"My car died." My voice comes out steadier than I expected. "I'm trying to reach Nightfall Cove."
One eyebrow rises as he glances at the Honda, at the smoke still curling from the hood. "That thing's beyond saving."
Behind him, one of the bikers laughs—a younger face with dark hair braided back and a broken tusk.
"This is Feral Sons territory," the big orc says, turning back to me. "You know what that means?"
I shake my head.
"Means you're either lost or stupid." He studies me, his gaze sweeping over my rumpled clothes and the shadows under my eyes. His nostrils flare and his eyes narrow. "Not afraid of me. But you smell like you've been afraid for a long time."
Of course I'm afraid. You're an orc, seven feet tall. You could snap me in half.
But that's not what he means. I can see it in his face—he smells more than surface fear on me.
"It's been a long drive," I deflect.
He watches me and I hold his gaze even though every instinct screams at me to look away, to submit, to make myself small the way I learned with Peter.
I'm done being small.
His expression changes. Not softening—I don't think this orc softens for anyone. But the hard line of his mouth eases a fraction.
"Finn," he says without looking away from me. "Call the prospect, get him out here with the truck. Car needs to be off the road."
The younger orc moves toward one of the bikes. "You got it, Knox."
Knox.
"The garage will look at your car in the morning," Knox says to me. "There's a storm coming tonight and nothing's getting done until it passes."
The weather has changed—pressure dropping, wind picking up.
"Is there a hotel in town? Or a motel?"
Knox's mouth curves. "Cove Hotel's full up. Town council meeting this week—brings people in from all over the county." He pauses. "You can wait at the garage while we work on it. Or..."
He stops, studying me again.
"Or?"
"The clubhouse. We've got rooms and food."
The clubhouse. A biker clubhouse, surrounded by orc bikers in a town I don't know.
I should say no.
But Knox watches me and my pulse slows. My shoulders drop. Three days I've spent looking over my shoulder, flinching at every man who looked at me twice. And this orc, this massive creature who could crush me without effort, doesn't make me flinch at all.
I don't understand it.
"The clubhouse," I hear myself say. "Please."
Surprise crosses his face before he gives a short nod. "Finn! Grab the lady's bags. We're heading to the clubhouse—the prospect can deal with the car."
He turns back to me and offers a helmet. Black, like his. It looks huge compared to my head.
"You ride with me."
