"Rule one," he murmurs, his voice a caress that scrapes against my nerves. "Don't touch anything in the garage."
"Okay," I breathe.
"Rule two," he continues, his gaze dropping to my lips again. "Don't ask questions about club business."
Club business.The motorcycles. The leather cuts I’d seen in town. Broken Halos MC.
"And rule three," he says, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly rumble that vibrates straight through my pussy, making my engorged clit throb against my lace panties. "Stay out of my way. Because I’m not the nice brother. I’m the one who breaks things—and right now, you look like a toy I want to shatter, bury my cock in, and claim as my fucking own."
He straightens up abruptly, the loss of his proximity leaving me cold. "Get your bags. Maddie needs lunch."
He turns and walks into the dark maw of the cabin without looking back.
I stand there, the wind biting at my cheeks. My body hums, alive in a way it hasn't been in years. Every instinct screams at me to run. To get in Bumble and drive until the mountains are a speck in the rearview mirror. This man is dangerous. He’s overwhelming. He’s a walking, talking complication.
But then I look at the open door. I think of the little girl with the solemn eyes. And I think of the way his eyes darkened when he looked at me, like he wanted to devour me whole.
I take a deep breath of the pine-scented air.
"Well, Bumble," I whisper to the empty yard. "Looks like we’re staying."
I walk back to the car to get my suitcase, my hands trembling. As I pop the trunk, I glance toward the garage. The darkness inside seems to stare back.
I grab my bag, the wheels crunching on the gravel. I haul it up the steps and cross the threshold.
The inside of the cabin is warm. A massive stone fireplace dominates the living room, and a fire crackles in the grate. Large furniture of worn dark leather decorate the space. My senses are assaulted by the smell of woodsmoke and him.
Shane is in the kitchen—an open-plan space separated by a prominent island. He’s washing his hands at the sink, the water running over his forearms. He’s still shirtless.
Maddie sits at the island, swinging her legs. She looks at me.
"Are you gonna make grilled cheese?" she asks, eyes wide with hope. "Dad burns it."
Shane shuts off the water and turns around, drying his hands on a rag. He leans his hip against the counter, crossing his arms over that massive chest. He watches me. He doesn't help me with my bag. He just watches, marking me. Claiming the space, and by extension, me.
"I can make grilled cheese," I say, my voice sounding steadier than I feel. I leave my bag by the door and walk further into the room.
"Good," Shane says. "Kitchen's yours. Guest room is up the stairs, second door on the left. Stay out of the master."
"Right," I say. "Stay out of your room."
He gives me a dark look. "For your own good, sweetheart. Keep the door locked at night."
"Why?" I ask before I can stop myself. "Are there bears?"
His lips twitch. It’s almost a smile, but it’s too predatory to be friendly. "Something like that."
He pushes off the counter and walks past me toward the stairs. As he passes, the air shifts, pulling in his wake. He pauses right next to me, his shoulder brushing mine. The heat is suffocating.
"Welcome to Hell, Bianca. You’re under my roof now, which means you belong to me. Don't forget it when you're locking that door tonight."
Then he’s gone, his heavy boots thudding up the wooden stairs.
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding and grip the edge of the granite island for support. My legs feel like jelly.
"He's grumpy," Maddie says matter-of-factly, pulling me out of my stupor. She points to the fridge. "Cheese is in there."
I look at the little girl, then up at the ceiling where I can hear Shane moving around heavily.
