"There we go." His breath hits my face—stale coffee and something sour. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"
I twist, try to pull free. His grip tightens. I try to fight him off.
"I like a little fight." He shoves me back against the pastry case, glass rattling. "Makes it more fun."
9:54.
My phone sits useless in my pocket. Nobody's coming. I'm going to have to—
The door crashes open.
Knox fills the frame, rain streaming down his leather, dark eyes locked on the man's hands on my body. Water drips from his silver-shot hair and pools on the linoleum beneath his boots.
The man doesn't even have time to turn around. Knox crosses the diner in a few strides, grabs him by the back of the neck, and rips him off me. The man's feet leave the ground for a full secondbefore Knox hurls him toward the door. He hits the frame, bounces off, staggers.
"Look at me."
The man looks. His face drains white.
Knox stands between us, seven feet of rage barely contained. His tusks gleam in the light. His chest heaves. When he speaks, his voice scrapes out low and deadly.
"You come back to this town, I'll break every bone in your body and bury what's left in the woods. No one will find you." He takes one step forward and the man flinches back against the door. "Run."
The man gets up and runs. Fumbles with the handle, practically falls through the door, sprints across the parking lot. His car engine roars to life and tires squeal on wet pavement.
Knox doesn't watch him go. He's already turning to me.
His hands cup my face—massive and warm, rain-cool on my cheeks—and his eyes search mine.
"Did he touch you?"
"Yes but, I'm okay. I'm—"
My knees buckle.
Knox catches me before I hit the floor, his arms wrapping around me tight. The adrenaline crash hits all at once and I can't stop trembling against his chest.
"Breathe, little human." His voice rumbles through me. "I've got you. You're safe."
I breathe him in—leather and rain and that deep spice underneath. My fingers grip his vest. I can't let go.
"You're coming home with me." His mouth presses against my hair. "Don't argue. I'm not letting you out of my sight tonight."
His private quarters sit at the back of the clubhouse, down a corridor I've never walked. The door closes behind us and the noise fades to nothing.
I stand in the center of the room while Knox moves to a small bar cabinet, pouring amber liquid into two glasses. His space surprises me. Not what I expected from a biker clubhouse—clean lines and dark wood. A bed massive enough for his frame dominates one wall, covered in dark sheets. Bookshelves line another, stuffed with worn paperbacks I can't quite read from here.
Philosophy. History. Poetry.
Not what I expected from an orc MC president.
He presses whiskey into my hands. My fingers tremble when I take the glass.
"Why did you text me?"
The question hangs between us. I should lie. Should make up an excuse—you're the only contact in this town, I panicked, I didn't think.
Instead, the truth falls out.
