Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Demi
The words had been circling in my head for days.
“She’s mine.”
Not whispered. Not muttered. Not hidden away in a dark alley where no one else could hear.
No. He’d said it in the clubhouse. In front of the Sons. In front of men who lived by rules and codes.
“She’s mine.”
Like I was property. Like I was some shiny thing he’d snatched up and slapped his name on.
Every time I closed my eyes, I heard it again. And every time, I hated how much it didn’t feel like an insult.
It felt like a promise.
That’s what made me furious.
He said it, and now he wouldn’t even talk to me.
He had sent me away last night like those words had never come out of his mouth. Like he had forgotten them, and I was supposed to do the same.
I think the hell not.
That’s what made me get out of my car and march across the street to the garage.
Because if he thought he could say that and then act like nothing had happened, he had another thing coming.
The garage was loud when I pushed through the door. Men in cuts moved around like they owned the place.
And maybe they did.
But my eyes went straight to him.
Werewolf.
He was bent over a bike, with his sleeves shoved up to reveal the ink twisting down his arms.
When he lifted his head, his eyes caught mine across the room, and the noise dimmed. Everything dimmed.
The other men looked, too. Some curious, some smirking, and some sharp with suspicion.
I didn’t care.
I shoved my way across the garage until I stood right in front of him.
“We need to talk,” I snapped.
His jaw flexed, eyes narrowing. “Not here.”
“Yes, here.” I crossed my arms and dared him to shut me down. “Unless you’re too much of a coward to talk in front of them.”
That got attention. A few brothers paused mid-task and glanced between us.
Werewolf’s gaze sharpened. He tossed the wrench onto the bench with a clang, grabbed a rag to wipe his hands, then nodded toward the back.
“Office. Now.”
The door slammed behind us, and the noise of the garage muffled instantly. The room was small, cramped, and reeked of oil and smoke. A desk sat shoved against the wall with papers scattered over it and a half-burned cigarette crushed in the ashtray.
He turned and towered over me. His body radiated fury. “What the fuck are you doing, Demi?”
“What the fuck am I doing?” My voice rose, sharp. “You’re the one who stood in front of your precious club and claimed me like I’m some kind of prize you won.”
His eyes flashed. “I said it to protect you.”
“Bullshit!” I shoved his chest, hard. He didn’t budge, not an inch. “You said it because you wanted to. Because part of you likes the idea of me being yours.”
His chest heaved, breath sharp. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Then explain it!” My voice cracked, too raw. “Explain why you keep showing up, but only in the shadows. Why you keep saving me. Why you look at me like, like—”
“Like what?” he growled and stepped closer. He crowded me back until I hit the desk.
My breath caught, and heat coiled low in my stomach. “Like you hate me and want me at the same time.”
The silence that followed was thick. His eyes burned into mine, dark and dangerous. Every inch of him vibrating with restraint.
Finally, his voice dropped, low and rough. “Because that’s exactly how it is.”
The words ripped through me. My hands curled into fists at my sides. My nails bit into my palms, but I didn’t move.
I couldn’t.
Because he was so close. His chest brushed mine, and his breath was hot against my skin.
And I wanted him.
God help me, I wanted him.
“Say it again,” I whispered.
His brow furrowed. “What?”
“Say it.” My voice shook. “Say I’m yours.”
For a heartbeat, the world held still.
Then his mouth crashed down on mine.
It wasn’t a kiss.
It was a war.
A battle we were both fighting and had lost.
His lips were bruising and demanding while mine answered with equal fury. Teeth clashing, breath gasping, and hands tangled in clothes like we wanted to tear each other apart and never let go at the same time.
His hand cupped the back of my neck, held me firm, and dragged me closer until there was no space or air, just nothing but fire.
I fisted his cut and pulled him down harder. I matched his hunger with my own. Anger, grief, desire, and everything I’d been holding back for months poured into that kiss.
Raw and messy and real.
He growled against my mouth. The sound vibrated through me and lit every nerve.
When his tongue slid against mine, I moaned and couldn’t stop it from spilling out. His grip tightened, his other hand finding my hip and pulling me flush against him.
I felt him. Hard. Unyielding. Wanting.
It stole my breath and left me dizzy.
And then, as suddenly as it started, he tore away.
His chest heaved.
His lips were swollen.
His eyes burned with something wild.
“This is a mistake,” he rasped.
My body screamed at the loss of his kiss. “Then why does it feel like the only real thing we’ve done?”
His jaw clenched, and his fists curled like he needed to hit something. “Because it is.”
We stood there rattled.
Finally, he turned and dragged both hands over his face like he could scrub away what just happened.
“You need to go,” he muttered.
I swallowed hard and forced steel back into my spine. “No. I’m not running from this. Not from you.”
His eyes snapped back to mine. “You don’t get it, Demi. Wanting you is the most dangerous thing I’ve ever done. And if I don’t stop—” He broke off, voice jagged. “If I don’t stop, it won’t just be me who pays for it. It’ll be you.”
I stepped forward with my hands trembling but steadied them as I placed them flat on his chest. His heart thudded beneath my palms.
“Werewolf,” I said softly, “I don’t want to stop.”
The silence stretched. His eyes searched mine. They were desperate and torn.
And though he didn’t kiss me again, didn’t move, didn’t speak, I knew something had shifted.
“Demi, I—” he started.
I shook my head and stepped back. “If you’re going to tell me to leave, save it. I told you what I want. The ball is in your court now.”
The line we’d been dancing around for weeks had snapped.
“Come find me when you can finally say something more than I’m a mistake.”