palm warm against the tattoo ink staining my skin. "What did he mean? 'Off the board'?"
I turn, catching her wrist and pulling her into me. I bury my face in the curve of her neck, inhaling deeply, grounding myself. "It means they know you belong to me. It means they won't touch you because they don't want a war with the MC."
She goes rigid against my chest, then melts. "So I'm property?"
I pull back enough to look at her. The sun catches the flecks of gold in her eyes. "Yeah." No apology colors my voice. "You are. You’re my fucking property, Bianca. Every inch of your pussy, every drop of your cream, and every breath you take belongs to the Sergeant. You aren't just safe; you’re occupied. Now, tell me you understand exactly whose cock is going to be stretching you out for the rest of your life."
Her breath hitches. Her pupils dilate, swallowing the iris. That visceral, biological response to my dominance drives me insane.
"I want to be safe," she whispers. She reaches up, fingers tracing the scar on my jaw. "And I want you to come inside."
I snatch her up into my arms. She lets out a sharp gasp, her legs locking around my waist as I march toward the stairs. I don't stop until we’re in the master bedroom, kicking the door shut with a heavy thud. The lock clicks home.
