Chapter 10 Shane
SHANE
The morning sun hits the eastern ridge of Grizzly Peak, cutting through the pines like a serrated blade. For the first time in years, the light doesn't burn like an interrogation.
I stand on the deck of the cabin, the rough-hewn railing biting into my palms as I lean out, scanning the tree line.
Old habits evolve rather than die. My eyes track the sway of the branches, the shadows pooling near the service road, the flight path of a hawk circling a kill.
I look for black SUVs. I scan for Costa soldiers watching the cliffs.
I hunt for anything threatening what sleeps inside my house.
The woods remain quiet. The mountain breathes, slow and deep. We’ve emerged from the bunker, but the soldier in me is still on high alert.
The screen door creaks behind me. I recognize the footsteps—barefoot, light, gaining confidence. I catch her scent before the wind shifts to carry it—exotic wild orchid, paint thinner, and the musky, sweet smell of sex clinging to her skin.
"You're brooding," Bianca says, voice thick with sleep. "I can feel it from the kitchen."
I turn. She wears one of my black t-shirts.
It hangs off her shoulder, swallowing her frame, the hem hitting mid-thigh.
Her hair is a riot of dark curls, tangled from my fingers, knotted from the friction of the safe room bunk where I took her apart and the cold steel of the tactical table where I branded her as mine.
She looks like a disaster. She looks perfect.
"Patrolling," I rumble, voice like gravel grinding in a mixer.
She steps closer, arms wrapped around her waist, goosebumps rising on her bare arms in the crisp air. "Coffee is brewing. Maddie is out cold. Come inside, Shane. The mountain isn't going anywhere."
"Neither are you." The words leave my chest with the force of a command.
She stops, eyes dark and intelligent, locking onto mine. A week ago, that tone would have made her flinch. Now, she tilts her head, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. She knows she holds the leash. She knows the monster likes it.
"No," she agrees softly. "I'm not going anywhere."
The rumble of an engine cuts through the quiet. Not a car. A bike.
My spine stiffens. I step in front of Bianca, putting my body between her and the driveway, hand drifting to the waistband of my jeans where the Sig Sauer rests cold against my hip. Bianca steps into my shadow, silent and trusting, letting me be the wall.
A black Harley glides up the gravel drive, the engine distinct—low, throaty, aggressive.
Logan.
My brother kills the engine and kicks out the stand.
The President of Broken Halos MC looks like he hasn’t slept in a week, face grim, cut dusty from the road.
He swings a leg over and walks toward the porch, boots crunching heavy on the stones.
He stops at the bottom of the steps, looking up at me, then shifts his gaze to Bianca peering around my bicep.
He nods at her. A solemn dip of his chin.
"Pres," I greet him, holding my ground.
"Sgt. at Arms." Logan runs a hand through his hair. "We got word from the ridge."
My muscles coil. "And?"
"The SUV parked at the tree line? Gone." Logan hooks his thumbs in his belt. "Word is, the old man up on the eastern cliffs saw what happened at the Timber Trail. Saw you claim her."
My pulse hammers a heavy rhythm against my ribs.
"He said a man who defends his woman like that is a man worth having as a neighbor. He respects the claim. He sent word that as long as the Gunnars keep their house in order, the Costas will honor the ridge line. The girl is off the board."
The tension riding my shoulders since I dragged Bianca out of that tavern snaps. It changes weight, shifting from a crushing burden to a manageable load.
"They stay on their side?" I ask.
"They stay on their side," Logan says. "As long as we stay on ours." He looks at Bianca again, expression unreadable, then back to me. "You made a scene, Shane. The whole town knows she’s yours. That kind of protection comes with a price. She’s wearing the target now, same as you."
"I know," I growl.
"Good." Logan turns back to his bike. "Meeting at the clubhouse at noon. Don't be late."
He fires up the bike, the roar echoing off the pines, and tears back down the mountain road. Silence returns, but the air feels thinner, cleaner.
Bianca steps out from behind me. She places a hand on my back, palm warm against the tattoo ink staining my skin. "What did he mean? 'Off the board'?"
I turn, catching her wrist and pulling her into me. I bury my face in the curve of her neck, inhaling deeply, grounding myself. "It means they know you belong to me. It means they won't touch you because they don't want a war with the MC."
She goes rigid against my chest, then melts. "So I'm property?"
I pull back enough to look at her. The sun catches the flecks of gold in her eyes.
"Yeah." No apology colors my voice. "You are. You’re my fucking property, Bianca.
Every inch of your pussy, every drop of your cream, and every breath you take belongs to the Sergeant.
You aren't just safe; you’re occupied. Now, tell me you understand exactly whose cock is going to be stretching you out for the rest of your life. "
Her breath hitches. Her pupils dilate, swallowing the iris. That visceral, biological response to my dominance drives me insane.
"I want to be safe," she whispers. She reaches up, fingers tracing the scar on my jaw. "And I want you to come inside."
I snatch her up into my arms. She lets out a sharp gasp, her legs locking around my waist as I march toward the stairs. I don't stop until we’re in the master bedroom, kicking the door shut with a heavy thud. The lock clicks home.
I walk to the bed and drop her onto the mattress. She bounces, hair fanning out like a dark halo. I stand at the edge of the bed and unbuckle my belt, the leather snapping in the quiet. "Strip," I order.
Bianca grabs the hem of my shirt and yanks it over her head, exposing her heavy tits, the nipples already engorged and dark, begging to be bitten.
She shoves her panties down her legs—the scrap of lace already fucking soaked through with cream—and lies back with her legs spread wide, her pussy bared and dripping for the man who owns her.
She watches me, her eyes dark with the need to be fucked.
I shed my jeans and boxers. Cool air hits my skin, but my blood runs hot, liquid fire in my veins. I crawl onto the bed, the mattress dipping under my weight. I loom over her, boxing her in with my arms, caging her.
"You understand what happened down there?" I ask, voice rough. "Logan confirming it. The town knowing. There’s no walking away from this, Bianca. You’re tied to the club now. Tied to the violence."
She reaches up, hands landing on my chest, fingers curling into the mat of hair there. "I stopped running the day I met you."
I groan, a low, animalistic sound, and crash my mouth down on hers. My kiss is a brand. I sweep my tongue into her mouth, claiming every inch, tasting her submission. She meets me with equal fire, nails digging into my shoulders, hips bucking up to meet the heavy pressure of mine.
I break the kiss and trail down her jaw, biting the sensitive cord of her neck, leaving a mark that will bruise. I want everyone to see it. I want the next man who looks at her to see the purple welt on her skin and know a beast has been there.
"Mine," I murmur against her skin. "Say it."
"Yours," she gasps, head falling back against the pillow.
I move lower, hands mapping her body. I worship the softness of her, the give of her flesh.
My thumbs press into the dip of her waist, then slide down to grip her hips.
I shove her legs apart with my knee and settle between them.
She’s drenched, her pussy open and soaking the sheets with the musky scent of her arousal.
I line the massive, purple head of my cock up against her soaking pussy and push. Slow. I want to feel every inch of her internal walls stretching and yielding as my thickness impales her, claiming every bit of her depth for my own.
She cries out, her hands clawing at the sheets as I bury myself inside her, filling her so completely there isn't room for anything else. Nothing feels more powerful than this—becoming a part of her anatomy. When I’m seated to the hilt, pulse to pulse, I stop.
"Look at me, Bee."
Her eyes flutter open, glazed and unfocused.
"You feel that?" I grind my hips, just a fraction.
"Yes," she whimpers.
"That’s where I live now." I withdraw almost completely, then slam my cock back home. "Right here."
The rhythm takes us. Heavy, sweaty, desperate. The bed frame groans against the wall, accompanying the wet slap of skin on skin. I’m driving the reality of our life into her. Every thrust is a promise of protection. Every time her body clenches around my cock, it’s a vow of loyalty.
I grab her wrists and pin them above her head, holding her down, dominating her. She arches her back, offering her chest. I lower my head and take a nipple into my mouth, suckling hard, biting down enough to make her keen.
"Shane," she begs, voice ragged. "Please. I’m close."
"Not yet," I growl against her breast. "You wait for me."
I pick up the pace, movements becoming jagged, forceful. The friction builds to an unbearable coil in my groin. I release her wrists and slide my hand down, grinding my thumb against her clit while my hips keep up a brutal pace.
She comes hard. I feel her pussy walls clamp around my cock, milking me, the spasms nearly making me snap. I growl her name as she thrashes under me, her wetness making every thrust a loud, messy slap of skin.
I don't hold back. I ram into her, burying my cock until my heavy balls slap against her soaking pussy. Once. Twice. I roar as I blast a massive load deep inside her, coating her internal walls with my hot, thick seed until she’s overflowing with my cum.
I collapse on top of her, my weight crushing her into the mattress. She doesn't push me away. She wraps her arms around my back, holding me, fingers tracing soothing patterns on my sweaty skin.
We lay there, the silence of the room heavy and comfortable. My pulse slows. The adrenaline fades, replaced by a deep, bone-settling peace I haven't felt since before Maddie was born.
I roll to the side, pulling her with me so we’re spooning, arm draped heavily over her waist, hand resting flat on her stomach.
"You realize," I say, voice raspy near her ear, "that you’re going to have to learn to shoot."
She laughs, a vibration against my chest. "Is that part of the job description?"
"It is now." I kiss her shoulder. "Tristan will teach you. He’s got more patience than me."
"I think I can handle that." She interlaces her fingers with mine. "Shane? Is it always going to be like this? The danger? The watching?"
I tighten my grip. I could lie to her. But I don't lie to my woman. "Yeah. This is the life, Bee. Quiet today. Loud tomorrow. But you’re behind the patch now. You got four Gunnar brothers, two cousins, and a whole club standing between you and the world."
The door to the bedroom creaks. We freeze.
"Daddy? Bianca?"
Maddie’s voice. Sleepy and confused.
I pull the sheet up over Bianca’s nakedness, shielding her. "In here, Mads," I call out.
The door pushes open. Maddie stands there in her pink pajamas, rubbing her eyes. She looks at us—me shirtless, Bianca buried in the sheets, the room smelling like musk—and she looks relieved.
"Are you guys fighting?" she asks, eyeing the tossed pillows.
Bianca laughs, a genuine, bright sound chasing the last shadows out of the corners. "No, sweetie. Not fighting. Just... talking."
"Loud talking," I mutter. Bianca elbows me in the ribs under the covers.
Maddie pads across the room and climbs onto the foot of the bed. "Are you staying, Bianca? Like, forever?"
I answer before she can.
"She stays," I say, looking at my daughter. "She’s not going anywhere, Mads. She belongs here."
Maddie beams, a gap-toothed smile breaking my heart and healing it all at once. "Good. Because I need pancakes, and Daddy burns them."
Bianca chuckles, shifting to sit up, holding the sheet to her chest. She leans back against me, head resting on my shoulder. "Pancakes sound good."
I look at them. My daughter, safe and smiling. My woman, marked and claimed. The monster inside me, the one prowling the perimeter and craving violence, settles down.
I remain the Sergeant at Arms. I remain the man who breaks bones and buries bodies to keep this mountain safe. But looking at the sunlight filtering through the curtains, I realize I’m something else, too.
Home.
"Alright," I say, swatting Bianca’s hip through the sheet. "Everybody up. Pancakes. Then I gotta go to the club."
"Can I come?" Maddie asks.
"Not today, peanut. You and Bianca are gonna hang out here. Maybe start planning that garden you wanted."
Maddie cheers and bounces off the bed, running for the door. "I'm gonna get the syrup!"
I turn my head, pressing my forehead against Bianca’s temple. "You okay?"
She turns in my arms, cupping my face. Her thumb brushes over the scar on my cheek, the one that usually makes people look away. She looks right at it, then leans in and kisses it.
"I'm perfect," she whispers. "I love you, Shane."
The words hang in the air, heavy and absolute. My chest tightens, a painful, expanding sensation. "I love you," I rasp.
She grins, wicked and bright. She releases me, sliding out of bed and grabbing my shirt from the floor. She pulls it on. Watching her dress in my clothes, watching her claim my space just as thoroughly as I claimed her body, I know one thing for sure.
The eastern cliffs can keep their secrets. The town can keep its judgments.
I have this. God help the man who tries to take it from me.