Chapter 22 Rook
The night is clean for the first time in what feels like forever. No engines rumbling outside the clubhouse, no lookout radios buzzing. Just the low hum of summer and the smell of fresh paint drifting from the barn.
Grimm and Beau are out there under a floodlight, laughing as they splash rainbow dinosaurs across the siding. My kid’s giggle cuts through the air, high and bright. It’s the sound of a life finally starting to breathe again.
Calla slides her hand into mine, fingers warm and sure. “Let’s ride,” she says.
I’ve been waiting for those words. The Harley growls to life, and we slip into the dark, the road stretching like a promise ahead of us. For the first time in days, I don’t look over my shoulder. I just ride, her arms tight around my waist, the wind carrying everything else away.
We climb the old back road until the silhouette of her daddy’s church rises against the moonlight—white clapboard faded, steeple leaning like it’s tired of standing guard. The place where I first kissed her, back when we thought forever was a simple thing.
I kill the engine. The quiet settles around us like a blessing and a dare.
“This is where it started,” I say, swinging off the bike and offering her my hand.
The churchyard is quiet except for the low idle of my bike. The same damn spot where I first kissed her. Only thing different now is the woman in front of me—stronger, fiercer, mine.
I pull the small box from my cut pocket and flip it open. The silver glints like moonlight, the calla-lily petals curling around the stone. Her breath catches.
“Rook…” she whispers.
“Yeah,” I rasp. “It’s your name, my name, and Beau’s inside the band. The three of us—burned in. Can’t rub it out.”
I step closer until we’re chest to chest. “I ain’t good with speeches, Calla.
You know that. I cuss too much. I screw up.
But you—” I touch her jaw, rough thumb against soft skin “—you’re it.
You’ve been it since we were dumb kids sneaking around this place.
I’m done waiting. You, me, Beau. We’re the whole damn patch. ”
Her eyes shine in the dark.
“So here’s the deal,” I growl, voice low and dirty. “Marry me. Be my old lady, my wife, whatever word you want. I don’t care if the world burns, I’m not letting you walk away again.”
She smiles through the tears, the kind of smile that could level a man.
“Yeah?” I murmur. “Say yes, Calli. Let me patch you into forever.”
Her laugh is a low, wicked thing, the kind that used to pull me out of every bad decision and straight into another.
“Yes,” she whispers against my mouth, breath hot. “Always yes.”
The word lights me up. I drag her closer until her back meets the rough stone of the church wall. The night is nothing but shadows and the sound of our breathing.
“You sure?” I murmur, voice rough as gravel. “Someone could walk right around that corner.”
“That’s the point,” she answers, nails scraping lightly across the back of my neck.
The world tilts to just us, her heartbeat against mine, the smell of pine and rain, the weight of every mile we’ve fought through to stand here. I kiss her like a vow, deep and claiming, until the risk of being seen feels like another kind of blessing.
My hand slides down her back, beneath the waistband of her skirt, cupping the curve of her ass. She gasps into my mouth, arching against me. The sound of footsteps and distant laughter from the parking lot should make me cautious, but it only fuels the fire burning between us.
"Someone's gonna see," I mutter against her neck, not slowing down.
"Let them," she breathes, her fingers working frantically at my belt buckle.
I catch her wrist, pinning it against the wooden wall above her head.
"Patience," I growl, though I'm barely hanging onto my own.
I push her skirt up around her waist.The night air is cool against our heated skin as my fingers find her, already slick and ready.
She bites her lip to stifle a moan, her head falling back against the wall.
“Quiet,” I murmur against her neck, a low rasp of heat. “Unless you want the whole town catching the preacher’s daughter getting caught behind his own church again.”
Her laugh stumbles into a gasp. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
"Too bad the preacher's not here to see how far his daughter's fallen," I growl, working my fingers deeper inside her. "Fucking the club feral hang around against his holy walls."
Her hips buck against my hand, seeking more. "Shut up and get inside me before someone comes."
I release her wrist, and she immediately shoves my jeans down just enough to free me. The cool night air hits my skin for only a second before she's wrapping her hand around me, guiding me where she wants me.
I lift her with one smooth motion, her legs wrapping around my waist as I press her back against the wall. With one hard thrust, I'm inside her, both of us freezing at the sensation.
"Fuck," I hiss against her throat.
I suddenly turn, spinning us away from the wall, and sink to the ground, not caring about the dirt or gravel beneath us. My back hits the grass as I pull her with me.
"Ride me," I demand, voice rough with need. "Show me how bad you want this."
She hovers above me, hair falling around her face like a curtain, eyes wild in the moonlight. I grip her hips, guiding her as she sinks down onto me again, taking me deep.
"Like this?" she asks, voice innocent but her movements anything but as she rolls her hips in a slow, torturous circle.
"Exactly like that," I growl, my fingers digging into the soft flesh of her thighs, spreading her thighs wider with my hands. "Fuck yourself on me. Use me to make that pretty pussy feel good."
She plants her palms on my chest, rising and falling in a rhythm that's going to unravel me. The sight of her above me, taking what she wants, is almost too much.
"You like this?" I growl, thrusting up to meet her. "Like fucking me where anyone could walk by? Getting that sweet pussy filled right here on holy ground?"
Her head falls back, throat exposed to the night sky. "Yes," she gasps, grinding down harder.
"Look at you," I rasp, sliding my thumb between her legs where we're joined, feeling how wet she is around me. "Taking my cock like you were made for it. Made just for me."
She clenches around me at my words, her movements becoming more frantic, more desperate. The moonlight catches on the tears in her eyes, not from pain, but from the overwhelming pleasure, the intensity of finally having this again after so long.
"Mine," I growl, the word tearing from somewhere primal inside me. My hands grip her hips harder, leaving marks that'll bloom purple by morning. "Say it, Calla. Tell me who you belong to."
"You," she gasps, her body trembling above me. "Always you, Rook."
The sound of my name on her lips sends fire through my veins. I sit up suddenly, wrapping my arm around her waist to hold her against me as I thrust up into her. Her breasts press against my chest, her arms twining around my neck.
"That ring on your finger means you're mine now," I growl against her ear, biting the sensitive lobe. "My old lady. My wife. Every fucking thing to me.”
"I'm going to make you come right here on consecrated ground," I growl, voice barely recognizable as my own. "Going to make you scream so loud they'll think the Second Coming just happened."
Her pupils blow wide, almost swallowing the color of her irises. She rolls her hips faster, taking me deeper with each thrust. My hands grip her ass, guiding her movements as she rides.
"Fuck," she gasps, her inner walls clenching around me. "Keep talking."
I slide one hand between us, finding her slick heat where we're joined. My thumb circles her clit with steady pressure as I thrust up harder.
"You're so fucking wet," I growl. "Dripping for me. Always been this way, haven't you? My dirty girl gettin' off on the risk."
Her movements become erratic, desperate.
I can feel her thighs trembling against mine, see the flush spreading across her chest. She's close.
My hand wraps around her throat, cutting off her words.
Her eyes widen, dark and hungry in the moonlight.
I can feel her pulse hammering against my palm, the delicate column of her neck so fragile beneath my grip.
"You like that?" I growl, tightening my fingers just enough to make her gasp. "Like feeling me control you while I'm buried inside you?"
She nods frantically, unable to speak, her hips still moving in desperate circles. I loosen my grip just enough to let her draw a ragged breath.
"Say it," I demand, voice rough as gravel. "Tell me how much you like my hand around your throat while I fuck you."
"I love it," she gasps, the words barely audible. "Makes everything… more intense. Please don't stop."
I squeeze again, careful, controlled, watching her face for any sign of discomfort. But there's nothing but raw pleasure in her eyes as they glaze over, her movements becoming more erratic.
"That's it," I murmur, thrusting up harder as my grip tightens. "Take what you need. Show me how good it feels."
Her entire body suddenly goes rigid, her inner walls clenching around me with such force it nearly pushes me over the edge.
She comes with a strangled cry, her head thrown back, moonlight catching the elegant arch of her throat beneath my fingers.
Her thighs quiver against mine, her hands digging crescents into my shoulders as wave after wave crashes through her.
I loosen my grip on her throat, letting her gulp air as she trembles and pulses around me.
She collapses forward, slumping against my chest, her forehead pressed to my shoulder as aftershocks continue to ripple through her body.
I can feel her heart hammering against mine, her breath coming in ragged gasps against my neck.