Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
BLADE
I look down at Bri and something fierce and unholy snarls through my chest. She tries to play calm and pretend she is not scared, but I see every tiny tremor.
She worries about people. She worries about us.
She worries about things she never should have to think about.
All because of this town and the assholes trying to poison it.
I steady her by habit and instinct, my palm firm on her lower back as I guide her out. It steadies me too, because having her close is the only thing keeping me from driving back to that warehouse and burning it to ash right now.
“Let’s go,” I tell her, voice low and sure.
She leans into my hand like her body was built for that exact spot. Hell. Maybe it was. Maybe she was always meant to be right here with me.
The night air hits us as we step outside, cold enough to cut into exposed skin.
I take point automatically, eyes scanning the parking lot and the dark beyond it like threats might crawl out of the shadows any second.
Bri keeps up, steps quick to match mine, her fingers brushing my cut like she wants to hold on but doesn’t want to seem scared.
I notice anyway, and my blood heats with that protective instinct that never shuts off.
My bike waits where I left it, black and solid and familiar. Tail Gunner in life too, I guess. Last out. Last line of defense. Tonight, Bri is the only one I’m protecting.
“You ride with me,” I tell her. The order comes out rougher than I intend, but she doesn’t question it. She nods and hands me her helmet without a single word. She knows the drill. That right there… that trust… it guts me in the best way.
She climbs on behind me, arms wrapping around my waist like she is holding on to the one solid thing in her spinning world.
Her chest presses into my back, and I feel the tiny shake in her hands.
That shake pours gasoline on the fire inside me.
I want to find the bastard responsible for putting fear in her veins and make him choke on his own teeth.
I fire up the engine. The roar isn’t loud enough to match what’s inside my chest, but it will have to do. The vibration runs through both of us, grounding us together.
Nobody touches her. Not while I’m breathing.
If these assholes want a war, they’re about to learn what a Tail Gunner does. I protect what’s mine. And Bri? She’s mine. Forever if I have anything to say about it.
We roll out into the night and every streetlight feels like a potential threat.
Traffic is thin. Flickering lamps cast long shadows that look like trouble waiting for the right moment to strike.
I keep one hand on the throttle and the other near the piece in my jacket because I refuse to be caught off guard with her on the back of my bike.
We pass the bar district. People laugh. Stumble. Live like nothing bad happens in a place like this. Lucky them. They have no idea that three blocks over, the ground is shifting and soon enough they’ll feel the quake.
Bri’s fingers tighten around my vest whenever we pass a pocket of darkness. I reach down, brush my fingers over hers for a heartbeat. My way of saying I’m here. I feel you. I got you. Her grip eases just a little, but she doesn’t let go.
My house sits a couple miles out, tucked behind rusted warehouses and backed up to trees. It’s nothing flashy. Brick walls, metal roof, garage filled with tools and parts that keep my hands busy when my mind tries to drown me. It’s always been a fortress of solitude, a bunker for the broken.
Tonight, it becomes her sanctuary.
I pull into the driveway and cut the engine. The silence that hits after the throttle dies so loud it rings. Bri slides off first, her legs wobbly like the fear she has been holding down is finally catching up to her.
I hop off, swing her bag over my shoulder like it weighs nothing. “Inside,” I say quietly. No bark. Just truth. “We’ll talk once we are locked in.”
She nods and follows me up the steps. I unlock the door and make damn sure she crosses the threshold first. That is how it works now. I protect her. She listens. We survive.
The deadbolt clicks behind us and some of the pressure squeezes off my lungs. Not gone. Just… contained for now.
She stands there in the middle of the room, twisting her fingers in the hem of her shirt. Like she doesn’t know what to do with her hands or her fear or her new reality. I drop her bag by the couch and flip on a couple lamps. Soft light fills the space. Warm. Safe.
“Come here,” I say, hand out.
She walks over slow, and when her fingers slide into mine, everything in me settles just a fraction. She feels small and delicate but she’s stronger than she knows. And the rest? I’ll cover for her.
I let myself breathe her in for one second longer than I should, then step back before I forget what the hell I’m doing and drag her into my bed without feeding her first.
“Go put your stuff in my room,” I tell her, nodding toward the hall. “I’ll get dinner started.”
She pauses, brows lifting like she needs the request clarified. “Your room?”
I look her dead in the eyes. “Yeah. Where else would you sleep?”
Color blooms on her cheeks and she drops her gaze for a moment. “Okay. Just tell me where you want it. Closet? Dresser? I can just keep it in the bag if that’s easier.”
I move behind her, hand curving around her hip as I lean in. “Wherever you want.”
She blinks up at me, breath held. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.” My voice lowers even more. “I want your shit spread out all over my house, Bri. Bathroom. Closet. Dresser. I want to open my fridge and see your drinks next to mine. I want to trip over your damn shoes in the hallway and pretend I’m mad about it.
” My thumb runs slow over her lower back.
“I want this place to look like you live here.”
Her breath hitches, fingers white-knuckling the bag handle like she needs to hold on to something or she’ll float right out of her body.
“Blade,” she whispers.
I nudge her toward the bedroom. “Go on. Settle in. Make yourself at home before you pass out from stress.”
She nods but keeps staring at me like I just offered her the whole universe. Maybe I did. Hard to say anymore where she ends and I begin.
She turns and walks down the hall with a tiny smile she tries to hide but absolutely fails to bury. I watch her go and something unclenches inside me that has been locked up for years. This house has been too quiet. Too empty. Too full of ghosts.
Now there is something better inside it. Someone better. Her.
I turn toward the kitchen and crack my knuckles because I need a distraction if we’re going to eat before I lose every ounce of self control. She deserves dinner. She deserves peace. She deserves everything good.
She trusts me. I intend to be a man worth trusting. Time to act like it.
I pull open the fridge like I might find a miracle in there. Eggs. Bacon. Chicken I should have cooked two days ago. Bacon and eggs it is. Nothing fancy but warm food is still fuel, and she needs that.
I set a skillet on the stove, grab the bacon, and start working. I’m halfway through when her footsteps pad softly into the kitchen. Hesitant. Like she doesn’t want to intrude. Like she hasn’t earned a place here yet. She damn well has.
She stands in the doorway, nerves tucked behind a shy smile. “Your room is really clean,” she says. “Like suspiciously clean.”
I smirk. “Trust me. It gets messy fast.”
She shifts, leaning her shoulder against the frame, hands behind her back. “You’re really sure you want my stuff… everywhere in your space?”
I set the skillet down and face her, towel in hand. “Bri. I want you everywhere in my space.” My voice goes steady. Dead certain. “I want to wake up and see your shoes by the door and your lotion shit taking over the counter.”
Her lips twitch. “My lotion shit?”
“All seventeen bottles that somehow do the same thing,” I tease.
Then I cut the distance between us in half and let every wall I’ve been hiding behind drop.
“I want you living here with me permanently,” I say, slow, clear, true. “If this threat is what gets you here faster, then fine. I’ll take it. But don’t expect me to want you to leave once it’s over.”
She freezes like her whole soul needs a second to catch up to her ears. Vulnerability feels like swallowing glass, but I don’t take back shit. “Blade,” she breathes, my name soft as silk and heavy as a vow.
I lift her chin so I can see every emotion flicker in her eyes. “You are not temporary to me,” I tell her. “You think I’m letting you walk away once this blows over? There is no chance in hell.”
Her eyes shine with something that knocks the wind out of me. Her fingers curl into the front of my shirt as she rises onto her toes, pressing her forehead to mine like she needs skin-to-skin contact just to handle the moment.
My hands slide around her waist, anchoring her there. “You’re here now,” I murmur. “This is home. With me.”
She whispers back, voice soft and shaking with something big, “I don’t want to leave.”
A slow, dark satisfaction spreads through me. “Good,” I say, breathing her in like she’s oxygen. “Because now that I finally admitted what you are to me… I’m never letting you go.”