I turn off the engine, open the door, and step out onto the familiar pavement. Though it finally stopped raining last night, the scent of it still lingers in the air and clings to the grass surrounding the club. I inhale deeply, pulling it into my lungs and holding it there for a moment.
That fresh, clean smell carries so many good memories with it. Ones I so desperately need now of easier times. When we weren’t always on edge. When I wasn’t living every moment wondering when the other shoe would drop and trusted the people in my life would protect me from the dangers of the world beyond our little bubble.
Splashing in puddles with Pope…
Dancing in the rain with Astrid, Kennedy, Angie, and Allie…
A smile pulls at my lips remembering how muddy we would be when we walked back inside. But we never got yelled at for it. There were never any reprimands for destroying our clothes or dripping water across the floors of the various Hawke houses. If anything, it made everyone happy to see us so carefree. They lived to give us that feeling, to have childhoods free from the tragedy and strife they all suffered at some point in their own lives.
I can’t even remember the last time I felt like that.
Well before either Satriano arrived.
Maybe before Dad accepted that I wasn’t going away to college and wanted to stay here and work with him instead. Before he showed me what protecting the Hawke empire truly required. Before I took some of that burden off his shoulders. Because before that, I was still living in ignorant bliss about all the threats.
They may have primarily been from business rivals back then rather than mob bosses, but they still existed. And now, there’s no going back to that time or place when I could relax and just enjoy life without the constant worry for everyone around me plaguing me at every moment.
No matter how badly I may want that for all of us.
Releasing the breath burning in my lungs now, I turn toward the building, intent to grab a drink, chat with the staff, and keep an eye out for any troublemakers so it feels like I’m at least doing something.
But the rumble of a motorcycle engine approaches, growing louder until a Harley pulls into the lot. Even before it rolls up behind my SUV, I recognize the bike and the black leather jacket stretched across the shoulders of the man on it.
Gage tugs off his helmet and shakes out his sandy-blond hair, offering me a grin and a heated assessment that might as well be a flashing neon sign that says “pin me.” Apparently, my request the other morning was for naught because this man has zero intention of stopping that look. “Bishop…”
Hell…
The way he says my name only makes it worse.
Smooth.
Sexual.
Like he’s making love to the word the same way he would my body if I let him get his hands on me.
I tense as he shuts off the engine, anticipating his approach and the way my body will inevitably react to his proximity. Because as much as I try to deny it to myself, there’s something about this man that drives me mad—in the worst and best ways.
The quiet that settles over us makes me hyper aware of how still the night is. No cars passing on the road. No patrons coming out from the club. Just the two of us staring each other down in a parking lot, waiting for the other to make a move.
Self-preservation finally wins.
“Remember that word I used to describe you?”
Another panty-melting grin spreads across his face. “This is just a happy coincidence. I was hoping you’d be here.”
Coincidence.
One of the reasons I’ve never believed in them is because people use that word to cover up calculated moves. But then again, the chances he would find me here are pretty high considering how much time I spend at the club.
Forcing myself to give someone like Gage Newhart the benefit of the doubt is painful when I’ve spent my whole life being taught to question everything and never accept things at face value.
It’s the only way to protect what we’ve built and bled for.
I don’t know what game Gage is playing, or if he truly is only inserting himself into my life because he’s interested in me.
The more I try to dig into his background and military record, the more roadblocks I hit. But there’s some part of me that’s curious. A part that needs to know what he really wants. That part that can’t deny my attraction to him.
“Why were you hoping to see me?”
