5. Rogue
ROGUE
The black sedan shows up three blocks from the clubhouse.
Ghost spots it first — parked outside a convenience store, two men in suits pretending to read newspapers like this is a fucking spy movie. Amateur hour. But amateur or not, they're close. Too close.
King leans back in his chair, arms crossed. "How many?"
"Four that I've counted. Two vehicles. They're not trying to be subtle — flashing her picture around, offering cash for information."
"Anyone talk?"
"Not yet. But it's only a matter of time."
I stare at the map, at the red circles Ghost has drawn marking each sighting, and feel something cold settle in my chest. They're getting closer. Every hour, every day, the net tightens. And Bella's in the middle of it.
"We could move her," Diesel suggests. "Safe house up north. Get her out of the area until this blows over."
"And then what?" Lock speaks for the first time, his voice quiet. "They track her there too. We keep running. She keeps running. That's not a life."
"It's not going to blow over." I hear my own voice, flat and hard. "This guy isn't going to stop. He's got money, resources, and an ego that won't let him walk away. Moving her just buys time. And she's done running."
"So what's the play?" King asks, watching me.
"We send a message. Let them know she's protected. Make it clear that coming for her means dealing with us."
"And if that doesn't work?"
"It'll work." I meet his eyes. "Men like Preston understand one thing — cost versus reward. Right now, he thinks she's easy to take back. We make it hard enough, expensive enough, painful enough? He'll cut his losses and find some other woman to control. His ego's big, but it's not bulletproof."
King studies me for a moment, then nods slowly.
"Your call, brother. We've got your back."
I find her in my room, curled up on the bed with a book she's not really reading. She looks up when I walk in, and I see the question in her eyes before she asks it.
"How bad?"
"They're close. Another day, maybe two."
She nods slowly, processing. No panic. No tears. Just that quiet steel I'm starting to recognize. "What do we do?"
"Club's handling it. We'll send a message, make it clear you're protected." I lean against the doorframe, keeping distance between us. "It'll be fine."
She studies me for a moment. "You don't sound fine."
"I'm fine."
"Rogue." She sets the book aside and sits up. "Talk to me."
"Nothing to talk about."
"You've barely looked at me all day. Last night we—" She stops, something flickering across her face. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No." The word comes out too fast, too sharp. "You didn't do anything."
"Then what's going on?"
I should tell her. Should explain the war happening inside my head, the way every instinct is screaming at me to pull back before this goes any further. But the words won't come. They're stuck somewhere behind the walls I've spent years building, and I don't know how to tear them down.
"I just need some space," I say instead. "Clear my head."
The hurt that flashes across her face makes my chest ache. But I turn and walk out before I can do something stupid like cross the room and pull her into my arms and never let go.
I make it about an hour.
One hour of sitting in the empty chapel, staring at nothing, trying to convince myself that distance is the smart play.
That getting too close to her is a mistake I can't afford to make.
That I've been here before — trusting someone, letting them in, believing in something that turned out to be smoke and mirrors.
Kate's face keeps flickering through my mind. The wedding calls. The centerpieces. The way she sounded so sincere, so loving, while she was fucking someone else behind my back. Eight months of lies I swallowed whole because I wanted to believe.
I remember the day I found out. Standing in my buddy's kitchen, back on American soil for less than forty-eight hours, and he couldn't look me in the eye. Finally told me his girlfriend had seen Kate out with some guy. More than once. Holding hands. Kissing in a booth at a restaurant.
Eight months of satellite calls. Eight months of "I love you" and "I can't wait for you to come home" and "I'm counting the days." And the whole time, everyone knew except me.
And now here I am, falling for another woman who's running from a commitment. A woman who left her fiancé, just like Kate left me. Who's to say she won't do the same thing? Who's to say I'm not making the same mistake all over again?
I can't do it twice. I won't survive it twice.
But she's not Kate.
The thought surfaces unbidden, and I try to push it down. But it won't go.
She didn't cheat. She didn't lie. She ran because she was being controlled, manipulated, hurt. She ran because staying would have destroyed her.
And you're punishing her for it.
I drop my head into my hands and breathe.
The thing about trust issues is they don't care about logic.
They don't care that Bella hasn't done anything wrong, that she's been nothing but honest with me from the start.
They just whisper the same poison over and over: you got it wrong before.
You'll get it wrong again. You can't trust your own judgment.
But sitting here, hiding from her, letting fear make my decisions — that's not protecting myself. That's just being a coward.
And I'm a lot of things, but I've never been that.
She's still in my room when I get back. Still on the bed, but she's not reading anymore. She's just sitting there, arms wrapped around herself, staring at nothing.
She looks up when I walk in. Doesn't say anything. Just waits. There's no accusation in her expression, no anger. Just a quiet patience that somehow makes me feel worse.
I close the door behind me and lean against it, trying to find the words.
"I'm sorry," I say finally. "For earlier. For pulling away."
"Okay." Her voice is careful. Guarded. "Are you going to tell me why?"
"Yeah." I push off the door and cross to the bed, sitting on the edge. "I need to tell you something. Something I've never told anyone."
She stays quiet. Listening.
"I told you about Kate. About the cheating, the calls, all of it.
But I didn't tell you the worst part." I stare at my hands, unable to look at her.
"The worst part isn't that she lied to me for eight months.
The worst part is that I believed her. Every word.
Every call. I heard her voice and I thought — this is real.
This is the woman I'm going to marry. This is my future. "
I swallow hard. "I told you before that I missed it. That I saw what I wanted to see. But I didn't tell you what that did to me. How it made me feel like I couldn't trust my own mind anymore. Like everything I thought I knew about myself was a lie."
"Rogue—"
"That's why I pulled away today." I force myself to look at her.
"Because you ran from a commitment, just like she did.
And I know it's not the same — I know that.
You had every reason to leave. But my head keeps telling me that I got it wrong before and I'll get it wrong again.
That I can't trust my own judgment. That falling for you is just another mistake I'm too blind to see. "
The words hang in the air between us. I've never said any of this out loud. Never admitted how deep the wound goes, how much it still bleeds.
Bella's quiet for a long moment. Then she moves — slowly, deliberately — until she's kneeling in front of me on the bed, her hands cupping my face, forcing me to meet her eyes.
"You're not wrong about me," she says. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm not lying to you. I'm not performing for you." Her thumbs stroke across my cheekbones. "I'm just here. That's all I know how to be."
"How can you be sure? How can either of us be sure?"
"We can't." Her voice is soft but steady. "That's the whole point. Trust isn't about being sure. It's about choosing to believe anyway, even when you're scared. Every single day, you make the choice." Her thumbs stroke across my cheekbones. "I'm choosing you. I need you to choose me back."
"I can't go through that again." The admission scrapes out of me. "I won't."
"Then we'll figure it out together." She leans in, pressing her forehead to mine. "I'm not her, Rogue. What she did — that was on her. Not you. You're allowed to trust someone again."
Her thumbs stroke across my cheekbones. "You're a good man.
You see a woman stranded at a gas station with trouble on her heels and you don't even hesitate — you just help.
You brought me into your world, gave me a place to stay, made me feel safe for the first time in years.
" Her voice softens. "No one's ever made me feel the way you do.
Like I matter. Like I'm worth protecting. That's not nothing. That's everything."
Something cracks open in my chest. Something I've been holding locked down for years.
I close the distance between us and kiss her.
This kiss is different from last night. Last night was fire and desperation, trying to claim her before anyone could take her away. This is slower. Deeper. Every brush of her lips against mine says I see you. I'm still here. I'm not going anywhere.
She melts into me, her fingers sliding into my hair, and I pull her onto my lap. She straddles me easily, her thighs bracketing my hips, and I hold her there — one hand splayed across her lower back, the other tangled in her hair.
"I need you," I murmur against her mouth. "Not like last night. I need—"
"I know." She pulls back just enough to look at me. "I know what you need."
She pushes me back onto the bed.
I let her. Let her climb over me, let her take control, let her set the pace. She strips off her shirt slowly, deliberately, watching my face as each inch of skin is revealed. Then her bra. Then she reaches for my shirt, and I sit up just enough to help her pull it over my head.
"Lie back," she says.
I do.
She runs her hands down my chest, tracing the lines of muscle, the scars, all the marks life has left on me. Her touch is exploratory. Reverent. Like she's memorizing me.
She leans down and presses a kiss to my chest, right over my heart, and something in me cracks open. She smiles against my skin and keeps moving, kissing her way down my stomach, her fingers working at my belt.
She frees me from my jeans and wraps her hand around my cock, and I groan, my hips jerking up into her grip. She strokes me slowly, watching my face, learning what makes me gasp and what makes me swear.
"Fuck—"
"Let me." She lowers her head and takes me into her mouth.
The wet heat of her nearly undoes me. I fist the sheets, fighting for control, as she works me with her lips and tongue. She's not rushing. Every movement is deliberate, savoring, like she has all the time in the world.
"Fuck — you have to stop or I'm going to—"
She pulls off with a soft pop, looking up at me with dark eyes. "Not yet. I'm not done with you."
She stands just long enough to strip off her jeans and underwear, and then she's climbing back over me, positioning herself above my cock.
"Look at me," she says.
I do. I look at her — flushed, beautiful, completely in control — and when she sinks down onto me, taking me inch by inch, I watch her face. Watch her lips part, her eyes flutter, her breath catch as she adjusts to the stretch.
She starts to move.
Slow. Achingly slow. Rising and falling in a rhythm that builds gradually, waves lapping at the shore instead of crashing. I let her set the pace, let her take what she needs, watching her chase her pleasure on top of me.
"You're so beautiful," I tell her. "The most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
She shudders at the words, her rhythm faltering. I take advantage, sitting up so we're chest to chest, her legs wrapped around my waist. The new angle drives me deeper, and she gasps, her arms looping around my neck.
"I've got you," I murmur against her ear. "I've got you."
I start to move with her, matching her rhythm, and we find a pace together that's slow and deep and devastating. Every thrust is a conversation. Every touch is a promise. I've never fucked anyone like this before — like I'm giving her something instead of just taking.
"Rogue—" Her voice is shaking. "I'm close—"
"I know." I can feel it, the way she's tightening around me. "Let go. I'll catch you."
I slip my hand between us and find her clit, rubbing in slow circles that match our rhythm. She moans, her head falling back, and I take advantage of the exposed column of her throat, kissing and sucking at the sensitive skin.
"Come for me," I whisper against her pulse. "Let me feel you."
She breaks.
Her whole body shudders in my arms, her pussy clenching around me in waves, and the sound she makes is the most beautiful thing I've ever heard. I hold her through it, keep moving, drawing it out until she's trembling and gasping and clinging to me like I'm the only solid thing in the world.
"Your turn," she manages, still shaking. "I want to feel you."
I roll us over, pressing her into the mattress, and start to move again. Faster now, chasing my own release, but still deep. Still connected. I brace myself on my forearms and look down at her — flushed, wrecked, looking up at me with something in her eyes that makes my chest ache.
"You're it for me," I tell her. "You understand? There's no going back from this."
"I know." She cups my face in her hands. "I don't want to go back."
I bury myself deep and come harder than I ever have in my life.
I collapse beside her, pulling her against my chest, and we lie there in the aftermath, both of us breathing hard. The sweat is cooling on our skin but neither of us moves to cover up. I don't want anything between us right now. Not sheets, not walls, not the fear that's been riding me all day.
"That was different," she says finally.
"Yeah."
"Good different."
"Yeah." I press a kiss to her hair. "It was."
We're quiet for a long moment. Her fingers trail slowly across my chest, and I hold her close, feeling her heartbeat gradually slow to match mine.
"Whatever happens with Preston," she says quietly, "I'm not running again. I'm staying. With you."
The words settle into me, filling cracks I didn't know were there.
"Good," I say. "Because I'm not letting you go."
She tips her head back and kisses me, soft and sweet, and I kiss her back with everything I have.
Tomorrow, we'll deal with the threat. Tomorrow, we'll face whatever Preston sends our way.
But tonight, I let myself believe that this might actually work. That I might actually get to keep her.
That maybe, just maybe, I'm not as broken as I thought.