He stops. Looks at the bed. The spot where he’d had my legs spread wide against the headboard this morning, his thick cock buried to the root in my drenched pussy while the blinds were open to the storm-gray light.
A muscle feathers in his jaw as he realizes they watched every rhythmic thrust, watched the way I screamed when his seed filled me. "They saw," he snarls, a low, predatory sound that vibrates in the floorboards. "They saw you shivering for me.They saw me claiming your pussy while they waited for a clear shot. They saw my brand on your skin."
He grabs a duffel bag, shoving things inside. Medical supplies. Clothes. Ammo. "They looked at what is mine." The possessiveness is terrifying. Violent. "They’re going to die for it. First, I get you underground."
He comes to the bed. Doesn't ask. Slides arms under me, lifting me like a child. Pain flares in my leg. I gasp, clutching his shoulders.
"I've got you." He pulls me tight against his chest. Buries his face in my neck for a split second, inhaling deeply. "Got you, Allie. Sorry I went cold. Had to."
"Tristan—"
"Had to lock it down," he whispers against my skin, lips brushing my pulse. "If I feel how scared I am of losing you, I can't kill the men coming for us."
He pulls back, eyes blazing with terrifying clarity. "And I am going to kill them."
He hitches me higher against his chest, freeing one massive hand to throw the heavy deadbolts. He jerks the door inward, shielding me with his body as he carries me out. He didn't slow down, his arms locked around me like iron bands as he hauls me toward the garage. The quiet man I thought I knew is dead. In his place stands something raw and jagged.
I don't flinch. Instead, I grab the front of his jacket, my fingers curling into the leather. I am terrified of what's coming, but I am more terrified of being left behind.
He bypasses the bikes, their chrome glinting mockingly in the shadows. Instead, he carries me toward the heavy, black-out truck idling by the garage door, its engine a low, predatory thrum. He climbs into the back seat, pulling me onto his lap and shielding my body with his own. He cages me against the broad wall of his chest, his massive arms locking around my waist while Austin jumps into the driver’s seat.
Tristan looks down at me, his eyes dark with a primal, unchecked hunger. "I've got you, Allie," he growls, his voice a promise of the violence he’s about to unleash on anyone who dared to watch us.
8
TRISTAN
The wind cuts through the pines like a serrated blade, carrying the scent of impending snow and old rust. But the sour tang of panic radiating off Alexandria’s skin overpowers it all, mixing with the musk of our earlier intimacy.
I hold her tighter against my chest. My shoulder blocks the biting wind from her face. My leather cut usually feels like armor, but today it weighs a ton, burdened by the failure sitting like lead in my gut. Someone watched us. While I washed her, fed her, buried myself inside her... a camera lens watched. A scope. Eyes belonging to a ghost I should have sensed. The Road Captain tracks. He knows every twig snap, every shifted rock. I let the soft curves of her body blind me to the perimeter.
"Tristan." Her voice shakes against my neck. Her hands grip the front of the hoodie I put on her days ago. It swallows her small frame, offering zero protection against a bullet.
"I’ve got you." The rumble travels from my chest to hers. "Keep your head down."
We descend the wooden stairs from the loft. My eyes dissect the shadows. The shifting gray light makes every swaying branch a threat. Logan waits at the bottom. His massive frame blocks the line of sight from the eastern ridge. His sidearm is drawn, held low against his thigh. His jaw sets so hard the muscle jumps. Austin moves in a sweeping arc ten yards out, eyes hidden behind dark glasses.
"Clear to the transport," Austin calls out.
I move with speed that defies my size. I cradle Alexandria’s broken leg to keep it from jostling. She winces, a small, choked sound that tears at my composure. Pain. I’m causing her pain. Again.
"Almost there, darling."
We aren’t taking bikes. Austin pulled the club’s armored SUV around. The back door hangs open. I slide into the backseat. I refuse to put her down. I refuse to let go even to buckle her in. I pull her onto my lap, maneuvering her splint across the bench seat while I curl my body around hers.
Logan slams the door. The heavy thud of the lock engaging sounds like a prison cell. Or a coffin.
Austin jumps into the driver's seat, the engine roaring as he slams it into gear.
"Drive," Logan barks.
I pull Alexandria closer, my hand covering the side of her face to keep her from seeing the ridge. "They saw nothing but a man claiming his territory," I growl, the words meant for the ghosts watching through scopes. "They saw me burying my cock in what belongs to me. Now, they're going to pay for that lookin blood." The engine roars, tires crunching over the gravel. We only have three hundred yards to the main clubhouse, but in a sniper’s scope, three hundred yards is an eternity.
Alexandria trembles. Her teeth chatter. The adrenaline crash hits hard.
"I’m sorry," she stammers, eyes glassy. "I... I brought this here. I didn’t know?—"
"Stop." I press my thumb over her lips. The skin is soft. "You didn’t bring this. This is my territory. If someone hunts on my mountain, that’s my failure."
