Page 2 of Tempted By Shadow

Nope. Absolutely not. I am about to grovel to my brother. I do not have the bandwidth to be attracted to some prospect whose name I don’t even know.

But I can’t quite help myself as I walk past him. Never could resist poking at things I shouldn’t.

“Yikes.” I let my eyes sweep over the scattered tools, the half-disassembled engine, the grease staining his knuckles. “My brother has got you doing the shitty jobs?”

He straightens. Dark eyes meet mine — sharp, startled, something flickering behind them I can’t quite read. His jaw tightens like he’s biting back whatever he was going to say.

I don’t wait for a response. I keep walking, letting my hips swing just a little more than necessary, telling myself it’s habit and not performance.

At the door, I almost glance back.

Almost.

I don’t. But I feel him watching me the entire way.

King’s in his office when I find him, exactly where I knew he’d be. Same worn leather chair. Same desk covered in papers and empty coffee cups. Same man — bigger and more imposing than anyone has a right to be, with that scar through his eyebrow and those cold, assessing eyes that miss absolutely nothing.

His wife is with him. Demi. I’ve met her a few times, never for long. Auburn hair, sharp face, the kind of woman who looks like she’d cut you if you gave her a reason. King married her about six months after I left — a whole dramatic thing with her father’s club that I only heard about secondhand.

They both look up when I appear in the doorway.

King’s expression doesn’t change, but something shifts behind his eyes. “Naomi.”

“Hey.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel. “Surprise.”

He stands. Comes to me before I can even think about putting up a wall. And then — before I can brace myself — he pulls me into a hug.

It breaks me a little. This huge, terrifying man who runs a motorcycle club and probably has bodies buried in the desert somewhere, holding me like I’m still his baby sister. Like I still matter.

“About fucking time,” he says against my hair.

I laugh, and it sounds wet. “That’s what I figured you’d say.”

He pulls back, hands on my shoulders, looking at me like he’s cataloging every way the last two years have changed me. I know what he sees. The weight I’ve lost because groceries cost money and Tyler’s priorities were elsewhere. The shadows under my eyes from too many nights spent wondering where he was and whether I even cared anymore. The way I’m holding myself like I’m waiting for the next blow.

“Tyler?” he asks.

“Gone.” I say it flat, factual. “Woke up one morning, and he wasn’t there. No note, nothing. Took most of my money with him.”

King’s jaw tightens. That’s all — just that tiny flex of muscle. But I know my brother. I know what that means.

“I told you⁠—”

“I know.” I cut him off before he could finish. “I know, okay? You told me he was a loser. You told me not to go. You were right. Congratulations. Can we skip the part where you rub it in and go straight to the part where you help me figure out what the fuck I’m supposed to do now?”

A muscle ticks in his jaw. Then, slowly, he nods.

“Alright. You hungry? There’s food in the kitchen.”

Just like that. No lecture, no extended “I told you so,” no making me grovel. He just... takes me in. Because I’m blood. Because that’s what King does.

Demi materializes at my elbow as King heads for the door. “Come on,” she says, her voice warmer than I expected. “Rogue’s been attempting to cook again. We should probably supervise.”

I follow her through the clubhouse, past the main room with its bar and pool table and clusters of brothers drinking and talking shit. The music’s low — some classic rock station — and the air smells like beer and motor oil and something cooking in the back. A few of them nod at me. Diesel tips his chin, all gruff silence, same as he’s always been. Ghost looks up from his phone in the corner, acknowledges me with a flick of his eyes, then goes back to whatever he was doing.

Rogue — I recognize him from before, the VP with the easy smile — actually grins when he sees me.

“Holy shit, the prodigal sister returns.” He abandons whatever he was doing at the stove and crosses to me. “Two years, Naomi. Two years without anyone to call me on my bullshit. Do you have any idea how insufferable I’ve become?”