Chapter 7 Bianca
BIANCA
Sunlight cuts through the unfamiliar rafters, dust motes dancing in the beams like suspended gold. Disorientation hits hard. The mattress beneath me is too firm, the sheets smell like cedar, and the space is enormous. Then the memory of the night crashes into me.
Shane.
I roll over, reaching for the wall of heat that should be next to me.
My hand lands on cold cotton. The dip in the mattress remains, the indentation where his massive body lay curled around mine like a dragon guarding its hoard, but the man is gone.
My chest hollows out. I push myself up, the quilt slipping and pooling onto my lap.
The smell of the bed and this room hits harder now in the morning.
Woodsmoke, gun oil, and that deep, masculine scent that wires directly into my veins.
Last night meant survival. He held me as if I were the only anchor keeping him from drifting into the abyss he carries inside that leather vest.
"Shane?" I call out, my voice raspy.
The heavy silence of a house built for a giant answers me.
I slide out of bed, my legs shaky. The last few days have rewired my nervous system.
I came here to be a nanny, to paint, to escape the gray slush of Philadelphia.
Instead, a man who looks like he could crush a boulder with one hand held me like I was the most fragile thing in the world. And I don't want to leave.
I pad downstairs, the wood cool against my bare feet.
I’d shed the heavy teal sweater I slept in and changed into a bright teal sundress—short, light, and a loud, colorful middle finger to the gray timber and suffocating rules of this house.
The kitchen is empty, but a pot of coffee sits on the burner.
Beside it lies a piece of paper, anchored by a heavy set of keys.
Had to go to the shop. Do NOT leave the cabin. I saw a stray dog on the ridge—I don't want you or Maddie outside until I’m back. I’ll bring food for the kid. - S
No pleasantries. Just orders and boundaries. I trace the jagged handwriting with my fingertip. Once more, he pushes me away. I feel it in the brevity of the note. He let me in last night—let me see the exhaustion behind the monster mask—and now he retreats. He rebuilds the walls, brick by brick.
"Bianca?"
I spin around. Maddie stands in the doorway of the living room, her hair a bird's nest of tangles, clutching a stuffed bear.
"Hey, sweetie," I say, shoving the note into my pocket. "Sleep well?"
She nods, rubbing her eyes. "Where's Daddy?"
"He had to go to work early," I say, crouching in front of her. Maddie’s lower lip trembles. She starts to cry about the 'scary dog' and wanting a pink donut.
I stare at the keys on the counter, the heavy metal glinting like a challenge.
He’s already trying to manage us from miles away—promising donuts like we’re pets he can keep happy with a treat as long as we stay in our cage.
My skin feels too tight, still humming from the way he held me last night, and the silence of this cabin is starting to feel like a shroud.
Shane isn't just being overprotective; he's trying to erase me. I’m an artist, not a ghost, and I won’t spend the day waiting for a master to return and unlock the door.
“Maddie,” I say, my voice sparking with a sudden, reckless defiance. “Why don’t we go and get you those donuts? We can take Bumble.”
I grab the keys. They’re heavy, cold, and smell like the man who thinks he can just shut me out like that. Let’s see if this town is actually as dangerous as he wants us to believe.
Driving Bumble down the switchbacks is a white-knuckle nightmare.
The engine buzzes like a panicked insect, and the tires slip on the slushy patches Shane warned me about.
He was right—this car wasn't built for Grizzly Peak—but every slide of the rear tires feels like a middle finger to his overbearing 'rules.' By the time we reach Main Street, I’m shaking from the effort of keeping us on the road. I park the bright yellow Beetle in front of the library, the car looking like a toy in a town made of iron and timber. It’s loud. It’s an eyesore.
It’s a beacon telling everyone exactly where the 'new girl' is.
"Okay, mission donut is a go," I tell Maddie, lifting her out of Bumble. She giggles, her small hand gripping mine tight.
We spend an hour at the library. I meet Irene, the woman I’d chatted with briefly on the phone when I went looking for art supplies. She’s painting a mural in the children's section.
"You're the one working for the Gunnars," Irene says, wiping green paint on a rag. She has kind eyes but a sharp, assessing gaze. "Shane, specifically."
"Is it that obvious?" I lean against a bookshelf while Maddie looks at picture books.
Irene glances out the window at Bumble parked on the street. "In this town? Everything is obvious. You’re the only one known to own a Beetle. People talk."
"What do they say?"
Irene sighs, dipping her brush into water. "That Shane Gunnar is a dangerous man. That he keeps to himself for a reason. And if you’re up there at that cabin... you’re either brave or crazy."
"He's a good father."
Irene gives me a look that says she knows exactly what I’m omitting. "Just be careful, Bianca. The mountain has its own laws. And the Gunnars are the law up there. But they aren't the only ones with teeth."
Ice trails down my spine. Stay away from the cliffs.
By the time we leave the library, it’s past noon. Maddie vibrates with sugar cravings, but we need real food first. "Lunch," I declare. "Then donuts."
"Timber Trail!" Maddie points to the rustic tavern down the street. "Daddy takes me there for fries."
I hesitate. The Timber Trail Tavern looks like the kind of place where locals drink whiskey at noon. But if Shane takes her there, it must be safe enough. "Timber Trail it is."
We walk in, and the atmosphere hits me instantly. Stale beer, sawdust, and grilled meat. I find a booth near the window, feeling the room’s gaze. My bright teal sundress clashes violently with the flannel-and-denim uniform of the patrons. I stick out like a flare.
A waitress drops menus on the table. "Coffee?"
"Please," I say. "And a lemonade for her."
Three men walk in. They wear dirty work flannels and heavy boots, carrying an air of loud, drunken self-importance. They claim the high-top table next to us. One of them, a guy with blonde buzzed hair, catches my eye. He smirks, scanning my body. Not appreciative. Predatory.
"New in town?" he asks, his voice carrying over the music.
I offer a tight smile and turn back to Maddie. "Do you want the grilled cheese, Mads?"
"I want the burger," she whispers, shrinking in her seat.
"Playing hard to get," the blonde guy says to his buddies, laughing. "I like that. You working at the lodge? Haven't seen a face like yours around here before."
"I'm busy." My tone clips the conversation.
He slides off his stool and steps toward our booth. "Come on, sweetheart. Just being friendly. I'm Kyle. We’re the real heroes of the ridge, you know?"
"That's nice, Kyle. Please leave us alone."
His smile falters. "You the nanny?" He looks at Maddie, then back at me. "Wait. You’re with the Gunnars? You’re the one staying at the freak’s cabin?"
The temperature in the room plummets. The other patrons go silent. "Watch your mouth," I snap, my protective instinct for Maddie flaring hot.
Kyle laughs, stepping closer until he looms over the table. He puts a hand on the edge of the booth, invading my space. "I’m just saying, you can do better than a grease-monkey biker who scares his own shadow. Why don't you ditch the kid and let a real man show you the trails?"
My heart hammers against my ribs, but lower down, my body is betraying me.
Even in the face of Kyle’s aggression, the memory of Shane’s hands on me last night has my pussy giving a hard, wet throb.
My clit is already swollen and aching, and I’m drenched in my own juices at the thought of Shane finding me here and punishing my disobedience with his thick cock.
The aggression in the room is a spark to a fuse already lit.
"Touch me, and you'll regret it," I warn, my voice trembling.
"Ooh, feisty." He reaches out, his fingers grazing my bare shoulder. "Soft, though. I bet you—"
The front door explodes open. It slams against the interior wall with a crack like a gunshot. The entire tavern flinches. Absolute, terrified silence descends.
Shane stands in the doorway. A nightmare come to life.
He wears his cut—the leather vest with the patches marking him as Broken Halos’ Sgt.
at Arms. He’s shirtless underneath, just the leather against his tattooed skin, his massive arms crossed, veins bulging like cords of steel.
He blocks out the sun from how massive he is.
His eyes are black pits of violence. He doesn't look at me. He looks at Kyle.
"Get your hand off her," Shane says. His voice rumbles like thunder vibrating the floorboards.
Kyle freezes. "Relax, Gunnar. We were just welcoming—"
Shane moves too fast for a man his size.
One second he’s in the doorway, the next he’s at our booth.
His hand shoots out, wrapping around Kyle’s throat.
He lifts the two-hundred-pound man off his feet as if he were made of straw.
Kyle gags, clawing at Shane’s forearm. Shane slams him backward into a structural pillar. The wood groans.
"Daddy!" Maddie whimpers.
"Close your eyes, Mads," Shane commands, his voice dropping into a protective low rumble. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone and a pair of noise-canceling earbuds. "Your favorite cartoon just dropped a new album, peanut. Put these in and enjoy their new song.” He waits until she’s settled and humming along, her world effectively silenced, before he leans in close to Kyle’s purple face.
"I'm going to say this once," Shane growls, the predator finally unleashed. "She is mine. Every inch of her, from her throat to the very bottom of her soaked pussy, belongs to me. She is the fucking property of the Sergeant at Arms, and I’m the only one who gets to bury my cock in her. You look at her, you lose your eyes. You touch her, and I will make sure you never draw a breath in this valley again. I’ll dismantle you in front of the whole town. Do you understand?"
Kyle wheezes and nods frantically. Shane holds him there, letting the terror marinate. Then he drops him. Kyle crumbles to the floor, gasping for air. Shane turns to the other two men. "Get him out of here. Before I forget that I have my daughter with me."
They scramble, dragging their fallen comrade out the door. The tavern remains silent. No one breathes. Shane turns to me. Violence rolls off him in waves. His chest heaves, sweat glistening on his collarbones.
"Get up," he says, his voice rough.
"Shane, I—"
"Get up, Bianca." He grabs my upper arm. His grip is iron-hard. Possessive. Commanding. He pulls me out of the booth, then scoops Maddie up with his other arm. He marches us toward the door. As we pass the back corner booth, a massive, older man in a tailored suit watches us. He catches Shane’s eye and nods.
Shane ignores him and kicks the tavern door open, shoving us out into the blinding sunlight.
He marches us to my yellow Beetle. He buckles Maddie into the back with shaking hands, then slams the door shut.
He rounds on me, backing me against the passenger door.
He cages me in, his hands slamming against the metal on either side of my head.
He breathes hard, his scent overwhelming me—musk, adrenaline, and the copper tang of impending violence.
"I told you," he grits out. "I told you to stay safe."
"I was just getting lunch!" I argue, my own adrenaline spiking. "I didn't invite them over, Shane. They came to me."
"Because you were there!" he roars. I flinch. He freezes, seeing my body recoil. The rage fractures, revealing a deep, cavernous self-loathing. He pulls back as if burned.
"You're shaking," he says, his voice dropping to a hollow whisper.
"Shane, that was... you hurt him."
"He touched you," Shane says simply. "He put his hands on what belongs to me."
"Is that all I am?" I whisper. "Property? Something you mark territory on?"
He stares at me, his jaw working. "You saw what I am in there, Bianca. That is the reality. I break people."
"I know." I know he’s dangerous. But standing here, seeing the aftermath of his rage, the truth crashes into the fantasy. "It terrified me."
"Good," he snaps. "It should. You should be terrified. You should be running in the other direction."
"I'm not running."
He laughs, a dark, humorless sound. "You will. You're trembling just looking at me. You think you want this? You think you want to be the woman of a man who has to wash blood off his hands before he touches you?"
"Shane—"
"Get in the car," he orders, turning away. He straddles his bike, the engine roaring to life with a deafening growl. He doesn't look back. He tears out of the parking lot, leaving skid marks on the asphalt.
I climb into the driver's seat. My hands shake. "Is Daddy mad?" Maddie asks.
"No, baby," I lie, my voice thick. "Daddy’s just protecting us."
But as I pull onto the road, heading back toward the mountain, I wonder who will protect me from him.
Or rather, who will protect me from the fact that even now, even after seeing the monster unleashed, my pussy is still overflowing, the lace of my panties heavy with the hot evidence of my absolute possession.
He claimed me. Publicly. Violently. Property of the Sergeant at Arms. The words echo in my head like a dark command, making my engorged clit twitch with a terrifying, primal hunger.
I am his. Owned. Marked. My pussy is a soaked mess of hot cream, craving the heavy weight of his cock and the violent way he marks what belongs to him.
As I drive up the winding switchbacks, I see a black SUV parked on the shoulder near the turnoff to the eastern cliffs. The windows are tinted pitch black. I feel the weight of a gaze following us.
Stay away from the eastern cliffs.
I pull into the driveway and hurry Maddie inside, locking the door behind us with a heavy thud. I lean my back against the wood, sliding down until I hit the floor. I close my eyes, and Shane’s face dominates the dark behind my lids.
I'm not scared of him. I'm scared for him. And I'm scared of how much I loved the way he looked when he told the world I was his.