Chapter Sixteen
MORNIN’S IN THE clubhouse usually came slow, an easy crawl that let a man shake off whatever the night before had dragged through his head.
I expected quiet when I pushed into the kitchen: sunlight warming the walls, the steady hum of the fan, the smell of Josie cookin’.
What I didn’t expect was the way the entire room damn near reshaped itself the second I saw her.
Lark was sittin’ at the counter with Josie hovering too damn close, elbows tucked like she wasn’t sure she had the right to take up space yet, hair soft from sleep, and lookin’ too damn pretty for an hour when a man’s defenses weren’t all the way up.
And Josie—thirty, younger than me, and, if you believed half the women here, pretty enough to be a walking problem—was standin’ there playin’ line cook like he’d been appointed her personal chef.
He slid a plate toward her with way more care than I liked.
Something low settled in my chest at the sight, heavy enough I didn’t want to examine it.
“Smells good in here,” I said, voice still rough with sleep but steady enough to pass. “You feedin’ everyone, or pickin’ favorites this mornin’, Prospect?”
Josie grinned, unbothered. “Anyone early enough gets personal attention.”
I shot him a glare, and the cocky bastard winked at Lark before turning back to the stove. She glanced at me—quick, soft, enough to shift the damn air—before looking down again.
I slid into the seat beside Devil, who was buried in paperwork like always, though the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth told me he’d clocked everything without liftin’ his head.
Josie set another pancake on Lark’s plate, and she offered him a small, cautious smile, like she wasn’t used to being handed anythin’ without a price tag attached.
Somethin’ warm pressed hard against my ribs—insistent, unwelcome, and very much there.
“You’re starin’,” Devil murmured.
“I’m not starin’,” I muttered.
“Chain, I’ve known you longer than you’ve known yourself. You’re starin’.”
I didn’t respond. I was watchin’ Lark tilt her face toward the window, sunlight sliding through her hair, softening her in ways that had my hands itchin’ to feel.
Then she looked at me again—not bold, not long, but long enough for somethin’ warm and restless to move under my skin. I didn’t look away.
Her breath hitched. Barely. But I caught it.
She looked down first.
Devil’s chair creaked. “If you’re cooking up some idea,” he said low, “don’t make it stupid.”
“Who says I’ve got an idea?”
“Your face,” he said, deadpan.
Thing was… he wasn’t wrong.
I knew the key to gettin’ close to her wasn’t force. It was time. Patience. Space she chose to step into. And she wanted independence, freedom in her own hands.
I had the perfect thing.
Teach her to drive.
A simple offer. A quiet kind of power. Somethin’ that’d put control right back in her palms. Hell, it’d put her beside me without either of us namin’ whatever this slow, steady thing was brewin’ between us.
The idea settled in my chest as I listened to her talk with Lucy and Zeynep. Yeah. Teach her to drive. Perfect.
“You’re getting dangerous,” Devil said.
I blinked slow. “How you figure?”
“You didn’t breathe for a full minute.” He flipped a page. “Man gets that still only when he’s about to make a play… or start a war.”
I snorted. “I’m not startin’ anything.”
“Then what’s that look on your face?”
“What look?”
“That ‘I just found myself a reason to rearrange my entire damn life’ look.”
I leaned back, arms crossed like that might hide the truth. “She needs somethin’ that’s hers. Somethin’ to learn. Somethin’ that puts power in her hands.”
Devil hummed, a warning wrapped in agreement. “And you plan to be the man who puts it there.”
“I’m plannin’ to teach her to drive.” It sounded thin even to me.
Devil finally set his papers down, fingertips steepled. “You sure that’s only for her?”
“That’s the point,” I said, maybe too fast. “Woman’s been told how to breathe her whole damn life. She deserves to—”
“—learn,” he finished. “Grow. Choose. I know. And I agree.” His eyes locked on mine, unblinkin’. “But don’t lie to yourself while you’re trying to help her.”
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Devil didn’t push. Didn’t smirk. He just waited.
“This isn’t about claimin’ her,” I said eventually. “It’s about… hell, I don’t know. Whatever this is.”
“I get that,” Devil said. “But be careful. I’ve never seen you this focused on a woman.
She’s still learning this life. Women rebuilding from nothing…
they get tangled easy. You give her hope?
You mean it. You give her attention? You stand on it.
You show her freedom?” His gaze sharpened. “You don’t get to take it back.”
The words landed heavy. Devil didn’t caution men often. When he did, it meant somethin’.
“I’m not lookin’ to hurt her,” I said quietly.
“I know,” he replied. “That’s why I’m reminding you.”
The kitchen hummed around us, brothers talkin’, pans clatterin’, the soft hiss from the stove, while something settled deep inside me. Not a decision. More like the acceptance of one I’d already made.
I couldn’t stay away from her. And I didn’t damn want to.
Devil picked up his paperwork again. “Just make sure you teach her more than how to turn the wheel.”
I frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Freedom’s not just the car,” Devil said. “It might be the man sitting in the passenger seat.”
A slow heat spread through me—solid, sure, impossible to ignore.
“Well,” I said, pushin’ up from the table, needing movement before the feelin’ cracked me open, “guess I’d better bring my truck around.”
“Keep it simple,” Devil called after me. “And for the love of God, don’t scare her.”
“Me?” I scoffed.
Devil’s dry laugh chased me out. “Chain, you drive like a raging asshole.”
I didn’t bother arguing.
Because the plan wasn’t in motion anymore—it was solid.
Get the truck. Find her. Ask her. Teach her.
And maybe—if she let me—figure out how the hell a woman like her made the ground move under my feet.