Chapter 12 Definitely Not Thinking About It #3
“This is gonna hurt,” he warns, shifting his grip so he can get a better look.
“Already does,” I shoot back, breathing through my teeth.
“Fair.” He gets to work.
Once he’s cleared what he can see, he wraps the bandana around my palm, tying it off snugly but not too tight, his fingers careful in a way that doesn’t match his tone.
“There.” He gives it a final check. “Temporary fix. We’ll clean it properly once we’re not in an alley.”
“We?” I echo, landing the word harder than it should.
He lets go of my hand and steps back just enough to reach his bike parked along the side of the building. He swings one leg over, settles, then pauses and looks at me like he’s waiting for me to catch up.
“Helmet.” He holds mine out.
I stare back at him, unimpressed. “I rode here myself.”
“Yeah,” he says, like he’s already accounted for that. “We’re not leaving your bike. We’ll deal with it later.” His gaze doesn’t waver. “Right now, you’re with me.”
Annoyance flares, hot and immediate. “You don’t get to just decide that.”
He meets my glare without flinching. “That asshole smashed a glass near your feet on purpose. He was trying to escalate things. It’s going to get messier before it gets calmer. I’m not walking you back into that with a busted hand and all that adrenaline still running hot.”
Elias must see the absolute annoyance on my face, because his voice softens. Just a little.
“Raine. Jax and Theo are okay.” He holds my gaze like he’s trying to pull me back into my body. “I know them. I trust them.” A beat, then quieter, more personal. “I need you to trust me.”
Trust.
Right. That thing.
I'm terrible at that.
I should say no. I should dig my heels in, go back in, demand proof that they’re fine. I should fight the way I always do when someone tries me. Instead, my shoulders sag.
“Fine,” I mutter, shifting my wrapped hand like it offended me personally. “Temporary compliance. Just until my hand stops bleeding.”
He huffs out a quiet laugh, the sound warm despite himself. “I’ll take it.”
Then he taps the spot in front of him on the bike, making it clear this isn’t a discussion. “Up.”
I frown at the setup, already annoyed on principle. “You’re driving with me in front?”
“Yeah,” he answers, easy and unapologetic.
“No.”
“Raine.” His voice is steady in that way that makes it clear he’s already made the call.
“I’m not going to have you holding on behind me.
” He pats the spot in front, right near the handlebars, spelling it out without raising his volume.
“I like to know you’re safe. So you’re sitting right here, where I know you won’t fall off.
Where I know I’ll take all the damage if something were to happen.
” His gaze pins mine, firm but not unkind. “Got it?”
It shouldn’t do anything to me. It should just be logic, straightforward, Elias being Elias. Instead, it lands somewhere under my ribs, sharp and warm all at once, and my brain immediately tries to sabotage it.
Don’t be dramatic, Raine. He’s being practical.
Except nobody says I’ll take all the damage and means it in a purely practical way.
Nobody offers themselves up as a shield unless they’re already halfway there in their head, already claiming responsibility for you without asking if you want it.
And the worst part is… some quiet, stupid part of me does.
I swallow, forcing my face to stay neutral even as my chest tightens. “Got it,” I mutter, knowing if I open my mouth any wider, I’m going to say something reckless.
I step closer, swinging a leg over and settling on the seat in front of him. It feels too intimate all at once. His chest is a solid line of heat at my back, and when he reaches around me to grip the handlebars, his arms cage me in, bracketing my sides.
Jesus. Holy fuck.
“Is this okay?” I ask, trying to sound normal even though my whole body is aware of his. “Can you really steer around me?”
“You’re small enough.” His answer comes quick and sure, like it’s already solved in his head. “It’s easy.” Then his voice drops into that calm, instructive tone. “Just stay still, and don’t fight me on the turns.”
He drops my helmet gently onto my head—because apparently this makeshift bandage on my hand makes me incapable of doing so—and fastens the strap under my chin. His fingers brush my throat in the process, light, impersonal, but it still sends a weird little shiver down my spine.
Ignore it, Raine.
“Alright.” His voice is closer to my ear now, calm in a way that makes it feel more serious. “Two options.”
“Can’t wait,” I mutter, pouring every ounce of sarcasm I have into it.
“Option one,” he continues, completely unfazed, “you tell me where you live, and I take you home.”
“Option two?” The question comes out cautious before I can soften it.
He starts the bike, the engine rumbling to life beneath us.
“Option two, we go to my place. And I’m not letting you walk back out till morning.” He doesn’t pause for permission. He just states it. “Not with your hand like that, and not after almost starting a fight in the middle of a bar.”
“That wasn’t me,” I object automatically, because my pride has to do something with itself. “That was the asshole’s fault.”
“Raine.” Just my name, but it lands heavy.
I swallow, knowing he’s not joking. He really would keep me at his place, and the fact that he can say it so easily should irritate me more than it does.
“At my place,” he goes on, voice steady and maddeningly reasonable, “I can clean your hand properly, make sure you actually sleep, and keep you from deciding to sneak back here at three in the morning to check on them.”
Damn it. He knows me too well for someone I only met almost a month ago now. The bike vibrates under us with a steady hum that feels like it's fighting my heart.
“Pick.” He keeps it quiet, close to my ear, and somehow that’s worse than if he’d barked it.
I stare straight ahead, helmet suddenly too tight.
Home means being alone, spiraling, maybe cursing Bash in my head until I fall asleep.
Elias’ place means… I don’t know. Safety, maybe?
Or the illusion of it. Both are dangerous in their own way.
My chest aches. I don’t want to be alone tonight, but the thought of being at his place is somehow scarier.
“Fine.” I exhale, like the air leaving my lungs is taking my pride with it. “I’ll tell you where I live.”
His arms loosen a fraction, subtle enough that I only notice because I’m trapped inside them. Relief, maybe. “Good.”
“But,” I add immediately, needing to keep at least one sharp edge, “if you judge my house, I’m punching you with my good hand.”
His chuckle rumbles through his chest and into my back. “Deal.”
I rattle off my address. He nods once, the motion brushing his chin against the top of my helmet, and the contact is so small it still makes my brain stutter.
“Hold on,” he says, voice turning practical again.
“There’s nowhere to hold.” I glance down at the handlebars like that’s going to magically create a grip for me.
“Then just…” He hesitates, like the words taste risky. “Lean back.”
His body fits around mine like he was built to be a shield. The bike rolls forward, out of the alley, away from the bar. The wind slaps us as we hit the street, cool and sobering. My hand throbs under the bandana. My chest feels even worse.
Theo took a punch for me. Jax grinned at a fight like it was foreplay. And now I’m on Elias’ bike, pinned between his arms, letting him drive me away.
This is bad.
All of it.
I still don’t tell him to stop.