Chapter 13
DRIFT
It took longer than I would have liked to get everything together.
Kane was in his office making calls while Axle handled the untraceable truck we’d need to drive to the safehouse.
Savannah and Jana were in the kitchen with Alanna, packing up food for us to take.
Edge, Nitro, and I assembled a cache of weapons, explosives, and anything else I might need to protect us.
The brothers moved with quiet precision, every man knowing his job without needing a word from anyone.
We didn’t waste breath on orders when it came to protecting one of our own.
Once everything was ready for us to hit the road, Alanna waited near the bar while I packed.
I took only the essentials. Jeans, shirts, a leather jacket, sidearm, ammo—the rest of the fire power was already in the truck—and a small black duffel that went with me whenever I was away from the compound for more than a night.
I packed light because I always did. But I grabbed a few extras this time—some clothes for Alanna to wear until her things were delivered.
Plus, two fresh burner phones and a spare charger.
Kane had promised to send one of the old ladies to gather some of Alanna’s things. Until then, she’d have to make do with my shit.
“She’ll have her stuff sometime tomorrow,” he’d said. “You just get her there safely.”
I didn’t bother answering him; just nodded and kept moving.
When the last of the supplies were loaded into the truck, Alanna met me at the front door where Gauge was leaning against the wall, a smirk carved into his face.
“You sure you don’t want company?” he asked.
I closed the tailgate on the truck with a solid thunk. “You offering to be a chaperone or a witness?”
He snorted. “Neither. Just saying—Kane’s sending the one guy who doesn’t talk much to keep a woman company for who the hell knows how long. Could be entertaining.”
“Won’t be,” I said flatly, slinging my duffel into the back seat of the crew cab.
Edge passed by on his way to the garage, his knife dancing between his fingers. “You say that now.”
I shot him a look. He just grinned.
“Keep your head on the swivel,” he added. “If that kid shows up, you call it in before you make him disappear.”
“Sure,” I muttered, which earned me a bark of laughter.
They knew me well enough to get what “sure” meant.
When I turned back toward the door, Alanna stood there, her shoulders straight, and her chin high. There was a defiance in her eyes that hadn’t been there last night. Fear might have brought her here, but stubbornness was keeping her steady. And truthfully, it was as sexy as fuck.
“Ready?” I asked.
She hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah.”
We didn’t talk as we walked toward the line of bikes.
Tyre climbed into the truck and pulled out, headed to the designated spot where we’d make the switch.
I climbed onto my motorcycle and waited while Alanna adjusted the borrowed helmet.
Then she slid onto the seat behind me, and warmth hit like a jolt through my bloodstream.
I reached back to grip her calf, pulling her leg up so it was resting in the right spot and cradling my hips between her knees. “Hold tight.”
Her hands wrapped around my waist, fingers digging into the leather of my jacket. When the engine roared to life, the low growl echoed across the lot. The vibrations ran up through the frame and into my spine, grounding me in a way nothing else could.
We rolled out slowly, the clubhouse fading in the mirrors until it was just dust and distance.
Despite the wind whipping past us, the silence between us stayed heavy. Charged. Every few miles, I glanced in the mirror. Her hair streamed behind her like gold silk, her eyes hidden under the visor, her lips parted as she breathed in the warm air.
Her hold tightened each time we hit a curve, her body molding to mine, and I felt it everywhere.
The highway stretched ahead—empty and sun-washed. The farther we rode, the quieter my head got.
By the time the ocean breeze reached us, I’d almost forgotten we were running from something.
Almost.
We took an unconventional route toward Wild Oak Island, which turned out to be more of a peninsula. After driving for an hour and losing any possible tails, we pulled into an overlook where the truck and Tyre were waiting.
He held his hand out for the keys to my Harley, and I reached over, giving him a deadly glare. “One scratch, and you’ll be sucking your food through a straw.”
Tyre rolled his eyes. “I’d have to be alive to eat through a straw.”
“True,” I agreed casually, dropping the keys into his waiting palm.
He’d left the truck running, so I helped Alanna into her seat, trying my best to ignore the delectable curve of her ass as I boosted her up.
Then I rounded the back of the truck, pausing for a minute to…deflate…before getting into the driver’s seat and pulling back out onto the deserted highway.
The road narrowed the farther we went, carving through a stretch of palmettos and scrub pine that leaned toward the coast like they were bracing against the wind. Gravel crunched under the truck tires as we turned onto a less populated road.
By the time the brush thinned and the dunes rose into view, the scent of salt and seaweed had worked its way into the cab.
Though it didn’t cover the smell of vanilla wafting to my nose.
A small cottage came into sight—whitewashed siding weathered to a soft gray, wraparound porch half hidden behind wild sea grass.
The windows caught the fading light and threw it back in fractured glints of gold.
“Beach house,” I explained as I turned onto the narrow drive. “Closest neighbor’s about a mile away. Cameras cover the approach, and there’s a sensor grid in the dunes. No one gets near without us knowing.”
Alanna’s gaze stayed on the house as we pulled up. “It’s beautiful.”
I shrugged. The house wasn’t meant to be beautiful. It was meant to be safe—thick walls, clear exits, and everything stripped down to what mattered. But I liked that she saw something else in it.
When I parked and cut the engine, the sudden quiet felt heavy. Only the surf in the distance broke the silence, rolling against the sand in deep, steady pulses.
I climbed out and went around to open her door.
She slid down, her sneakers hitting the gravel with a soft crunch.
The wind lifted her hair, brushing strands across her cheek, and before I could catch myself, I tucked them back behind her ear.
Shit. Spinning around before she could react, I marched to the front of the house.
We had a caretaker who lived not too far away. He kept the place clean and ensured the security measures were in working order, making it ready for use whenever needed.
The living room opened into a small kitchen and a short hall leading to the back. The wood floors were pale, the walls sand-colored, and the furniture was a soft blue. Everything was neat, simple, and clean.
Alanna was staring at the single bedroom visible through the open door in the hall. “Um, is there another room hiding here somewhere?”
“Nope.” I set my bag down beside the couch.
Alanna’s eyes drifted to the sofa—a narrow, battered thing that had seen better decades. “Where am I sleeping?”
I jerked my chin toward the bedroom. “You take the bed.”
She turned to face me, crossing her arms. “Then where are you sleeping?”
“Couch.”
Her brow arched. “Bullshit.”
That earned a slow lift of my eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“You won’t fit on that thing.” She gestured at the piece of furniture as if it had personally offended her. “And I’ll feel terrible when you wake up twisted into a pretzel with all your knots and kinks.”
For the first time since we’d left the clubhouse, a spark of humor tried to break through the tension pressing against my ribs.
I held back a smile. Instead, I shook my head and leaned a shoulder against the wall, my arms folded over my chest. “I’ll live.”
“Not comfortably,” she muttered, still glaring at the couch like it was the enemy.
“Comfort’s overrated.”
Her lips twitched, like she wanted to argue but didn’t have the energy.
The silence stretched between us again, heavy and warm, filled with the faint sound of waves and the steady creak of the old house settling around us.
It was comfortable, but the tension was building.
Soon it would be thick enough to cut with a knife.
Eventually, she sighed and brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m going to take a shower. Maybe a nap after.” Her voice was soft, careful. “What am I supposed to change into?”
I moved toward the duffel I’d dropped and unzipped it. “Here.” I grabbed one of my clean T-shirts and a pair of cutoff sweats—shorts for me, damn near pajamas on her—and tossed them over. “They’ll do for now.”
She caught them against her chest, her gaze flicking from the clothes to me. “Thanks.”
My head tilted in a gesture of acknowledgment, and she disappeared down the short hall, the bathroom door clicking shut a moment later. Water hit the pipes a few seconds after that, its rush cutting through the stillness.
Dropping onto the couch, I rested my elbows on my knees and stared at the blank TV.
The sound of the shower carried through the quiet house, muted but clear.
My mind betrayed me, painting pictures I shouldn’t be seeing—steam curling around her bare shoulders, soap sliding down soft skin, and water beading along the curve of her neck.
I clenched my jaw, forcing my attention anywhere else.
Counting the ticks of the clock hanging on the wall.
Breathing in the smell of salt through the cracked window while trying not to notice the faint smell of vanilla mixed into it.
Focusing on anything but the image of her naked and wet behind that flimsy door.
By the time I heard the water shut off, my pulse was thundering in my chest. I rubbed a hand over my jaw, reminding myself to breathe.
Then the door opened, steam billowing out before she appeared, like yet another fantasy I didn’t know I had come true.
Every part of me went tense. Hard.
Damp hair trailed down her back, my T-shirt clung to her curves and hung just low enough to make my thoughts turn dark.
The cutoffs hit mid-knee, the waistband cinched tight, the drawstring bow sitting right above the dip of her stomach.
Her feet were bare with pretty purple tips.
I wasn’t sure when I’d begun to find feet sexy, but they were only adding to the state of my body.
The clothes were nothing special. They shouldn’t have affected me the way they did. But they were mine, and seeing her in them did something to me—something primal. Something that threatened to break my control.
I knew I should look away. This sight was dangerous because it screamed that she was mine. Not in words. But in ways that truly mattered.
Finally tearing my eyes away, I glanced up to see her staring back at me. Shit. She’d caught me ogling. Of course she did.
Her gaze held mine for a long second—steady and searching, like she was trying to figure out what I wasn’t saying.
I turned away first, my jaw locked tight, forcing my attention to the window and the dark line of the dunes beyond it. My pulse still pounded, my body sizzled with desire, and my cock was so hard it ached.
The house was quiet, but it didn’t feel peaceful anymore. It felt like I was standing too close to the fire.