I look back up and find him smirking at me knowingly.
Stupid bastard.
I look down at my mug, then take a sip.
Dex makes his way over to the coffee machine, and that’s when I see it.
His entire back has a big tattoo I know all too well… a hooded archangel, the sword piercing the scales, flames licking the edges.
My stomach drops.
My fingers tighten around the mug.
Cold spreads through my chest, slow and heavy.
“Michael’s Legion.”
The name comes out breathless, like it’s been dragged from somewhere deep in my chest.
Dex stills instantly, then turns to look at me.
“You know them.”
It’s a statement, not a question.
My pulse roars in my ears. I force myself to meet his gaze. “You’re one of them?”
“Was.”
He steps closer, coffee mug in hand, casual but watchful. Those green eyes don’t miss anything.
“They let you leave?” Confusion cuts through my dread. Leaving an MC isn’t something you do unless you’re in a body bag.
“They did.”
No explanation. Just that. His gaze stays on me, weighing, measuring, like he’s deciding what I’m worth knowing.
“You don’t like motorcycle clubs in general,” he says slowly, “or just the ML MC?”
I square my shoulders, refusing to step back even though every instinct screams at me to create distance.
“I hate all MC members.”
The words land harder than I expect.
Silence stretches between us, heavy and charged, and something shifts in his expression. It’s quick, almost gone before I can name it, but I catch it anyway. A flicker. Like I hit something real. Something that matters.
His jaw tightens.
So I did push a button.
Good.
The farther he stays, the less I risk.
Because who knows what he would do if he knew the truth. That the stepdaughter of his dear MC club’s biggest enemy is now hiding in his apartment.
I can’t risk that.
