Chapter Eighteen
LARK CLIMBED OUT of the truck with that bright, stunned smile still soft on her mouth, and hell, nothing in my life had ever hit me the way that look did. Not a fight. Not a crash. Not territory blowin’ wide open under my boots.
She stepped down careful, like the ground wasn’t even yet, like she was tryin’ out the feel of freedom one slow breath at a time.
I stayed in the cab longer than I intended, hands loose on the handle, breath lodged somewhere in my chest like it had forgotten how to move. Watching her through the windshield shouldn’t have done a damn thing to me.
But it did.
She looked free. Not all the way. Not yet. But close enough to spark somethin’ loud and certain inside me, somethin’ warm, somethin’ I wasn’t ready to examine head-on.
I exhaled slow. My pulse didn’t follow.
Teachin’ her had been a simple idea. A good one. A way to give her somethin’ she deserved while gettin’ closer to her. But the second she stalled and I covered her hand with mine on the wheel—yeah. That had been the start of somethin’ else.
Not a mistake.
Just dangerous. For me.
Because the way she’d looked up at me when the engine died—eyes wide, breath caught, cheeks pink with embarrassment and pride—Christ. That look went straight through my ribs and buried itself somewhere I didn’t have shields for.
And when she laughed? Fuck me, I never stood a chance.
I shut the truck door harder than necessary and came around to her. She was standin’ by the bumper, hands tucked close like she wasn’t sure what to do with pride when she felt it. Her eyes were bright—sun behind glass—and it damn near stole the breath I’d just fought for.
“You did good,” I said.
Her smile spread before she caught it, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to feel proud. “Thank you.”
Those two words hit deep, settlin’ under my ribs where things didn’t settle easy.
She headed for the clubhouse, and I followed a step behind, close, but not close enough to make it obvious I was trailin’ her like some lovesick idiot. Only… she didn’t walk like she normally did. She floated. Her heart was right there in how she moved—light, hopeful, brave as hell.
Devil’s voice slid through my head, low and sure: You’re gettin’ dangerous. Don’t take back what you give her.
I’d told him he didn’t know what the hell he was talkin’ about.
Right now? I wasn’t so sure.
Inside, the clubhouse wrapped around us, voices, laughter, music,but Lark still felt close, like I was tuned to her without meanin’ to be. She barely made it two steps before Lucy and Zeynep caught her up, both of ’em talkin’ fast, hands flyin’, excitement obvious as daylight.
I should’ve walked off. Hit the bar, the garage, anywhere else.
Instead, I stayed put.
Watched her. Listened to her try to play off a joy she couldn’t smother. Caught the tiny, shy glance she slipped my way—just once, quick as a heartbeat.
My chest tightened. Again.
And the image of her hands on that wheel—small, firm, shakin’ but so damn determined, replayed in my mind, tightening somethin’ deep inside I couldn’t loosen if I tried.
Lark wasn’t just special. She was the kind of woman a man protected without thinkin’, the kind of woman who made him rethink the parts of himself he never questioned.
The kind of woman a man like me might not deserve.
But wantin’ her didn’t stop.
Never even slowed.
I turned away finally, jaw locked, steps careful even though everything in me felt thrown off balance. Teachin’ her had been the right call. Giving her freedom? Absolutely. Watchin’ her step into it?
That… I wasn’t ready for. Especially if that future didn’t have me in it.
Didn’t sit right. Didn’t sit at all.
I stepped outside, chasin’ a breath of air I wouldn’t admit I needed. Sun caught on chrome, dust lifted lazy off the gravel, the yard held that quiet noon stillness where a man could hear his own heartbeat loud.
Then somethin’ shifted at the treeline.
A flicker. Small. Quick. Gone before I pinned it down.
I narrowed my eyes, studyin’ the shadows. Pine. Brush. No footsteps. No breath. No reason to think it was anythin’. Accept my gut, and my gut wasn’t easy to argue with.
“Probably a deer,” I muttered, though I damn well didn’t buy it.
I walked toward the trees anyway, boots slow, senses steady and sharp. No branches cracked. No whisper of someone movin’ off. Just quiet stretchin’ long.
Still… the hairs on the back of my neck wouldn’t lay flat.
Didn’t matter that I hadn’t seen a face. Didn’t matter that it might’ve been nothin’.
Somethin’ had been there. Or someone. And if someone was creepin’ around the clubhouse—watchin’ us—watchin’ her—that wasn’t somethin’ I let slide.
I turned back toward the building, jaw tight, breath tighter.
I’d tell Devil, quiet, direct. Enough to get him listenin’, not enough to stir the brothers.
Maybe it was nothin’. Maybe it wasn’t.
Either way, my gut was hummin’ steady.
Someone had been out there.
And they’d been watchin’.