Chapter 29
Chapter
Twenty-Nine
KADE
I disconnect the OBD scanner from the port beneath the dash and straighten up, rolling my neck until something pops.
When I glance across the garage, I find Fallon standing with Ash and my dad in the middle of the shop floor, the three of them talking like it's the most natural thing in the world.
Ash is doing his thing—grinning, animated, probably already running his mouth about something that'll come back to haunt me.
Shit.
I set the scanner down on the workbench and make my way over, keeping my expression neutral and my stride easy. No urgency. Nothing to look at here.
"Hey, Dad. Didn't expect to see you tonight."
"Yeah, came by to run some inventory." His grey eyes do what they always do—flick between me and Fallon once, twice, already calculating. I can see the gears turning behind that steady look. "What brings you in on your night off?"
"Running a diagnostic on her car." I tilt my chin back toward the white BMW. "Crankshaft Position Sensor's throwing codes."
"Not too bad a fix." He crosses his arms, settling his weight back on his heels—that specific stance that tells me he's decided something and is about to say it whether I want to hear it or not. "I'll walk with you to order the part. Need to talk to you about a couple things anyway."
Of course he does. Fuck. "Alright."
I turn to Fallon. Her hazel eyes dart between the two of us, something careful moving through them—the particular wariness she gets when she's trying to figure out if she belongs somewhere. It pisses me off every time I see it.
"I'm just going in the back for a minute." I keep my voice easy so she doesn't start overthinking. "You can wait up front or outside—whatever you want."
"Okay." Soft. Careful. The voice she uses when she isn't sure of her welcome.
"Keep her company," I tell Ash, pitching it low enough that it lands like an instruction, not a request.
He hits me with that grin—the one that means he's already planning something that'll make me want to knock his teeth in. "Got it, boss."
"It was really nice to meet you, Fallon." Walker's voice shifts into something warmer, and it catches me slightly off guard. He means it.
Fallon straightens almost imperceptibly, good manners kicking in without her even thinking about it. "You too, Mr. Stone."
He chuckles. "Just Walker."
"Walker." She tries the name out slowly, like she's getting the weight of it right. Then her eyes come back to me, steadying on my face. "I'll be outside by your bike."
"Okay. I won't be long."
I follow Walker through the shop and into the back office—a cluttered room that smells like old invoices, coffee that's been sitting on a warmer too long, and motor oil. Parts catalogs stacked on the filing cabinet. A whiteboard with handwriting nobody can read. Familiar as anything.
First thing I do is drop into the chair behind the desk and pull up the supplier website, because the part doesn't order itself and I'm not making Fallon wait three days on the cheap shipping option. OEM sensor. Overnight. I enter the payment information without hesitating.
"She seems nice." Walker leans against the edge of the desk across from me, arms still crossed, casual enough that it almost sounds like a passing comment. Almost. "Little older than you, though. Where'd you meet?"
I keep my eyes on the screen. "School."
He's quiet for a beat. I can feel his confusion without looking up—the slight shift in his posture, the pause. When I glance at him his brow is pulled together, grey eyes narrowed just enough to show he's working through it.
"She's my teacher," I say, and hit the button to complete the order.
"Kade." The one word carries a whole conversation's worth of weight—the particular combination of disappointment and worry that only he can load into my name. "Don't get that woman in trouble. You want someone older, fine. Just not one from your own school."
"She's the only one I want." Flat. Final. Not a debate.
He exhales hard through his nose. Runs a hand back through his hair, messing it up further. "Fuck." Then, quieter, "Just be careful."
"What else did you need to talk to me about?" I lean back in the chair, ready to move us somewhere else.
He shifts without argument, which tells me he knows there's no point pressing it. He learned that somewhere around the time I turned fifteen. "Grace's wedding's coming up. Did you get your suit sorted?"
"Picking it up this week." I give him a long look. "Are you ready?"
Something moves across his face—exhaustion mostly, maybe resignation underneath it. "I want to hate Damián," he says, and he sounds tired enough that it comes out honest instead of hard.
"But you can't." I finish it for him, because we've circled around this enough times that I know where it goes. "Because he's in love with her and you know it. And you know he'll burn the whole world down before he lets anyone touch her."
"Yeah." He drops into the chair in front of the desk like someone's cut the strings holding him up. For a second he just looks like my dad and not the President of anything. "He's still the head of a cartel. Still too old for her. Still a colossus-sized asshole."
"Agreed on all counts." I let myself chuckle, just a little, because if I don't I'll end up sitting in my own dark thoughts about it. "But he won't hurt her. You know that."
"I know."
We sit in silence for a bit. The kind that's been a language between us since I was a kid—nothing broken in it, just two people thinking in the same room. I start planning in my head when I can get to the tailor. This weekend, maybe. When Fallon goes home.
The thought lands in my gut like something cold and sharp. When Fallon goes home. Back to that house, that man, that version of her life I'm not allowed inside. Daniel doesn't deserve to breathe the same air as her, let alone share a bed or put his hands—
"Speaking of the devil." Walker pulls me back before I can go any further down that road. "You're meeting with them tomorrow night. Their restaurant, seven o'clock."
Another thing pulling me away from her. "Alright."
"That a problem?" He reads something in my expression anyway. He always does.
"No." I straighten up. "I'll be there."
"Kade." His voice sharpens at the edges, the easy fatigue dropping out of it. "This meeting matters. Don't let whatever's going on in your head tonight put you somewhere else when you're sitting at that table."
"I know what it is. I said I'll be there." I push out of the chair and move for the door before he can decide there's more to excavate.
On my way through the front, I stop at Nick's station and keep it brief. "Tomorrow. Six-thirty, here. You, Spider, Sevyn. We're heading to the restaurant at seven."
Nick nods once. Doesn't ask anything. Good man.
I push through the door and out into the evening air, cooler now that the sun has started to go down, the sky deepening from orange into something darker at the edges. The parking lot smells like asphalt and salt and the distant exhaust of the highway.
And there she is.
Fallon, sitting on my bike like she belongs there.
Long legs on either side of the machine, heels hooked against the chrome, the hem of her dress pushed up just slightly by the seat.
She's looking down at something, hair falling forward, catching the yellow wash of the parking lot lights like she doesn't know how good she looks.
The bike frames her perfectly—all that careful, quiet elegance on top of something built for speed and noise.
Something in my chest goes tight in a way I don't have a word for and don't particularly want to find one.
I need to get her home. Now.
I cross the parking lot with purpose, boots scraping against the asphalt, and she looks up when she hears me coming. Something shifts in her expression—that careful, quiet worry she carries around for everyone but herself, surfacing like it always does.
"Is everything okay?"
"Yeah." I reach her and stop close enough that my legs nearly brush hers where they bracket the bike. "He just wanted to talk about my sister's wedding and some club business."
"Oh." Her face softens, curiosity moving in to replace the concern. "When's Grace getting married?"
Right. The gala. She met Grace at the gala, back when everything between us was still careful and distant and nothing had been named yet. Feels like years ago instead of weeks. "Next month."
I grab her helmet from where it's hooked on the handlebar and step between her thighs, positioning myself so I can do it properly. She watches me with those hazel eyes, something amused drifting through them.
"You know I think I can manage a helmet myself."
"Yeah." I sit it on her head, careful with her hair, adjusting the strap beneath her chin. My fingers brush her throat and I feel her pulse skip under my touch. "But I like doing it for you."
She smiles—slow and real, the kind that starts at the corners of her mouth and takes its time getting to her eyes.
The kind that does something to my chest I refuse to examine too closely.
I let myself look at her properly for a moment.
Long legs on either side of my bike, that dress riding up her thighs, heels still hooked against the chrome.
She fits against the machine like something I didn't know I wanted until it was right in front of me.
"Do you know how fucking sexy you look on my bike?"
"No." Her voice drops into something softer, warmer, a little breathless. "How sexy?"
"Fuck, Peaches." The word comes out rougher than I intend, scraped up from somewhere low in my chest. "You're actually killing me."
I drop my hand to her thigh, fingers trailing slowly upward over smooth, warm skin, feeling the heat radiating off her.
Her breath catches, audible and sharp, and I watch her eyes go dark.
She feels it too—this thing between us, whatever it is, pulling tighter every time we get close enough to touch.
"Kade." My name comes out breathless and desperate, barely a word at all.
"Peaches."
"Take me home." Her eyes hold mine, intent and dark with want. "I need you."
Goddamn.
I grab my helmet and shove it on, swing my leg over the bike, and her arms come around my waist immediately—tight and sure, like she's been riding with me for years.
I twist the throttle and the engine roars up beneath us, vibrating through both our bodies, and I pull out of the parking lot faster than I probably should because every second between here and home feels like one second too many.
We barely get off the bike before we're on each other.
My hands find her hair, hers grab fistfuls of my shirt, and we stumble toward the front door like neither of us can close the distance fast enough.
I break away long enough to get my arms under her, lift her clean off the ground, and her legs lock around my waist automatically—like her body already knows where it belongs.
I curse against her mouth when the key doesn't cooperate with the lock, jamming it twice before the door finally gives. I kick it shut behind us. The stairs are a blur—just her weight in my arms and her mouth moving along my jaw, my neck, the sound she makes when I tighten my grip on her.
I shoulder through my bedroom door and lock it behind us before I'm crossing to the bed and dropping her onto it. We come apart from each other with zero patience—her fingers yanking at my shirt, mine shoving her dress down off her shoulders. Something pops. Neither of us bother caring.
I get her dress low enough to expose her and pull her nipple into my mouth without hesitating, sucking hard, and she arches clean off the mattress, both hands flying up to grab my hair.
I bite down and she cries out—a sharp, broken sound that goes straight through me—her hips rolling up against mine like she can't help it.
"I've been dying to be inside you all day." I switch to the other side, giving it the same attention. Sucking. Biting. Feeling every small sound she makes vibrate against my mouth.
"Oh God." Her fingers tighten in my hair, holding me exactly where she wants me.
"I've been wet all day," she breathes, and the words hit me like a physical thing.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." Her voice breaks apart on the single syllable. "I soaked my panties when you were watching me in class. And again on your bike when we left."
"Let me see."
I slide down her body, pushing her dress up and out of my way, settling between her thighs.
I run my thumb across the white lace and find it completely soaked through.
The knowledge of it—that she's been like this all day, wanting me, thinking about me while she stood at the front of that classroom—makes something possessive and primal surge hard through my chest.
I lean down and breathe her in, slow and deliberate.
"You smell like fucking peaches."
Then I put my mouth on her through the fabric, licking and sucking her clit through the soaked lace, and she bows up off the mattress with a cry that goes straight to my cock.
I press her hips down and hold them there, pinning her flat, and I devour her through the thin wet fabric—tasting her, listening to every broken sound she makes—while she writhes against my hands and says my name over and over like it's the only word she's got left.