Chapter 13 Ledger
Thirteen
Ledger
I want her. God help me, I want her. Just not like this.
The new safe house isn’t much to look at from the outside — a plain one-story place tucked behind a storage facility on the far edge of Freedom Falls. No one outside the club knows it exists. Hell, some of the brothers don’t know it exists.
That’s the point.
The Kings learned a long time ago that big threats don’t announce themselves. They slither. They wait. They hunt quiet.
So we built places for hiding. For regrouping. For protecting our own when the world turned sideways.
Right now, Kelly is exactly that, someone we protect. Someone I protect.
I kill the engine, scan the yard, and circle the truck before I even get her door open. The air tastes wrong. Heavy, thick with a storm coming. Wind full of that metallic tang that reminds me of nights in the barracks before a mission.
Kelly sits in the passenger seat, hands curled tight in her lap, jaw set even though I can tell she’s exhausted.
She puts on a brave face for me.
She always did.
I open her door and offer a hand. She stares at it for a beat like she can’t decide whether taking it makes her stronger or weaker.
Then she slips her hand into mine.
Warm.
Soft.
Familiar in a way I can’t say out loud.
“You okay?” I ask, keeping my voice low.
She nods. “Just tired.”
Tired.
That’s one word for it.
She’s been quiet since we left the cabin not scared quiet, but thoughtful. Lost in her head. And every time she looked at me, something in me tightened. Was she remembering? Does she know how much I hurt her?
I help her down and keep her tucked close as we move inside.
The moment the door shuts behind us, Kelly’s shoulders drop. She breathes out slowly, sagging against the wall.
“You good?” I ask again.
“I think so,” she whispers. Her eyes scan the room. “I remember something.”
My heart pounds, too loud in my ears. “What kind of something?”
She frowns, looking around the small living room, old couch, battered coffee table, kitchen tucked into the corner.
“I remember this couch,” she shares softly. “I think I sat here once? And you were standing over there, near that counter.”
My chest tightens. “Yeah. You did.”
“What did we talk about?”
“You were upset,” I share carefully. “Work stuff.”
“And you comforted me?”
“Yeah,” I confirm. The Kings had recently purchased this place. Kelly was having a rough day at the shop. I felt like she needed a time out. I grabbed her and brought her here to hang out while I installed a new hot water heater. She actually saw the space before most of the brothers.
She swallows, throat tight. “You’ve done that a lot? Consoled me.”
I blink once, slow. “Yeah.”
Her eyes soften. “You never said anything.”
“I didn’t want to scare you off.”
Her breath catches. “Why would that scare me?”
“Because feelings have a way of doing that.”
Her cheeks go pink.
She steps further into the room, moving slowly, testing her balance. I follow her without thinking — the same way I breathe without thinking.
Her fingers graze the back of the couch. “How much time did we spend together?”
“Enough,” I answer.
She gives a weak laugh. “Ledger, I’m not exactly in a position to decode vague biker answers.”
I rub the back of my neck. “Enough that you mattered Enough that I took it all for granted.”
Her eyes flash up to mine, stunned, soft, hurting. “I mattered to you?”
I look away. The silence is thick, full of things I can’t say. She steps toward me, close, too close — until her chest is inches from mine. I stop breathing.
Her voice is barely a whisper. “Did you matter to me?”
I can’t lie. Not to her. Not now.
“Yeah,” I rasp. “I did.”
Her breath shudders. “I wish I remembered that.”
My jaw clenches. “So do I.”
She stares at me like she’s reading something written just under my skin. Something she used to know by heart.
“Ledger”
I shouldn’t. I really, really shouldn’t.
But when she looks up at me with those wide, searching eyes — eyes that don’t remember our history but still trust me completely — something inside me breaks.
I reach out, brushing a stray curl behind her ear. She inhales sharply. Her eyelids flutter.
My hand cups her cheek without thinking, delicately, slow, careful. Her skin is soft beneath my palm, warm, familiar in a way that punches every ounce of air from my lungs.
“You always do that,” she murmurs.
“Do what?”
“Touch me like I’ll break if you press too hard.”
I swallow. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t.”
“Kelly.”
She steps closer.
My heart stops.
She’s right in front of me now, close enough that her breath fans across my lips. Close enough that I can smell the faint hint of vanilla from her shampoo. Close enough that the heat radiating from her body sinks into my bones.
Her hand comes up tentatively, trembling slightly.
She presses her palm to my chest.
Right over my heart.
I flinch.
Not from pain. From recognition. From want.
“Why does this feel familiar?” she whispers. “Why do you feel like a piece of me I need to breathe?”
My voice is sandpaper. “I can’t answer that for you.”
“Then let me,” she hesitates, “try something.”
Her words barely land before she rises onto her toes.
Her lips brush mine.
Just barely. A soft, feather-light kiss that lasts a second and destroys me completely.
I go still.
She presses again, a little firmer, a little surer, like she’s testing the shape of something buried in her bones.
Her hand fists in the front of my shirt. A quiet, desperate sound escapes her throat.
And I’m gone.
Completely gone.
My hand slides behind her head, tilting her gently, and I kiss her back — slow, deep, careful but hungry in a way I can’t smother. She gasps into my mouth. Something inside me roars awake.
Her fingers curl around my neck, pulling me closer. I let her. God help me, I let her.
And then— I feel it.
Her body recognizes me. Her breath syncs with mine. Her lips shape against mine like they’ve done it a thousand times before. Heat surges through me, hot, primal, possessive.
I deepen the kiss instinctively, pulling her closer, her body fitting against mine like it always has, like it always will. And that’s when I shatter into a million pieces.
I tear myself away from her, stumbling back like I’ve been punched. Her lips part in shock. Her chest rises and falls fast.
“Ledger?” she whispers. “What, what’s wrong?”
Everything.
Absolutely everything.
I drag a hand over my face, chest heaving.
“You’re injured,” I choke out roughly. “Confused. You don’t remember anything.”
She steps toward me, hurt flickering in her eyes. “But I wanted this.”
“You think you did,” I cut in gently. “Because you’re lookin’ for something steady. Something familiar. And your brain picked me.”
“That doesn’t mean it isn’t what I want.”
“It does,” I rasp. “Kelly, you don’t remember us. You don’t remember what we were. You don’t remember the night we ended things. You don’t remember the shit I said that hurt you.”
Her breath catches.
“So until you do?” I state, forcing the words out like shards of glass. “I’m not takin’ advantage.”
She looks stunned. “You’re not taking advantage.”
“You’re vulnerable,” I give her the truth. “And I’m not the kind of man who takes from a woman when she’s not in her full mind.”
Her voice trembles. “I’m not broken.”
“I didn’t say you were,” I whisper. “But you’re healing. And you deserve more than me makin’ a move on you when you’re missing half the story.”
She swallows, stepping closer again. “Then fill in the gaps.”
I shake my head. “No.”
“No?”
“You need to remember on your own.” I look away. “Otherwise I’m telling you what to feel.”
Silence falls like a weight. She stares at me for a long, aching moment. Then her shoulders slump.
“I don’t understand you,” she whispers.
“Neither do I,” I mutter the God’s honest truth.
A humorless laugh bursts from her lips. She wipes at her eyes. “Ledger, I kissed you because I wanted to. Not because I’m confused. No matter what our past is, I wanted to feel this.”
“I know.”
It’s the truth. It’s also the problem.
Her bottom lip trembles. “Did we ever kiss before?”
The images hit me like a fist. Her hands in my hair. Her mouth soft and eager beneath mine. Her laughing against my lips in the bakery kitchen. Her breathless moans in the dark of her apartment.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “We did.”
Her breath shivers out.
“And?” she asks. “Was it like that?”
I meet her eyes and I can’t lie. “No,” I say. “It was better.”
Her cheeks flush. “Then why?”
“Because you won’t remember this tomorrow,” I state. “Or you might. Or you might not. And I won’t let our next first kiss happen when you’re not whole.”
She steps closer again, voice small. “But I feel whole with you.”
The words hit me right in the ribs.
I reach out and brush a hand down her arm soft, slow, careful.
“I want this,” I whisper. “Don’t get it twisted. I want you more than I’ve wanted anything in a long damn time.”
Her lips part.
“But when we kiss again?” I step closer, lowering my forehead to hers. “It’ll be because you remember everything. Not because your body filled the blanks your mind couldn’t.”
Her breath hitches. “That’s not fair.”
“I know.”
“And you get to decide that?”
“No,” I say softly. “I get to choose how I handle you. And I won’t let myself break you again.”
She closes her eyes. For a moment, the world is just the two of us, breathing the same slow, painful rhythm. Then her voice cracks.
“What if I never remember?”
I cup her cheek, thumb brushing away a tear. “Then I’ll make you fall for me again.”
Her eyes snap open, stunned.
I mean it. Every damn word.
Before she can say anything, before I do something stupid like kiss her again, my phone buzzes violently in my pocket. I pull back, jaw tightening, and answer.
“Yeah?”
Mellow’s voice is sharp. “We got a sighting.”
My blood goes cold. “Where?”
“On the highway. Same build. Same movement pattern. Following the road toward the foxtrot house which is where I assume you took her.”
“Coming here?” I growl.
“Most likely.”
Rage floods me.
I look at Kelly.
Her eyes are wide, scared — but underneath the fear, there’s trust.
Trust in me.
“Riot?” she whispers.
I tuck the phone away and step forward, pulling her gently into my arms. Not too tight. Just enough that she feels anchored.
“Grab what you need,” I murmur against her hair. “We’re movin’ again.”
Her fingers curl into my shirt. “Riot what if they’re coming for me again? Why?”
I pull back just enough to meet her eyes. “They are,” I tell her the truth, voice low and lethal. “But they’re gonna find me instead.”
Because they can wipe her memories clean, but they can’t erase what I feel for her.
And they’ll die before they get close enough to try again.