I dress in one of his clean t-shirts and a pair of leggings. In the mirror, I pause.
I still look like me—same soft belly, same stretch marks, same curves—but my eyes burn bright and my lips hold a secret.
Oak tried to keep me away from the club, tried to shield me from all of it, but it’s too late for that now.
No matter what my brother says, I want Hayden Maddox. His rough hands, his soft heart, his demons and devotion.
I want all of him and if that means being part of his world, then so be it.
And no patch, no past, and no prison sentence is going to keep me from him.
I hum to myself as I make his sandwich—bacon, egg, and loads of ketchup—stacking it with a grin on my face. My hips sway to the beat in my head as I move around the small kitchenette, still floating on that post-first-time high.
I pour a coffee, grab a couple of napkins, and balance everything on a plate.
“Delivery for one smokin’ hot biker,” I murmur, heading out the door.
The sun’s higher now, the garage yard buzzing with life. I catch sight of Hayden still shirtless, laughing at something one of the club guys says.
I slow, not wanting to interrupt.
“You tappin’ that now?” one of them snorts. “I saw the way she looked at you last night.”
My chest tightens, but I stop just inside the corner of the wall, hidden, listening. Butterflies dance in my stomach.
Hayden scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous. What do you think I am, stupid?”
“Mate, you have her eatin’ out of your palm. She’ll do anything you say.”
Another guy says, “I know how quiet it gets here at night.”
“And lonely.”
“You keep her as your dirty little secret. I won’t say anything.”
Hayden fists the guys cut. “I told you I’m not fucking her. You think I’m desperate?” He lets him go with a shove. “Now drop it.”
The words hit me like a punch to the chest.
Desperate. Stupid
The plate trembles in my hands, the mug clinking against the edge. Sickness rises in my throat, coating my tongue with acid.
I back away slowly, careful not to let them hear me, heart racing with embarrassment, confusion… shame.
How could he?
He held me like I mattered. Kissed me like I was the centre of his fucking world. Told me I was his.
But now I’m just some joke in the yard. Just a rumour he couldn’t shut down fast enough.
I make it back to the flat on autopilot, shutting the door behind me with trembling fingers. The sandwich plate lands on the side, untouched.
I pack a bag with shaking hands, every movement robotic as I hold back the dam.
I pause only once—looking at the bed, the crumpled sheets now gone, but the memory raw as ever
Tears prick at my eyes, but I blink them back and pull off his t-shirt.
