He crosses his arms over that broad chest, feet wide. Such a boss stance. Saint doesn’t need to bother with it.
“You’re not exactly going to blend in wearing silk and heels.”
No, I’m going to be displaying a hell of a lot of skin, though. Probably more than I’m comfortable with.
Huffing, I take them to the bathroom to dress. The shorts are so short. I’d never be able to leave the house in something like this at home, with my cheeks hanging out of the bottom. Thetank shows off the white lace bralette that easily hid under my wedding dress. I step out, pulling the vest on. I swim in it, and his eyes narrow in on me.
“That’s mine.”
“Oh.” I freeze. “You want it back?”
“No.” His gaze darkens. “Looks better on you.”
Tension spikes between us—like static along my skin.
I lose my balance pulling on the boots, he steadies me—big hands at my waist. Supportive. Strong. Hot. My breath catches.
I like the way they feel far too much.
Neither of us move right away, and I struggle to breathe. I’ve never been this close to a man…and enjoyed it. Wanted more. To be closer. To have his hands wander where I’ve always been afraid to let others touch.
Saint’s hands squeeze at my waist before he finally steps back, voice rough. “We’ll get you something that fits. Something that doesn’t screamhostage.But for now, you need to look like you belong.”
I bristle, tugging my boot fully on. “You mean look like your property.”
His eyes narrow, muscles popping under his short sleeves. “If that’s what keeps you breathing, yeah.”
I hate that it makes sense. It’s the mold I’ve been fighting against my entire life, and it’s what’s going to keep me safe.
“So here’s the rundown. Club rules. First—loyalty here isn’t optional. You’re in, you’re family. You don’t half-trust anyone in this building.”
“And if I do?”
“Someone takes advantage of that, and I put them in the ground. You don’t want that.” He studies my face, making sure I get the weight of what he’s saying.
I do. People will die if I don’t trust him and his people to help me like they’ve said they would. It’s not an easy ask, but I’ll try. I nod.
“Second—no cops. Ever. You see a badge, you shut your mouth and find one of us. You talk, Sheriff Knox twists it, and people die.”
“I’m sensing a theme.” I didn’t mean for that to come out petulant, but the way his frown deepens says he hasn’t let it go unnoticed.
“Third—you don’t leave without one of us. Not outside. Not alone. Not for a minute. Grant’s men are sniffing around, and there are other clubs watching us, too.”
Great. This is just getting better and better. “So I need a chaperone.”
“You need protection. There’s a difference.”
Doesn’t sound very different. “Fine. What else?”
“No debts. No deals. If someone offers you anything—information, help, a favor—you tell me. No exceptions. Favors here come with prices you don’t want to pay.”
A shiver drives down my spine at the image those words manifest, my eyes unfocusing on his chest for a few blinks before I swallow the dread back. “Okay.”
My voice comes out froggy. I catch my lip in my teeth to stop myself from saying anything else.
“You respect anyone wearing our patch. Even if you hate their guts. Because if they’re family, they bleed for you. And because disrespect from you reflects on me.”
It’s like I’m living in some other dimension where this is home but filled with a biker club instead of politicians and businessmen. “Right. Got it.”
