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Corbin:

In the chapel, now. Can’t stop thinking about your pierced tits and that tight pussy. Tonight, you’re mine.

Me:

Only if you promise not to get us caught.

Corbin:

No promises. Just need you to know I’m coming for you.

Me:

Maybe I’ll let you catch me.

As the sun sets, painting the compound in oranges and reds, I finish up with Diesel and head back to my room. I want him. Badly. But the avoidance earlier was my shield, and it’s crumbling fast. I collapse on my bed, staring at the ceiling. The carving etched into his ribs, his cock, the way he pursued me…it’s overwhelming. I know I shouldn’t want him, that this is reckless, but I do. Still, I can’t have him—not yet, maybe never. There are other worries weighing on me, and a secret I have to guard.

Lennox’s face flashes in my mind—my brother, my secret—and guilt bleeds in, dousing the desire. The chase is far from over. And some sick part of me doesn’t want it to end.

That night, Corbin never showed. Club business kept him locked away with Lennox and the rest of the officers, rumors of some rivals pushing territory again putting everyone on edge. I waited up longer than I should have, staring at my phone, before finally crashing alone.

TATUM

The next morning, the compound is already buzzing. The Fourth of July aftermath is mostly cleaned up, but some of the little firework debris is littered around the lot. I head toward the maintenance area, wiping sweat from my brow even before the real work starts.

“Morning,” Diesel grunts, tossing me a rag. “Corbin and Lennox are both buried today. While I wish you were with me today, getting shit done, Fuse has you in the gym. He should be waiting for you to ride out.” I nod, heading over to Tink, excited I get to ride her outside again. I grab my helmet and bike keys, swinging a leg over my ride.

Fuse is already waiting by the gate with a couple of the other pledges. We roll out in formation, the wind whipping past as we leave the compound behind and head toward the gym.

Once inside, he leads us to the back corner where heavy bags hang like silent opponents and mats are laid out for ground work. A few members that are already there nod at us.

“Warm up, then bag work,” Fuse barks, before looking at me and tossing me a pair of wraps. “Corbin wants you pushed today. No half-assing it.” I wrap my hands tightly and start shadowboxing, trying to burn off the frustration and leftover want from yesterday’s stolen moments.

Focus, Tatum.

You cannot keep spiraling over some man with a good dick. This is reckless. Dangerous, even. One slip and everything could come undone.

You have other shit to worry about—a secret to protect at all costs. Stop letting this take over your head.

Focus.

We rotate through stations—heavy bag rounds and sprawl drills on the mats. The sun beats through the high windows, sweat dripping down my back. Fuse does his best to keep Thomas and me away from each other so that nothing happens.

Around ten, Corbin finds his way into the gym. He appears at the edge of a ring closest to me where two pledges are going at each other, pretending like he’s watching their form. Instead, he closes the distance between us, his hand brushing my lower back as he leans in close under the pretense of talking about the spar in front of us.

“Missed you last night,” he murmurs, voice low. His fingers trailing down my spine. I shiver, glancing around.

“You were busy. We can’t⁠—”

“Meet me in the locker room in ten.” He squeezes my hip and walks off, shouting at pledges to fix their stance.

My heart races. I wait what feels like forever before slipping away under the excuse of running to the restroom. The moment the heavy doors bang closed, Switch pulls me against him. Our mouths crash together—hungry, desperate. His hands roam under my tank, cupping my breasts, thumbs circling my pierced nipples. He tugs on the silver barbells, sending sharp sparks straight to my core. I moan into his kiss, fingers fisting his cut.

“Fuck, Tatum,” he growls. “I’ve been hard since those pictures yesterday.” One hand slides down, palming me through my leggings, rubbing firm circles that have me grinding against him.

I reach between us, tracing the thick bulge where his cock strains against denim. He hisses, nipping my neck. Our hands roam hungrily until touching becomes frantic need—his fingers sliding under my waistband, discovering how wet I am for him, as I stroke him through his jeans. Voices from outside the door drift closer, forcing us apart, breathing ragged.

“Tonight, I’ll be there,” he promises, adjusting himself before stepping out first.