Chapter 2 #3
The parking lot, the party, the universe, it all seems to fade away as he leans in slowly, giving me every chance to pull back. Instead, I rise on my tiptoes, meeting him halfway.
The first brush of his lips against mine is gentle, questioning.
But when I sigh against his mouth, something breaks loose in him.
His arms wrap around me, pulling me flush against his chest as the kiss deepens into something hungry and desperate.
I clutch at his shoulders, lost in the sensation of finally—finally—knowing what it feels like to be kissed by Greyson Reed.
When we break apart, we're both breathing hard. His forehead rests against mine, his eyes closed as if he's committing this moment to memory.
"I've wanted to do that since you were seventeen," he admits roughly.
"Why didn't you?"
His eyes open, piercing blue even in the dim light of the parking lot. "Because you deserved the chance to figure out who you were without me. Without all this." He gestures vaguely toward the clubhouse. "And because your father would have killed me."
I laugh, though we both know it's not entirely a joke. "And now?"
"Now you're a woman who knows what she wants." His hand slides to the nape of my neck. "At least, I hope you do."
"I do," I whisper, the words carrying more weight than they should for such a new beginning.
He kisses me again, gentler this time but no less intense. "I'll pick you up tomorrow at seven," he says against my lips. "Wear something nice."
"Bossy," I tease, though I'm already mentally going through my closet.
His smile is slow and dangerous. "You have no idea."
The promise in those words sends heat pooling low in my belly. I reluctantly step back, needing space to clear my head.
"I should go before my dad sends out a search party."
Greyson nods, though he looks like it physically pains him to let me go. He opens my car door, his hand lingering on mine as I slide into the driver's seat.
"Text me when you get home." The command reflects the concern in his eyes.
"I will." I start the engine, then pause. "Greyson? I'm glad I came back."
His expression turns tender in a way I've never seen before. "So am I, Livie. So am I."
As I drive away, I catch sight of him in my rearview mirror, standing in the parking lot watching until I turn the corner. My lips still tingle from his kisses, and my mind races with possibilities I never allowed myself to consider before tonight.
Coming home was supposed to be about starting over, about finding my place in the world. I never expected that place might be in Greyson Reed's arms.
But as I pull out onto the road from the clubhouse, a strange car parked across the street catches my attention. It's not one I recognize from the neighborhood, a dark sedan with tinted windows. As I watch, the engine starts, headlights flicking on.
The car pulls away slowly, too slowly to be casual, and a chill runs down my spine that has nothing to do with the night air.
For a moment, I'm back in LA, watching that same deliberate departure from my apartment parking lot. The same feeling of being watched. Hunted.
But that's impossible. No one followed me from California. No one knows I'm here except the people who love me.
I shake off the paranoia, blaming it on exhaustion and the emotional overload of the evening. I'm safe here.
Aren't I?
* * *
Greyson
I watch her taillights disappear around the corner, fighting the urge to jump on my bike and follow her home.
The weight of her lips still lingers on mine, a ghost of sensation I've waited years to experience.
For a moment, I just stand there in the parking lot, letting the reality sink in.
Livie Bennett is back, and whatever this thing between us is, it's finally happening.
With a deep breath, I turn back toward the clubhouse, unable to wipe the smile from my face.
The music hits me as I push through the door, the party still going strong despite the late hour.
I scan the room, nodding at my VP who raises an eyebrow in silent question.
Later, my look tells him. We'll talk about this later.
I've barely made it three steps inside when I feel it, the shift in the air, the prickling sensation at the back of my neck that's kept me alive more than once.
I turn slowly to find Wilder and Mason standing by the hallway leading to the back rooms, both wearing identical expressions of barely contained fury.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing with my daughter?" Wilder's voice cuts through the noise of the party, not quite a shout but carrying enough authority that several nearby conversations abruptly halt.
Mason's stance mirrors his father's—arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes burning with rage. The family resemblance has never been more obvious than in this moment of shared anger.
I straighten my shoulders, meeting Wilder's gaze directly. "I think that's a conversation we should have in private."
"Damn right it is," he growls, jerking his head toward the chapel. "Now."
I follow them down the hallway, feeling the eyes of both clubs on my back. Trenton appears at my side, a silent question in his expression.
"I got this," I murmur, and he nods, peeling away to run interference with the curious onlookers.
The chapel door closes behind us with a heavy thud. Wilder wastes no time, getting right in my face. "You've got some fucking nerve, Reed. She's been back less than twenty-four hours."
"With all due respect, sir," I say, keeping my voice level, "Livie isn't a child anymore."
"She's my child," he snaps. "Always will be. And you've been watching her since she was sixteen."
There's no point denying it. "Seventeen," I correct him quietly. "And I never acted on it until tonight."
Mason makes a sound somewhere between a scoff and a snarl. "So, what, we're supposed to thank you for your restraint?"
"No." I meet his glare steadily. "But you could acknowledge that I respected her enough to let her go when she needed to leave. To give her space to figure out who she is away from all this." I gesture around us, encompassing the club, the town, everything.
Wilder's eyes narrow, but I see the first flicker of something besides anger. "You could have any woman in this town. Why her?"
The question hits me like a physical blow because the answer is both simple and impossibly complex. "Because there's never been anyone else," I admit, the raw honesty in my voice surprising even me. "Not for me."
The silence that follows stretches between us. Mason shifts uncomfortably, but Wilder's gaze never wavers from mine, searching for any sign of deception.
"She just got home," he says finally, his voice quieter but no less intense. "She's been through some shit in LA that she's barely talking about."
This is news to me. "What kind of shit?"
Wilder and Mason exchange a look, and my stomach tightens with dread.
"Not our story to tell," Mason says reluctantly. "But she needs time to settle. To feel safe again."
"I would never hurt her," I say, the words coming out like a vow.
"Not intentionally," Wilder agrees, surprising me. "But you're the president of an MC. That life comes with risks. Enemies. Complications."
"So does being the daughter of a VP," I counter. "She grew up in this world, same as I did."
"And she left it," he reminds me. "For a reason."
I run a hand through my hair, frustration building. "Look, I'm taking her to dinner tomorrow night. That's it. A chance to talk, to figure out what this is between us." I meet Wilder's eyes directly. "I'm not asking for your permission, but I'd rather have your respect than your anger."
His expression shifts at that—it's not quite approval, but a grudging acknowledgment. "You hurt her, I'll end you. President or not."
"I'd expect nothing less."
Mason steps forward, still radiating older brother energy. "There's something else you should know. Tonight, when she left…"
The chapel door swings open, cutting him off. Trent stands in the doorway, his expression grim. "Sorry to interrupt, but we've got a situation. Livie just called her mom. said there was a car following her. Dark sedan, tinted windows."
The blood drains from my face as Wilder curses violently. "Same as in LA," he growls, already moving toward the door.
"What's in LA?" I demand, grabbing his arm. "What the hell is going on?"
Wilder looks at me, and for the first time, I see fear beneath his anger. "Someone's been stalking my daughter. We thought she left it behind in California."
Cold fury washes over me. "Looks like it followed her home."
The three of us move as one unit toward the exit, all previous tension momentarily set aside in the face of a common threat.
As we push through the crowded main room, I catch Trent's eye and give a sharp nod.
Within seconds, he's gathering our core members, the silent language of the club needing no explanation.
"I want prospects on the house tonight," I tell Wilder as we hit the parking lot. "My guys, your guys, I don't care. But she doesn't go anywhere alone until we figure this out."
For a moment, Wilder studies me, something new in his expression. Then he nods once, a gesture heavy with meaning beyond simple agreement.
"We'll talk about you and my daughter later." Swinging his leg over onto his bike, he adds, "Right now, let's make sure she's safe."
As I start my own motorcycle, the kiss Livie and I shared feels like it happened in another lifetime. The sweet promise of a new beginning has been overshadowed by a darker reality—someone is watching her. Hunting her.
And they'll have to go through me to get to her.
I gun the engine, the roar echoing my silent vow. Whoever this stalker is, they've made a fatal mistake following her here. This isn't LA with its overworked police force and anonymous crowds.