But she squares her shoulders. Lifts her chin.
Brave.The word burns through me.Fierce.
I shut it down.
"Come on." My hand finds her arm again—I can't stop touching her—and I steer her toward the door. "Let's get you warm."
The brothers part as we approach. Garrett's nostrils flare. Something shifts in his massive face. Rex's hand twitches toward his hip before he catches himself.
They smell it on me. Whatever she's doing to my chemistry, they can tell. Twenty years I've led them. Twenty years of control. And right now I'm marching a strange human through our door with my territorial instincts screaming so loud I can barely think.
"Kitchen's got food if she's hungry." Finn falls into step beside us.
I glance down at her. "You want to eat?"
She shakes her head.
"She needs a hot shower and sleep." The words come out harder than I mean. Finn's steps slow. I don't look at him. Don't want to see the understanding dawning on his face.
The main room opens around us. Exposed beams, leather furniture worn soft with use. Fire crackling in the stone hearth. Jax behind the bar, pouring whiskeys. The women's touches show everywhere—clean surfaces, plants in the corners, a quilt draped over the longest couch.
Sarah stops. Her hand presses against her chest.
"This isn't..."
"Isn't what?"
"I don't know what I expected but not this."
I follow her gaze around the room. Club photos on the wall. The hand-carved Feral Sons crest above the fireplace. Worn patches in the leather where we've sat through hundreds of family dinners and twice as many arguments.
She sees home.
"My office." I touch her elbow, steering her away from the watching eyes. "We need to talk."
The door closes behind us. Clubhouse noise fades to a murmur. Sarah stands in the center of the room, rain dripping from her clothes onto hardwood, arms wrapped around herself.
I move past her to my desk, letting my eyes sweep the space. My territory. Desk buried in invoices and parts catalogs. Shelves lined with books I'll never admit to reading. The old leather chair Garrett salvaged from a closed university fifteen years ago."
She doesn't belong here. But somehow she doesn't look out of place either.
"Sit." I gesture to the chair across from the desk. "Coffee? Something stronger?"
"I'm fine."
She's not. She's running on fumes. I can smell the exhaustion smoking off her skin. But I don't push. I drop into my chair. Let the silence stretch.
She breaks first.
"You want to know why I'm running."
"Yes I do and why here?" I lean back. Keep my voice even. "Nightfall Cove isn't on the way to anywhere. It's the end of the road. You don't stumble onto it by accident."
Her fingers twist in her lap. The wedding ring tan line stands out pale against her skin. Recently removed.
"Bad divorce." Her voice flattens. "Needed somewhere remote. Somewhere I could start over."
Not a lie. I've caught lies on my tongue since before she drew breath. What she says rings true.
