Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
KADE
Fuck, it was hard walking away when she looked at me like that.
Eyes wide, pulse jumping visible at the base of her throat, every line of her body screaming what her mouth refused to say.
She wants me. That much is obvious, written plain as anything across her face in the moment before she pulled herself together and remembered she was supposed to be my teacher.
She's afraid of her feelings, or afraid of her situation—maybe both, maybe something worse I haven't figured out yet.
I don't know who the fuck her husband is, but I know one thing: he isn't doing it for her.
The way she leaned into my hand earlier tonight, the sharp catch of her breath when I moved close just now in that parking lot. That's not a woman who's satisfied.
When I get back to my bike, the guys are exactly where I left them, leaning against their rides in a loose cluster, pretending they weren't watching every second of that exchange.
"So teach is fucking hot," Ash announces before I've even closed the distance between us, that shit-eating grin already splitting his face wide open, dimples and all.
"Yeah." I pull my keys from my jacket pocket, not breaking stride.
"Also married," Beck adds, one eyebrow arched like he's delivering some profound observation that should mean something to me.
I stop. Turn to face him fully, letting the silence do the work first. "Since when do you give a fuck about that?"
He laughs, easy and completely shameless, the sound carrying across the empty lot. "I don't." He lifts both hands in a small shrug. "I like her though. She's real."
"I don't remember asking for your approval." I swing my leg over the bike and settle into the seat, the familiar weight of it grounding me the way it always does.
"You didn't have to," Beck says, still grinning, not even slightly put off.
Havoc shifts his weight against his bike, the chain wallet clinking against his bike in the quiet. "Something about her isn't sitting right with me."
I look at him sharp. "What's that mean, exactly?"
"I don't know." He shakes his head, jaw working slow, like he's chewing on something that won't quite take shape. "Just picking up a vibe."
"Mm. Okay." I turn the key and feel the Harley rumble up through my bones, that low familiar thunder that always settles something in my chest. "So Havoc's a fucking psychic now."
The guys laugh—Ash actually throws his head back, and even Havoc cracks a reluctant smile despite his mood. The tension breaks apart and dissolves into exhaust and laughter.
"See ya at home." I twist the throttle, let the engine roar swallow whatever smart response any of them think they've got, and I'm already moving.
Wind and speed eat everything else. That's why I ride.
The whole way home I replay the night in my head and can't stop even if I wanted to.
The way her hand felt in mine before she pulled away—soft, almost delicate, trembling just barely at the edges like someone who'd forgotten what it felt like to be touched without an agenda attached.
The conversation tonight, the way it moved easy and natural instead of forced and careful the way talking usually is when you're circling something you both know is there. It felt good. She felt good.
She sat with the guys and it wasn't irritating the way it usually is when women hang around our circle.
She didn't try too hard or laugh too loud at things that weren't funny, didn't perform for the audience of us, didn't cling or demand to be the center of it.
She just existed in the space—held her own without making it a point—and somehow fit inside a dynamic that doesn't naturally make room for outsiders. The guys noticed. I noticed.
The streetlights blur past in the dark, orange halos bleeding through my peripheral vision.
I give it till the end of the week.
The thought arrives clean and certain, no question mark attached.
I give it till the end of the week before I know what it feels like to be inside her, before she stops fighting the inevitable long enough to let it happen.
The thought probably shouldn't make me this hard while I'm riding sixty down a San Diego back road, but fuck it.
I already know how she'll taste—sweet with something desperate underneath, something she's been holding back so long she's half-forgotten it's there.
I know how she'll sound when she finally stops holding back.
I know she'll fight it right up until the precise moment she doesn't, and that surrender is going to be fucking beautiful to witness.
Married or not, whatever's happening between us is already in motion. Has been since the first time she looked at me and forgot to look away quick enough.
Just a matter of time before she stops running from it.
I stop by the clubhouse on my way home. Needing to talk to Dad if he's there.
The compound's quiet when I roll through the gates, just a few bikes parked near the main building. I pull up front and kill the engine, the sudden silence pressing in around me as I swing off the seat.
Inside, the bar area's dimly lit, classic rock playing low from the jukebox in the corner. Grace sits at the bar with Spider, he's nursing a beer, her laugh carrying across the space as he says something I don't catch.
The door shuts behind me with a heavy click.
She looks over, and a big smile spreads across her face. "Kade!" She's already moving, closing the distance between us.
"Hey." I hug her back, her arms tight around my ribs for a beat before she pulls back. "What are you doing here?"
"I came to see Dad and you, actually." She grins up at me, eyes bright with something that probably means trouble.
I notice Sevyn then, leaning against the kitchen doorway nursing a beer, watching us with that unreadable expression he always wears.
"I have a favor," Grace says.
I groan. "What is it?"
"Come get a beer first. Dad will be here soon." She drags me over to the bar by my wrist like I'm still twelve and she's got something to show me.
"What's up?" Spider asks from his stool, turning slightly to face me.
"Not much. Just had dinner, was on the way home." I settle onto the stool next to him. "Actually, I need a re-up."
"How much?" he asks, voice casual but his eyes sharp.
"Double last time." I don't want to say too much in front of Grace, even though she's not stupid.
"You know I'm fully aware you're talking about drugs," she says, expression flat. "I'm not as naive as I was when I came here."
"I know." I glance at her, then back to Spider.
"We just don't want you involved," Spider says to her, something almost gentle in his tone.
A sound comes from the kitchen—like a sarcastic huff, sharp enough to cut through the music.
We all turn and stare at Sevyn.
He looks at us for a long moment, face blank, then sets his beer down and walks off without a word. The back door clicks shut behind him.
"What's up with him?" Grace asks Spider, genuine concern creasing her forehead. "He's been acting weird and always leaving when I come in. Is he mad at me or something?"
"Nah, he's just dealing with some shit," Spider says, already sliding off his stool.
"Please tell him he can talk to me if he wants to. I'm a good listener." Grace catches Spider's arm before he can walk away fully. "And tell him if I did something to upset him, I'm sorry."
"You didn't do anything, Princess." Spider's voice goes softer, that protective edge all the older guys get with her. "But I'll tell him."
"Thanks." She hugs him quick.
"Alright, that's enough." Spider pulls back with a low chuckle. "I don't want to be skinned alive by your husband."
"I would never let him touch you," Grace says, dead serious.
"Good to know." Spider grins, dimple flashing in his cheek, then follows after Sevyn through the back. "Find me before you leave." He says to me before shutting the door.
I sit at the bar and make a mental note to ask about all that later. Sevyn has nothing going on that I know about, and I'd be one of the first to know if something was up. We've been tight since we met.
Grace walks behind the bar like she owns the place, grabs a beer from the fridge, pops the top with ease, and slides it across to me.
I laugh, catching it before it skids off the edge. "Okay, this favor must be huge."
She smiles, bright and a little too innocent. "So there's this charity gala—"
"Oh no." I shake my head. "Nope."
"Why do you need me? What about Damián?" I ask, already knowing I'm not going to like the answer.
"He has to go to Mexico and won't be here, and ángel wants me to come." She leans her elbows on the bar, giving me those big blue eyes that work on all of us.
"Fuck, Grace." I take a long pull of the beer, buying time I don't actually have. "I don't do galas and balls and shit."
"Please?" She draws the word out, hands pressed together like she's praying.
I fold embarrassingly fast. "Fine. But no dancing."
"Thank you, thank you!" She runs back around the bar and throws her arms around me again, squeezing tight enough that I actually feel it.
"Yeah, yeah." I pat her back awkwardly, already regretting this decision. "When is it?"
"Not this Saturday but the next."
Perfect. A whole week to dread wearing a fucking suit.
"What did I miss?" Dad's voice carries across the bar before I see him, boots heavy on the concrete floor.
"She's forcing me to go to a gala with her," I say, turning on my stool as he approaches.
Dad laughs, the sound rough and genuine. "Please send me pictures of your brother in a suit."
"I most definitely will." Grace grins like she's already planning which angles will embarrass me most.
Dad walks behind the bar, movements practiced as he grabs a glass and fills it with whiskey. The amber liquid catches the dim light.
"So," he starts, leaning against the back counter, "you know I love seeing you, but to what do I owe the pleasure?" He raises the glass toward Grace before taking a drink.
"I just wanted to ask you this in person."