Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Shay
I didn’t belong here.
That was the first clear thought I had once the caffeine hit my bloodstream and the fog of last night finally burned off enough for my brain to function.
I didn’t belong on an island.
I didn’t belong in a biker clubhouse with men who carried guns like they were cell phones.
And I definitely didn’t belong in a situation where someone, some psycho, had taken pictures of me without me knowing.
But standing in the Kings of Anarchy clubhouse kitchen, fumbling with a box of cereal I didn’t even want, I knew one thing for sure:
I wasn’t leaving.
Not because I didn’t want to.
Because I wasn’t stupid.
Prime leaned against the counter with his arms crossed, jaw tight, and eyes glued to me like I might vanish into thin air.
Or get murdered by the toaster.
Neither was going to happen.
I poured cereal into a bowl and tried to pretend this was normal.
It wasn’t.
Nothing about today was normal.
“So,” I said, “what do you guys normally do around here?”
Prime didn’t look amused. “We’ve all got our jobs around here. Keeping the haunted house and boat rides running smoothly is a lot.”
“Right,” I said. “I fit in perfectly with my skill set of scanning groceries for minimum wage.”
He didn’t crack a smile.
I didn’t blame him. The last couple of days had been a lot.
“Where’s everyone?” I asked as I spooned cereal into my mouth, like it didn’t taste like cardboard.
“Outside,” Prime said. “Fog’s lifting. They’re going over the perimeter.”
“Looking for… him.”
Prime nodded once. It wasn’t a comforting nod.
I swallowed hard. “You’re sure he won’t come here?”
“Not sure of much, but the guy has to be a fucking idiot if he tries to get into the clubhouse.”
“You say that very confidently since you didn’t sleep last night. What happens when you finally sleep?”
His jaw flexed. “I don’t sleep on nights when someone under this roof is being hunted.”
Being hunted.
Yeah, no, that didn’t send a chill down my spine at all.
I set my spoon down. “Do you guys do this often? Bring random strangers home and then guard them like they’re about to be snatched by the boogeyman?”
“No,” Prime said simply. “Just you.”
My breath hitched.
He looked away like the admission meant nothing. Like he didn’t notice how close he was standing. How small the kitchen suddenly felt. How much hotter the air was getting.
I didn’t comment. I didn’t trust my voice.
Instead, I slid the cereal bowl away and folded my arms across my chest. “So what now? Do I sit in that room until the killer gets bored?”
“No,” Prime said. “You stick with me.”
“I don’t think that’s in my job description,” I muttered.
“You don’t have a job anymore,” he said. “You have a survival plan.”
“That’s dark.”
“That’s the truth.”
I stared at him. Really stared at him.
The leather cut.
The tense shoulders.
The hair that looked like he’d pushed his hands through it a hundred times overnight.
The dark blue eyes that looked carved out of steel.
He was terrifying.
And for reasons I didn’t understand, that made him weirdly comforting too.
I blew out a shaky breath. “Look, I know you think I’m fragile—”
“I don’t,” he interrupted.
I blinked. “You don’t?”
“I think you’re scared,” he said. “And you should be. But you’re not fragile.”
Heat crept up the back of my neck.
He stepped closer. Not enough to touch, but close enough that the heat coming off him reached me.
“I went to that store,” he said quietly. “I saw how you looked at me when I walked in. Like you were ready to throw a can of soup at my head if I tried anything.”
“I considered it,” I muttered.
He smirked. “Exactly my point. Fragile people don’t look at a full-patch biker like he’s a problem to solve.”
I swallowed hard. “Okay,” I said slowly, “so I’m not fragile. Great. That’s one thing I can put on my résumé the next time someone tries to murder me.”
Prime didn’t smile, but something in his eyes softened for half a second. One heartbeat. If I’d blinked, I would’ve missed it.
“You’re safe here,” he said. “That’s what matters.”
I crossed my arms tighter. “Yeah, well, I was also at work minding my own business a couple of days ago, safe, and look how that turned out.”
His gaze flicked over my face and read too much. Way too much. He looked like he was deciding whether to tell me something. The kind of something that changes the temperature of a room.
“Shay,” he said finally, voice low, “you need to understand what’s happening.”
“I’m trying,” I whispered. One second I got it, and then the next second I just wanted to run away.
“Your picture wasn’t in that file by accident.”
My stomach dropped. “I know that.”
“That file? Those photos? The way you were circled in red—” His jaw clenched, and he looked away for a second like he needed to keep from punching the refrigerator. “He’s not watching you because you’re random. He chose you.”
A wave of cold rolled through me so fast I swayed.
Prime caught it, caught me, before I could fall back against the counter. His hands wrapped around my arms, steady, strong, grounding.
“Breathe,” he said quietly.
I tried. I really tried. But the thought of being part of a lineup of people who were now dead…
“Why?” I whispered. “Why me?”
Prime swallowed once, hard. “We don’t know yet.”
Not comforting. Not reassuring.
But honest.
“But I’ll figure it out,” he added.
“You sound very confident in that.”
“I am.”
“Why?”
His eyes locked onto mine. “Because I don’t lose people I’m supposed to protect.”
My breath stalled.
He didn’t seem to notice, or he did and pretended he didn’t. His grip didn’t loosen, but it didn’t tighten either. Just firm and warm contact that made my pulse do stupid things.
Finally, I found my voice. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough.”
“Like what?”
“Enough to keep you alive,” he said softly. “And right now, that’s the only thing that matters.”
Silence fell over the kitchen.
Heavy. Warm. Charged.
I was still in his hands. Still felt the press of his fingers through my shirt. Still aware of every inch of him standing this close.
He let go slowly, like peeling himself away took effort.
“Grab a sweatshirt and put your shoes on,” he said as he stepped back. “You stay with me.”
“Doing what?”
“Whatever I’m doing.”
I raised an eyebrow. “So, shadowing a biker like some kind of what? Intern?”
His mouth twitched. Almost a smile. Almost. “That would be a prospect, babe, and we’ve already got Wannabe and Lost doing that. You’re just with me doing whatever I’m doing.”
“That sounds controlling.”
“Good.”
I stared at him. “I didn’t say it was a compliment.”
“Didn’t sound like one,” he said. Then his voice dropped another notch. “Didn’t need it to be.”
My pulse skittered.
He reached behind me, grabbed the bowl I’d abandoned, and dropped it in the sink like it personally offended him.
“Grab your shit, and let’s go,” he said with a nod toward the hallway. “I’m not leaving you alone in this building. Not even for a minute.”
“You really think he’s coming back?” I asked quietly.
Prime looked at me. Not as the biker who dragged me out of a grocery store, not as the guy glaring at everyone around him, but as someone who’d made a decision he wasn’t backing out of.
“Yeah,” he said. “I do.”
My chest tightened. “And if he does?”
Prime’s expression didn’t change.
Not his eyes.
Not his jaw.
Not the way he stood.
But something inside him shifted. Hardened.
“If he does,” he said, voice so calm it was terrifying, “he won’t get within ten feet of you.”
I swallowed. “That sounds like a threat.”
“It is,” Prime said.
He stepped past me and headed down the hallway to my room.
“You coming?”
I hesitated.
Just for a breath.
Then I followed him into the hallway.