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Viper turns the laptop screen toward the center of the table, the glowing spreadsheet illuminating the grim expressions on my brothers' faces. We spend the next hour tearing into the implications of the files Eden pulled off that thumb drive. Without realizing it, or perhaps out of a desperate need for leverage, Eden’s father didn't just save a copy of the original and doctored shipping ledgers; he downloaded the entire structural inner workings of The Black Meridian crime ring.

Instead of just fighting off local, low-level enforcers, we are currently staring at the exact blueprint of how the syndicate has been systematically setting us up.

"This gives us the tactical advantage we've been bleeding for," Stryker murmurs, his eyes scanning the data.

We all nod. We know we’ll have to be brutally calculated with our takedown. We’re only going to get one chance to ambush The Black Meridian, and while the element of surprise is currently on our side, it won't last long.

Once the meeting wraps up, I grab my keys and head out, but I don't go straight home. Instead, I pull the bike into the parking lot of a local arts and crafts store I looked up on my phone earlier.

The cheery bell above the door jingles as I step inside, and I immediately feel entirely out of place. I’m six and a half feet tall, heavily scarred, clad in scuffed leather and combat boots, and I am currently standing in an aisle surrounded by soft yarn and neon glitter.

An older woman wearing a blue apron with the store’s logo stitched on the front approaches me. Surprisingly, she doesn’t look frightened of my appearance or my scowl. Instead, she greets me with a warm, easy smile and asks if I’m looking for anything specific.

I give a stiff nod, shoving my hands in my pockets. "Can you show me to the drawing stuff?"

She smiles a little wider, probably at how ridiculously vague my request is, but I don’t know a damn thing about any of this shit. Nevertheless, she leads me to the back section of the store and patiently explains the different mediums—pencil, charcoal, pastels, pens, and a dozen other things that instantly blend together in my head. She then points out the different sketch pads, explaining the weights of the paper suitable for each specific medium.

I nod slowly, overwhelmed by all the things I didn’t know. Finally, I look at the massive wall of supplies and sigh. "I’ll take one of everything."

She balks, her eyes widening in surprise, but I remain dead serious. After a second, the lady smiles, shaking her head in amusement. "I guess I better get you a cart then, huh?"

Twenty minutes later, I pack the massive haul of purchases securely into my saddlebags and head home.

When I walk through my front door, I stop dead in my tracks, taking a second to just soak her in. Eden, my personal beauty and peace, is sitting at the small kitchen table, bathed in the late afternoon sun. The golden rays kiss her pale skin and tangle beautifully in her long, dark brown hair. She’s biting her bottom lip, which is a nervous, adorable habit I’ve observed she does whenever she’s concentrating hard on something.

She’s bent over the table, sketching intently on the cheap, yellow, lined legal pad I brought her from the clubhouse the other day. After my brief education at the craft store, I know just how subpar her current supplies actually are.

I walk quietly into the room, but stop short when I step behind her and see what she’s working on.

Eden suddenly snaps her head up, her wide hazel eyes startled to see me standing there. She really must have been in the zone if she didn’t hear my heavy boots cross the floorboards.

"Sorry," I murmur, apologizing for startling her. I nod toward the paper. "Are you drawing me?"

Her cheeks instantly flush a deep, pretty pink, and she nods shyly, quickly stammering that it’s not finished yet.

I can hardly hear her. I’m transfixed as I stare down at her work. It’s me, but somehow, it's more me than I even knew existed. She captured the haunted look I carry, but there's something more beneath the graphite lines. Something deeper. There’s a profound depth in the eyes on the page, something I’ve never once seen when looking at my own reflection in the mirror. Beyond the hard stare and the intricate, twisted scars, something incredibly soft resides in the way the man in the sketch holds himself.

This is how Eden sees me. Raw, honest, complicated, yet undeniably strong. Fearless. But radiating a quiet tenderness that is saved for the woman he loves.

"I love you," the words slip past my lips in a hoarse, breathless murmur.

"What?" Eden asks, freezing in shock.

My heart hammers violently against my ribs, and I quickly clear my throat. "I mean, I love it. The sketch. It’s… how did you… You’re incredible."

She blushes harder, looking down at her lap in embarrassment. I reach out, gently cupping her chin and tilting her head back up so she has to look at me. “Eden, you’re incredibly talented. You have a unique gift for seeing what others can’t.” She blinks up at me, still not convinced. “It kills me that no one has ever nurtured this side of you, but I’m lucky to be here now. I want to support your art in whatever way you’ll let me, just like I’ll support all of your dreams.” Then, I suddenly remember the heavy bags slung over my shoulder. "Speaking of…"

I drop the bags of supplies onto the table, rubbing the back of my neck self-consciously as she reaches inside. I watch her eyes widen into massive saucers with each new expensive tin and high-grade sketchpad she discovers. By the time everything is laid out across the wood, her lips are parted in awe, and she can hardly breathe as she surveys her massive new art set.

"These… are for me?" she squeaks out, her voice trembling.

I give a sharp nod.

She jumps up from the chair and throws herself directly into my arms. I catch her effortlessly, picking her up and swinging her around the kitchen while she buries her face into the side of my neck.

When I finally set her back down, she doesn't step away. She rests her small palms flat against my chest, looking up at me with shining eyes. "Thank you, Onyx. I don’t even know what to say. No one’s ever done anything like this for me. I can’t remember the last present I got."

I frown, my protective instincts instantly flaring. "What about your birthday? Or Christmas?"