I take the helmet but before I can put it on, Knox steps closer. He takes it from my hands and lifts it over my head, sliding it down gently. His fingers brush my cheek as he adjusts the strap, then graze the side of my neck.
The world stops.
Heat floods through me, sharp and electric, and I gasp before I can stop myself. Knox freezes, his hand still on the strap, his dark eyes locked on mine. Something passes between us—something I can't explain. A pull. Like some part of me has been waiting for this exact moment without knowing it.
His nostrils flare. His jaw tightens. For a long second he doesn't move or breathe.
Then he steps back, his expression unreadable, and stalks toward his bike without a word.
I stand there with my heart pounding and no idea what just happened.
"You coming?" He throws the words over his shoulder. "The storm waits for no one."
Finn pulls my duffel from the backseat—everything I own now. Clothes and books, emergency cash I'd hidden for six months, the restraining order Peter laughed at. My whole life in one bag.
None of it matters now.
I put on the helmet and walk toward the motorcycle. When I reach him I hesitate because the seat is high, but Knox is already astride it with one boot on the ground, waiting.
"I've never—"
"Swing your leg over, grab on, and don't fall off."
Helpful.
I swing over and settle behind him, the bike dipping under my weight before my chest hits his back. Solid and warm, all muscle under leather. I don't know where to put my hands.
"Arms around my waist, or you'll fly off the first curve."
I wrap my arms around him and my fingers barely meet. The hard planes of his stomach press against my forearms through his shirt.
This is insane.
The bike roars to life and the vibration goes through me. Knox kicks off and we're moving, accelerating so fast my arms tighten around him. He's the only solid thing in the world right now.
We roar down the darkening road with wind whipping past and the first raindrops hitting my arms. I grip an orc MC president as we race toward a town I've never seen, and I realize I've stopped looking over my shoulder.
For the first time in months, my chest isn't tight.
Knox calls back through the wind: "Hold tight, little human. It's about to get rough."
Rain comes harder and I press my face against his back, breathing in leather and motor oil. Whatever comes next, at least I'm not running anymore.
At least I'm not alone.
