Page 43 of My Reckless Biker

And I'm lying here grateful he did it.

That should disturb me. The fact that I wanted Dutch hurt. That watching Diesel walk through that door covered in blood made me relieved instead of afraid.

But it doesn't. This is the world I was born into. I just changed which side I'm on.

Diesel's breathing changes and I know he's awake.

"Morning," he says, voice rough.

"Morning. How's your jaw?"

"Hurts. Worth it."

His hand moves on my stomach, palm warm, and I'm aware of the softness there under his touch, aware of my body in ways I'm always aware when he's this close.

"We should get up," I say. "You need to check in with Clint. I need to talk to Cain about the intel."

"In a minute."

His hand slides higher, under the shirt I'm wearing, his shirt, and settles just below my breasts. Not sexual yet. Just holding me.

We lie there a few more minutes and then he sits up, favoring his ribs. I watch him dress, jeans, clean black shirt, the cut he pulls on last like armor. The morning light shows the damage clearly: purple bruising along his jaw spreading down to his neck, split knuckles that are swollen, the way he moves his left side with caution.

"You're staring," he says.

"I'm cataloguing the damage."

"I'm fine."

"I know. But I'm still cataloguing it."

He crosses back to the bed and leans down to kiss me. "Get dressed. We'll grab breakfast then figure out the day."

Downstairs, the clubhouse is quieter than yesterday. A few brothers around but most still sleeping after the late night. Diesel makes coffee while I sit at the table, and when he sets a cup in front of me I realize he made it exactly how I like it without asking.

Two sugars. Cream until it's almost tan.

He noticed. Remembered.

"What?" he asks when he sees my expression.

"Nothing. Just... you made it right."

"I pay attention."

Tate comes in through the front door, still in tactical gear from overnight watch. He looks at Diesel's face and nods once.

"How's it feel?" Tate asks.

"Like I got hit by someone who weighs two-fifty."

"Could've been worse. You took some hits you didn't need to take."

"I know. You already said that."

"I'll keep saying it until you stop doing it." Tate pours his own coffee. "You going to check on Ray later?"

"Yeah. This afternoon probably."