Page 11 of Canvas’ Muse

"She might have a point," Saint interrupts, looking thoughtful. "They shot up the studio while she was here. They probably had someone on lookout before she even arrived. They might have seen her. If they're watching, she’ll be a casualty. This is the same thing that happened with Judge last week."

"Fuck," Davis breathes. "No. No, we're not dragging her into this."

"She's already in it." Saint says. "Question is whether she's safer at home alone or at the clubhouse with nine armed bikers."

I should be terrified. I should be running. Instead, I'm thinking about Davis throwing himself over me. About the dragon and his hands on my thigh. About the fact that I don't want to leave him.

"The clubhouse," I hear myself say. "I'll go to the clubhouse."

Chapter 4 - Canvas

She's completely insane.

She has to be. There's no other explanation for why Eden Cross—trauma nurse, fantasy reader, owner of the most perfect curves I've ever had the privilege of tattooing—just volunteered to come to an MC clubhouse in the middle of a war with the Vipers.

"No," I say again, more firmly this time despite the way Saint's stitches are pulling every time I move. "Absolutely not. You're not coming to the clubhouse."

Eden crosses her arms, and even exhausted and tear-streaked and covered in my blood, she looks determined. Stubborn. Like she's made up her mind and nothing I say will change it.

God, she's beautiful.

Also insane. Definitely insane.

"You don't get to decide what I do," she says, her voice steadier now that she's stopped shaking. "Saint's right. If they saw me here, if they were watching, then I'm already involved. Going home alone makes me an easy target."

"We can post someone outside your place," Ranger offers, but he doesn't sound convinced. "Keep watch, make sure no one gets close."

"For how long? A day? A week?" Eden shakes her head. "I can't live like that. And you can't spare the manpower to babysit me indefinitely."

She's not wrong. We've got nine members total, and we're already stretched thin with the Vipers breathing down our necks. Phoenix has everyone on rotation: watching the clubhouse, watching known Viper hangouts. We don't have bodies to spare for around-the-clock civilian protection.

But the alternative, bringing her to the clubhouse, putting her right in the middle of everything, feels wrong on every level.

"This isn't your world," I tell her, repeating what I said earlier. "You don't know what you're walking into."

"Then explain it to me." She moves closer, crouching down so we're at eye level. Those bright blue eyes are locked on mine, unflinching. "Tell me what I'm getting into. Give me the information and let me make an informed choice."

Saint glances at Ranger. Ranger looks at me. Nobody says anything for a long moment.

"The Iron Phoenix is at war with another MC," I finally say, keeping my voice low. "The Vipers. They're bigger, meaner, and they don't play by any rules. Three years ago, Phoenix left that club because they were trafficking women, running drugs, killing anyone who objected. He barely got out alive. That’s the kind of men we’re fighting against."

Eden doesn't flinch. Just listens.

"They've been looking for an excuse to come at us ever since. Last week, they even beat the shit out of our VP because he protected a woman and her kid. Now they shot up my studio." I pause, making sure she's hearing this. "These aren't good people, Eden. They hurt civilians. They use women as leverage. And if they saw you here, if they think you matter to me—"

"Do I?" she interrupts. "Matter to you?"

The question catches me completely off guard.

Saint suddenly finds his medical supplies incredibly interesting. Ranger is very focused on examining the destroyed front room. Neither of them is looking at us.

"I just met you three hours ago," I say, which isn't an answer.

"You took a bullet for someone you just met three hours ago." Eden's hand finds mine, her fingers threading through mine like it's the most natural thing in the world. "That seems like mattering."

She's right. I know she's right. The moment those shots started, I didn't think, I just moved. Covered her. Protected her. Would have taken ten bullets if it meant she stayed safe.

That's not normal. That's not how I react to clients, strangers or women I've known for three hours.