Page 25 of Ruined By King

My breath catches. King doesn't look at me, his eyes still locked on my father, but I feel his hand find mine again. Squeezing.

A promise.

My father's shoulders sag. For a moment, he looks like what he is — a man in his fifties who just lost his only daughter to everything he's spent his life fighting against.

"You're making a mistake," he says, but there's no heat in it anymore. Just resignation.

"Maybe." King's grip on my hand tightens. "But she's mine. And I'm going to spend the rest of my life making sure she never regrets choosing me."

My father stares at him for a long moment. Then his gaze shifts to me, and I see something there I wasn't expecting.

Respect.

Grudging, bitter, but real.

"You always were too stubborn for your own good," he says quietly. "Just like your mother."

It's the closest thing to a blessing I'm ever going to get from him. I know that. But somehow, it's enough.

"I love you, Dad," I say. "That hasn't changed. But I love him too. And I'm not going to apologize for that."

My father nods slowly. He looks at King one more time — a look that says this isn't over, but also I know when I'm outmatched. Then he turns and walks back to his bike. A moment later, the engine roars to life and he's gone, disappearing down the road without looking back.

For a long moment, nobody moves.

Then King turns to me, and the cold president melts away, replaced by the man who held me all night.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. "Yeah, I think I am."

He kisses me, right there in front of the whole club. Deep and thorough and completely unashamed. Someone wolf-whistles. Someone else hollers something filthy that makes my cheeks burn. When he pulls back, I'm breathless and the tension that's been hanging over the clubhouse finally breaks.

"Come on," he says, taking my hand. "Let me take you home."

Home. His room. His bed. His life.

Mine now, too.

Later, we're tangled together in his bed, my head on his chest, his hand warm and heavy on my hip. The sun has shifted, casting long shadows across the floor.

"So," I say, tilting my head to look at him. "About that ring."

His hand stills. "Yeah?"

"Were you serious?"

"Completely."

I push up on one elbow, studying his face. He looks back at me, steady and certain, like the question doesn't scare him at all.

"We've known each other for two weeks."

"I've wanted you for months. The two weeks thing is just a technicality." He reaches up, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "Why? You changing your mind on me?"

"No." I lean down and kiss him softly. "I'm saying yes."

He goes still beneath me. "Yeah?"