Samuel
By the time I make it back to the clubhouse, the adrenaline’s gone, and every hit Knox landed is screaming through my already bruised ribs.
I kill the engine and sit there for a second, hunched over the bars, forehead pressed to my knuckles. Breathing hurts. Thinking hurts worse.
The yard is quiet—too quiet. A few bikes are lined up under the security light. Someone left a cigarette burning in the ashtray by the door, smoke curling into the night.
Nobody's outside.
Nobody's talking.
The usual noise is gone.
I swing my leg over the saddle and immediately regret it. Pain knifes through my side so sharp I have to bite back a curse. Gravel crunches under my boots as I limp toward the door.
Mouse spots me first. He freezes halfway through taking a swig of beer, eyes going wide. “Jesus, Wolf. What the hell happened?”
“Nothing,” I mutter, pushing past him.
“Nothing?” he sputters. “You look like you lost a fight with a truck.”
“Drop it.”
He opens his mouth again, then shuts it. Good. I don’t have the energy to lie convincingly or punch him for asking.
The walk to my room feels longer than it should. By the time I shove the door open and step inside, sweat has broken out across the back of my neck. I lock the door behind me and brace both hands against the dresser, waiting for the room to stop spinning.
My shirt drags across the bruises blooming over my ribs. Blood keeps finding its way from the split in my lip. Knox always did hit like a freight train.
Raven’s voice keeps replaying in my mind.
I love him.
Christ. Every time she said my name. Every tear on her cheeks. Every shake in her voice when she defended me. I’d take Knox’s fists a thousand times over before I’d let her cry like that again.
I sit on the edge of the bed before my legs give out and pull my phone from my pocket. My thumb hovers. Then, I do the one thing I shouldn’t.
Me: I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to see that. I didn’t want any of it to go down that way.
Me: Sweetheart, I never wanted to hurt you or cause problems with your family. If I could’ve taken those hits without you seeing a damn thing, I would have.
I drop the phone onto the mattress and drag a hand over my face, wincing when my knuckles brush the tender split at the corner of my mouth. The phone buzzes almost immediately.
My vision blurs when I read the words.
Raven: You don’t have to apologize. I don’t care how it happened. I just need to know you’re okay. How bad did he hurt you?
I can’t answer that. She’ll blame herself.
Me: I’m fine.
A long pause. Long enough that guilt starts to gnaw at the edges of the lie.
Raven: Samuel, tell me the truth.
My chest tightens. She sees through me. She always does.
I should tell her everything. How I’m pretty sure I have at least one broken rib. The way every muscle feels like it’s been torn open, but I can’t do that. She’s been through enough tonight.
Me: Don’t worry about me.
I stare at the screen after I send it, fighting the urge to send another message. Something softer, something real, something more like the truth.
But nothing comes through from her.
Only silence.
She’s worried, and that’s on me. I shouldn’t have shown up like that and let her see us fighting. I shouldn’t have said I loved her in front of her father and brother, as if it were a declaration of war.
But hell, it is a war. And I’m done pretending it isn’t.
I lean forward, elbows on my knees, rib screaming in protest.
She’s going to hate this. Knox already does. Jon’s probably planning how to deal with me right now.
But none of that matters.
Because the thought of letting her go makes my chest hurt worse than the goddamn broken ribs. I drop my head into my hands.
“Sweetheart,” I murmur to the empty room, “please don't do anything reckless tonight.”
My phone stays silent, twisting the fear in my gut. Raven left me on read. I push to my feet again, pacing the small room despite my body protesting every step.
If Knox comes after me, it’s fine. If Jon wants me dead, I’ll deal with it. But Raven? If she gets caught in the crossfire. That’s something I can’t live with.
A soft thud sounds outside my window.
I freeze.
Another.
Then a soft voice. “Wolf?”
My heart stops and starts again too fast.
“Wolf, please open the window.”
For a second, I don’t move.
Partially from shock. The other part, raw, aching relief that knocks the air out of my lungs.
Then I’m crossing the room, every bruise screaming, but none of it matters. I unlatch the window and lift it, and there she is, perched on the narrow strip of roof outside.
Her hair's tangled. Her cheeks are blotchy from crying. But she looks at me like none of that matters. Like none of what happened tonight changes a damn thing.
“Raven,” I breathe, the word torn from somewhere deep in my chest. “Sweetheart, what are you doing here?”
She clamps a shaking hand over her mouth when she sees my face, the swelling, the cut lip, the bruise blooming across my cheek.
“Oh my God,” she whispers. “Sam…”
“Don’t,” I say softly, leaning out to steady her. “Come inside. Before someone sees you.”
She nods, swallowing hard, and puts her small hand in mine, and I guide her through the window, pulling her against my chest the second she’s close enough, because I can’t not touch her.
She buries her face in my shoulder and lets out a sound that guts me. It’s part relief, part grief, and part the fear she’s been holding alone.
My ribs scream, but I hold her tighter anyway.
“Sam,” she whispers into my shirt. “You’re hurt.”
“I’m all right.”
It’s a lie. She knows it. I know it. But she clings to me like I’m the only thing keeping her upright.
I close my eyes, breathing her in, shaking with the force of everything I’m trying not to feel. “You shouldn’t be here,” I murmur into her hair. “If Knox finds out—”
“I don’t care,” she says, voice trembling but sure. “I can’t stay away from you.”
And God help me, that’s the exact thing that terrifies me. And saves me. And destroys me. All at once.
“Sweetheart,” I whisper, pulling back just enough to cup her face, “if they catch you here—”
“Let them,” she says fiercely, gripping the front of my shirt. “I’m not leaving you.”
Her conviction hits harder than Knox’s fists, and I rest my forehead against hers, breathing her in.
“Don't,” I murmur, closing my eyes. “Don't leave.”
For the first time all day, the panic eases. Because she found me. She chose me.
Her breath catches when I cup her face, my thumb brushing the tear tracks along her cheek. She leans into the touch like she’s starving for it, like I’m the only thing tethering her to the ground.
“Sam,” she whispers, her hands sliding up my chest, fingers curling in my shirt, tugging me down.
The first brush of her lips is soft, desperate, searching.
I kiss her deeper, slower, letting everything that happened today fall away. All the fear, need, and the bone-deep relief of seeing her standing here, choosing me over everything she’s ever known. She makes a small sound in the back of her throat, and it nearly undoes me.
Her body presses to mine as my hands trace her hips, her back, the curve of her spine. With our mouths still tangled, I walk her back toward the bed. She arches into me.
“Tell me you’re here because you want this,” I murmur against her lips.
Her answer is immediate. “I want you.”
The world narrows to her touch. Her breath. Her pulse fluttering beneath my hands.
Lowering her onto the edge of the mattress, her knees frame my hips as I lean over her. She looks up at me like I’m something she’s been waiting her whole damn life to touch.
“Raven.” Her name leaves me like a confession.
Her hands slide beneath the hem of my shirt, fingertips brushing skin. It’s barely a touch, just the ghost of her fingers against my ribs, but pain flashes white-hot and I flinch before I can stop myself.
Raven freezes instantly.
“Sam?” Her voice is small, startled, and breathless for a completely different reason now. She pushes up on her elbows, eyes searching mine in the dim light. “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” I say, even though we both know I’m lying. “I’ll be fine.”
Her brows pull together, worry softening every line of her face. She lifts her hand like she’s afraid to touch me wrong again. “I can’t believe Knox did this to you. It’s all my fault.”
“None of this is your fault,” I say, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
But she shakes her head. “I should’ve done more to stop him. I should’ve—”
“Raven.” I lean down, brushing my lips against hers. “The only thing that got me through that was knowing you still chose me after.”
Her fingers land feather-soft on my bruised ribs, carefuler now, almost reverent. Her gentleness steals my breath.
“Why didn’t you tell me how badly you were hurt?” she asks.
“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” I confess. “I’ve already done enough damage tonight.”
“I don’t care how you look,” she says, voice trembling. “I care if you’re hurting.”
Something in my chest cracks wide open.
I take her hand, guiding it back to my skin, slower this time, letting her feel the truth of me. Every rough edge, every bruise, every place where loving her has cost me something I’ve never once regretted.
She sits up straighter, cupping my face in both hands. “Let me take care of you,” she murmurs.
And God help me, I want to let her.
I kiss her again, soft, lingering, as her hands slide to the hem of my shirt.
“Can I?” she murmurs, her breath warm against my throat.
“Yes,” I rasp, catching her wrist and kissing the inside of it. “Keep going.”
When my shirt finally clears my head, she lets it fall to the floor. Her eyes sweep over me—over every mark, every bruise, every place Knox’s fists collided with my flesh.
Her fingertips trace the dark bruise across my ribs, so soft it barely registers as touch. But the look in her eyes? That lands hard.
“I hate that he hurt you,” she whispers.
“I’ve had worse,” I say. “But I’d do it all over again for you.”
Her hands flatten against my bare chest, warm and steady.
“Am I hurting you?” she whispers against my lips.