Chapter 2
I stood by the edge of his dented little wooden table, balancing the plate of fresh cookies on the curve of my hip, waiting for him to drop his usual single-word greeting and stare off into the distance.
That was our routine. Safe. Predictable.
It never forced either of us to show even a crack of vulnerability, but today I wanted more.
Instead, Rage just looked straight up at me.
His jaw was clenched so tight a thick muscle jumped violently near his ear, his chest rising and falling with slow, deliberate weight.
He didn’t look like an Enforcer gearing up for a brawl – he looked like a man fighting to remember lines he’d never rehearsed.
The sheer weight of his gaze pinned me where I stood, rooted to the spot so completely I couldn’t step back to the safety of the counter.
“I ain’t late,” he rumbled at last. His voice was so deep and rough it hummed right through my bones. “Clock on your wall’s fast, sweetheart.”
My eyebrows shot up in genuine shock. Two whole sentences. I huffed a sharp, surprised laugh, a faint smile tugging at my mouth as I set the warm chocolate chip cookies down beside his tiny espresso cup.
“Oh, so the big bad biker actually knows how to read a clock?” I teased, letting just a little of my usual sharpness slip back into place. “Consider these on the house. A down payment for tossing the trash out of my shop last week.”
Rage glanced down at the cookies for barely a heartbeat, dark eyes tracking the melted chocolate flecks, before snapping his gaze straight back to me.
He didn’t say thank you. Just leaned forward, forearms resting heavy on the table, closing the gap until he filled every inch of my line of sight.
The rich, sharp scent of old leather, rain, and clean, raw male heat wrapped around me like a heavy blanket, drowning out every other sound and smell in the room.
“I didn’t do it for cookies,” he said, his voice dropping to a rough, thrumming pitch that caught my breath in my throat.
“No?” I challenged, crossing my arms over my chest and propping one hip against the table edge. I refused to let him see how fast my pulse had picked up. “Then why’d you do it? Guys like you don’t usually ride to the rescue for free, Rage. Especially not for strangers.”
I braced myself. Drew my usual lines. Waited for the sleazy, predictable remarks I’d had thrown at me since I was old enough to walk into a room – comments about my face, my curves, what I might be good for. It was the only kind of attention I knew how to handle.
Rage swallowed hard, that sharp, defined Adams apple bobbing in his throat. His eyes tracked every tiny, stubborn tilt of my chin. When he spoke again, that gravel edge softened into something raw enough to make my heart stutter.
“’Cause those pretty boys were trying to put out a fire they weren’t man enough to hold,” he murmured, his gaze locking steady on mine.
“I’ve sat in this corner a month now, Danika.
Watched you. You look like someone who could burn a whole city down if pushed hard enough…
but you’re hiding it all behind a cash register. ”
The sharp, guarded retort I’d had ready vanished instantly. My heart slammed hard against my ribs, breath catching tight.
I froze, my eyes going wide, a strange electric shock of vulnerability racing down my spine.
He didn’t see some pretty girl in an apron.
He didn’t see a victim. He saw me. The defiance, the scars, the secrets I’d carried my whole life, the fire I’d locked away when I ran.
He’d looked straight through every layer I’d built to keep people out…
and recognised the same darkness burning in him.
“You don’t know the first thing about me,” I whispered, my voice losing its sharp, defensive bite for the very first time since I’d walked in here.
Rage let out a low, rough sound that was almost a laugh. He reached out, his thumb brushing lightly against the edge of the plate, careful not to touch my fingers.
“I know you didn’t flinch when I leaned in,” he rumbled soft but sure, that deep tone vibrating right through me. “I know you ain’t stupid. Or you’d be scared of me. And you don’t look scared, Danika. So that shows me you have delt with monsters before.”
“You’ve got a storm inside you. A real, wicked fire. I ain’t letting anyone put that fire of yours out.”
I swallowed the thick lump in my throat, hands clenching tight at my sides to stop them shaking.
It was terrifying. Exhilarating. For six months everyone had only ever seen the quiet girl working in this coffee shop…
and here was this man, who barely spoke a word at a time, seeing right down to the bone.
He was right. I had survived monsters. The kind that wore tailored suits, smiled while they lied, and tried to trade my future away like it meant nothing. Old money. Next to them, this rough, scarred outlaw felt like the safest place I’d ever known.
“You talk way too much,” I breathed, forcing myself to straighten my shoulders and pull my guard back up, even as a helpless little smile tugged at my lips.
Rage’s hard, lined face relaxed just a fraction, a faint, lopsided smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth as he noticed the pink rising high on my cheeks.
“Yeah,” he murmured, his thumb hooking slowly around the plate edge. “Some little bird told me I need to start using my words if I wanna get anywhere with you. Glad to know they work.”
I let out a soft, breathless laugh, shaking my head at him. “A little bird, huh? Well, you can go tell that little bird she’s far too smart for her own good.”
“I’ll pass the message on,” Rage rumbled, lifting a cookie and taking his time biting into it. He never once broke eye contact, his presence filling every inch of space between us.
For the first time since I’d run away to this quiet little town, the heavy weight of being a runaway didn’t sit so tight on my shoulders.
I turned to head back behind the counter, my heart fluttering in a way it never had before – knowing that when he leaves today, I would be seeing him again Thursday at noon, I wouldn’t just be waiting for a customer. I’d be waiting for him.