Chapter 8 — Anna
Thirteen minutes early. I watch from the window as his bike pulls up, see him kill the engine and just sit there staring at my front door. Preparing himself, probably.
He should be nervous.
I open the door before he can knock.
He's holding a manila folder and looks like he hasn't slept. Dark circles under his eyes, jaw tight with tension, the kind of exhaustion that comes from lying awake replaying your mistakes on repeat.
I know the feeling. My own night was shit.
"Come in."
He walks past me and the smell of him hits immediately. Leather and smoke and something underneath that's just him, and my body responds before my brain catches up. Heat low in my belly. Skin going sensitive. I'm still furious with him and my body doesn't give a damn.
He sets the folder on the kitchen table but stays standing. Waiting for me to tell him how this goes.
At least he learned that much.
I close the door, turn the deadbolt, stay on the opposite side of the room because I need distance to think straight.
"Before we sign anything," I say, "I need you to tell me what being with you actually means. Not the easement. Us. What am I agreeing to here?"
His eyes stay locked on mine. "You want this to sound manageable or you want the truth?"
"I've never asked you for anything except honesty."
"All right." He leans back against the counter, arms crossing over his chest. "Danger. What happened to Walt happens to people in Vigil's orbit. Marrow knows about you now. They'll use that if they think it gives them an angle. I'll protect you but I can't guarantee your safety."
I nod. Expected that part.
"Violence. I'm good at it and I use it when I need to. You'll see more blood on me. You'll know I hurt people for information, for protection, for territory. Some nights I won't tell you details and you'll have to sit with that."
My jaw tightens. I don't interrupt.
"The club comes first sometimes. Not always. But when brothers are at risk, when Bloomfield's threatened, that takes priority over everything else. Means late calls, disappearing for hours, coming home at three in the morning with split knuckles and nothing I can say about where I've been."
"Keep going."
"Possessive. What you saw with Kyle gets worse, not better. I don't share and I don't compromise on what's mine. You're with me, you're with me completely. There's no casual version of this."
Mine. That word keeps appearing.
"Illegal activity," he continues. "Vigil operates outside the law. Always will. Being with me connects you to that even if you're not participating. Could affect your work, your reputation, everything."
"What else?"
"I'm thirteen years older. I've done things you don't know about and won't ask about. Seen things I'll never talk about. That history doesn't disappear because we're together." He shifts his weight. "And I won't change. Won't get easier or softer or more acceptable. This is who I am."
The raw honesty hits different than I expected. He's not selling me on anything. Just laying out reality and letting me decide.
I take a breath. "I grew up watching the Devils MC destroy my neighborhood.
They promised protection if businesses paid.
Promised to leave kids alone. Promised the violence wouldn't spread.
Every single promise was a lie." My voice stays level but I can hear the edge underneath.
"Jonathan died at nineteen because they recruited him for a territory dispute.
Mr. Russo still can't smile right after they broke his jaw. Everyone's word meant nothing."
Cain's expression doesn't change. Just listens.
"I came here to get away from that. Chose Bloomfield because it was far enough away to build something different.
" I take three steps toward him. "Then you showed up about a fence.
Three days later I'm washing blood off your hands at two in the morning and calling you instead of the police when I get threatened. "
"You are."
"So here's what I need to know." Two more steps.
We're five feet apart now. "Yesterday you broke your word about the property.
First time it was inconvenient, you broke it.
Took you five hours to think about telling me.
Now you're in my kitchen asking me to trust you anyway.
" I stop moving. "Give me one reason I should. "
His jaw works. Takes him a few seconds to answer. "You shouldn't. Based on yesterday, you'd be smart to kick me out and never let me back."
"That's not a reason."
"I know." He pushes off the counter. "But I'm asking anyway because I want you enough to actually do better. To keep my word going forward. To earn back what I lost."
"Words are easy, Cain. The Devils were great with words."
"I stopped the second you pushed me away." His voice drops lower. "When we kissed. When you shoved at my chest. I could've kept going. Could've pushed harder. Stopped immediately because your no meant no, period, no hesitation."
I hold his stare. Don't give him anything.
"I showed up at your door at two in the morning because I needed you." He takes one step closer. "I've been alone seventeen years by choice. Don't need people. Don't want them around. Needed you specifically and that hasn't happened to me since I was twenty-three years old."
My breath catches but I keep my face neutral.
"And I'm telling you the truth about what this costs instead of making it sound manageable," he finishes. "Showing you exactly what you're choosing so when you decide, you decide with full information."
"You broke your promise."
"I did."
"One more broken promise and I'm gone. I will not be the woman who tolerates that because she wants the man more than she respects herself."
"Understood."
We're staring at each other across four feet of charged air. Anger and want tangled together so tight I can't separate them anymore.
"I'm terrified of this," I say.
"I know."
"Goes against every lesson I learned in Detroit. Every reason I moved here. Every instinct telling me to stay away from men like you."
"I know."
"I'm doing it anyway."
His eyes search my face. "You're certain?"
"Stop asking me that. I hate repeating myself."
Something dangerous flashes across his expression. Heat and recognition and hunger. "Then say it so there's no confusion."
"I'm choosing you. This thing between us. Whatever it is. I'm in."
He moves fast. Three strides and his hands are cupping my face, tilting my head back, his mouth crashing into mine hard enough I taste copper where my teeth cut my lip.
I kiss him back just as hard. Bite his bottom lip deliberately and he groans, crowds me back against the wall.
His hands slide into my hair, fist tight, control the angle while he deepens the kiss.
I dig my nails into his shoulders through his shirt and he makes a sound low in his throat that goes straight between my legs.
We break apart breathing hard.
"Bedroom," I manage.
"You sure you want—"
I grab his shirt, start pulling him toward the hall. "Ask me if I'm sure one more time and I'm changing my mind."
He actually laughs. Quick flash of a grin that transforms his whole face into something younger and less controlled.
Then it's gone and he's picking me up, my legs wrapping around his waist, his hands under my thighs taking my weight like it's nothing.
He carries me down the hall, kicks my bedroom door open, sets me down beside the bed.
Steps back two feet.
"Before this happens," he says, voice rough, "you need to understand something."
"What?"
"I've been thinking about this since you opened that door and I wanted to know how your skin felt. Since you argued with me for ninety minutes and I wanted to fuck you over that table while you were still telling me I was wrong."
Heat floods my body.
"So when this happens," he continues, eyes locked on mine, "it won't be gentle. I'll make sure you're ready but I'm not going to be careful or easy. You understand what I'm saying?"
"I don't want careful."
"Good." One finger traces along my jaw. "Because I'm going to make you forget every man who touched you before me."
The arrogance should irritate me. Instead I pull my shirt off and drop it on the floor.
His eyes go dark. Fixed on my breasts in the black bra, and I watch his control start cracking.
I reach back, unhook it. Let it fall.
"Christ." The word comes out strangled. He's staring at my breasts like he's witnessing something religious. "You're—"
"If you say beautiful I'm getting dressed."
"Was going to say you're exactly what I've wanted. Real. Soft everywhere. So fucking perfect I can't think straight."
His hands come to my waist, slide up slowly over my ribs.
When he reaches my breasts he cups them like he's learning the weight, the shape. Thumbs brush over my nipples and I gasp.
"Sensitive." He does it again, watching my face. "That's going to be useful."
I reach for his shirt but he catches my wrists. "Not yet."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm going to put my mouth on you first."
Before I can respond he dips his head and takes my right nipple into his mouth. Sucks hard enough I arch into him with a sound I can't control. His other hand palms my left breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers.
I'm already wound so tight I might break. Days of wanting this, of fighting it, of lying awake thinking about his hands on me.
His mouth moves to my other breast while his hand slides down my stomach. Pops the button on my jeans. Slides the zipper down slowly.
"These need to come off," he says against my skin.
"Then take them off."
He drops to his knees in front of me. Looks up and the sight of him there does something to my breathing. His hands grip my jeans and panties together, drag them down my legs.
I step out of them and then I'm completely naked and he's still fully dressed on his knees looking at me like I'm everything.
"Fucking beautiful," he says. "Every inch."
His hands slide up the backs of my thighs, over my ass, pull me closer. Then his mouth is on me and I cry out.