Chapter 5
Sin
It’s morning, but Ruby still sleeps like her body hasn’t decided whether it’s allowed.
Her breathing stays shallow, then deepens for a few seconds before catching again, like some bad dream dragged her back under. Her lashes tremble. Her hand tightens in the blanket.
I stay still on top of my folded blanket, on my side of the bed, like a man who knows exactly how fast one wrong move turns safety into a lie.
The mattress shifts every time she moves. A soft sound. A brush of fabric. The faint drift of her warmth in my direction, and my body answers like it’s been starved.
It’s a special kind of hell, lying this close to a woman who smells like vanilla and sweetness, knowing one wrong touch could throw her right back onto that stage.
My jaw already aches from clenching it.
I keep my hands to myself. I keep my breathing even. When I want to look at her mouth, I look at the ceiling instead.
I’ve slept through gunfire. I’ve slept on frozen ground. I’ve slept in rooms that still smelled like smoke when morning came.
This is harder.
Because I want her.
Because wanting something and keeping my hands off it is its own kind of pain.
Because she trusted me enough to let me into her bed, and I’m not about to be another man who takes.
Morning light slips across her face. Freckles. A faint line between her brows that doesn’t smooth out even in sleep. Red hair spilled over the pillow like somebody painted it there.
She looks younger asleep.
Maybe because she is fifteen years younger than me.
Maybe because fear makes people look small.
Her blanket shifts, and her knee drifts closer. Just a sleepy little movement, looking for warmth.
My whole body locks.
Heat slams through me, sharp and immediate, and I hate myself for it.
She’s asleep. She’s fragile. She’s here because I promised she’d be safe.
I don’t touch her.
I don’t move.
My cock gets hard anyway.
A blunt reminder that I’m still a man, still capable of wanting. I haven’t wanted in years. Haven’t let myself.
After my ex, wanting felt like a bad joke.
Now there’s a woman in bed with me. A woman who looked at me like I mattered in the worst room on earth.
My hand knots in the blanket until my knuckles ache.
I hate how much I want to pull her against me.
A knock hits the door.
Hard.
Ruby jerks awake with a sharp inhale, eyes flying open, wild with panic. She scrambles upright like she expects hands on her.
“Easy,” I say at once, low and steady. “Ruby. It’s me.”
Her gaze snaps to mine, pupils blown wide. She clutches the blanket to her chest.
The knock comes again, faster this time.
My hand is on my gun before the sound finishes.
I slide off the bed and move for the door without a sound, putting my body between Ruby and whatever’s outside. I look through the window.
Ace.
I let out one slow breath.
“One of mine,” I say over my shoulder. “You’re good.”
Ruby’s voice comes out thin. “Okay.”
I unlock the door.
Ace steps inside like he owns the air around him. Big. Broad. Calm in that way that only makes a man look more dangerous. He’s wearing his cut, Damned Saints patch sitting heavy on his chest like a warning. His eyes sweep the room once, quick and thorough.
Ruby’s gaze catches on the patch.
Ace sees it and reins his voice in. “Ma’am.”
She flinches at that anyway.
His attention cuts back to me. “Truck’s here.”
“Anyone follow?”
“Clean.”
Ruby’s voice cracks. “A truck?”
I turn slightly, keeping my tone even. “Ace rides with us. He’s moving us. This place was never long-term.”
Her gaze flicks to him, then back to me. “Move us where?”
“My place,” I say. “Lovestone Ridge.”
Her grip tightens on the blanket. “Why?”
“Because it’s mine,” I tell her. “And because it’s safer.”
Ace’s mouth tightens. “Prez wants you off this grid.”
Ruby’s eyes dart. “Prez.”
“Havoc,” I say. “Club president.”
Her mouth opens, then closes again. Overwhelmed is written all over her face.
Ace jerks his chin once. “I used to run extractions for the Navy. Getting people out alive’s still a skill.”
Ruby blinks at him like she doesn’t know what to do with a man who says something like that so casually.
“You’re safe with him,” I say. “Best extractor I know.”
Her breathing shakes. “What about the other girl?”
Ace’s eyes flick to me.
I answer before he can. “Tank got to her. He pulled her out.”
Ruby’s shoulders drop, just a little. Relief flashes across her face so quickly it almost hurts to look at.
Ace checks his watch. “Two minutes. We roll quiet.”
Ruby nods and moves.
Fast. Practical. Survival.
She twists her hair into a bun with shaky fingers and pulls on her shoes. No questions. No complaints.
I head to the bike bay and pop the concealed panel. My cut is tucked where I left it, folded tight and waiting. I didn’t wear it last night. Undercover work and club colors don’t mix.
I bring it back in and slide my arms through.
The weight settles on my shoulders like something old and familiar clicking into place.
Ruby’s eyes track the movement.
Her gaze drops to the patch, then lifts to my face.
Something in her expression shifts. Small. Startled. Like she likes what she sees.
Heat hits my gut.
I ignore it.
Ace cracks the door, checks outside, then nods once. “Clear.”
We step into the cold morning, and Ruby moves closer to my side without thinking. Her hand catches my arm like it’s the only solid thing left in the world.
I keep my face blank.
Inside, my blood runs hot.
We head around back to the concealed bay. I roll the bike out smooth and quiet.
Ace’s truck waits in the tree line, matte dark and built for work. The bed’s fitted with a false wall and tie-downs.
Ace drops the ramp. “Get it in.”
I guide the bike up and strap it down fast, hands moving from habit. Ace locks the panel behind it, and from the outside the bed looks empty.
Ruby stands close, eyes scanning the trees like she expects the woods to reach for her.
I put a hand lightly at her back. “In.”
Ace climbs behind the wheel. I get Ruby into the cab, then slide in beside her.
The truck rolls out slow and quiet, tires crunching over gravel. Ace sticks to back roads and avoids the main stretch like he’s allergic to attention.
Ruby stares straight ahead, jaw tight.
“You holding up?” Ace asks.
Ruby lets out a tiny broken laugh. “No.”
Ace nods like that’s the only answer he expected. “Fair.”
Ruby glances at me. “How far?”
“Less than an hour,” I tell her. “We’ll be there before your body finds a new reason to panic.”
Her mouth tightens. “It already has.”
I look at her hands. White knuckles. Trembling fingertips.
“Breathe,” I say quietly. “That’s all you’ve got to do.”
Ruby swallows. “I feel like I’m going to throw up.”
“Then you throw up,” I say. “Body resets.”
Her gaze flicks to my face, and something shifts there. A thin thread of trust pulled tight.
The road bends deeper into Lovestone Ridge, trees thickening, lights thinning until there’s nothing but forest and narrow blacktop.
Then we turn onto a private track, and my cabin comes into view through the trees, dark wood and quiet lines against the pale morning.
Something in my chest tightens.
This place is mine. Quiet. Isolated. The closest thing I’ve got to peace.
Bringing her here feels like opening a locked door inside myself and handing somebody the key.
Ace parks, kills the engine, and gets out first, eyes already working the perimeter.
I step down and hold a hand out to her.
She hesitates, then puts hers in mine.
Her fingers are cold.
My grip stays careful.
She steps onto the gravel and looks up at the cabin like she doesn’t know what to do with a place that feels lived in.
I catch the way her shoulders loosen half an inch.
It hits me hard.
Like she fits here.
Like she belongs in my quiet.
Ace circles the truck, checks the cargo bed, then looks at me. “I’ll handle the bike and head out. You get her inside.”
I don’t argue.
Ruby follows me up the porch steps. The door opens under my hand, familiar and easy. The air inside is warmer than outside, carrying wood, clean linen, and the faint trace of coffee grounds.
She steps in slowly, taking everything in. The worn rug. The couch. The shelf with a few books. The mug still sitting on the counter.
Her breath catches.
“This is... yours,” she whispers.
“Yeah.”
She turns her head, and for one second she looks almost normal. Like she’s just a woman in a cabin and not someone who was nearly sold the night before.
That sight knocks something loose in me.
I step closer before I can stop myself.
Ruby’s gaze drops to my mouth.
Her breath stutters.
The space between us thins to almost nothing.
I should ask.
I should stop.
I should keep the line.
Instead I lift my hand, cup her cheek, and kiss her.
It hits like fire.
Soft at first, because she’s still shaking, because she’s still learning what safe feels like. Then she makes a small sound, and her fingers clutch my cut right over the patch, and my control takes a hit.
I deepen the kiss. Slow. Hungry. Careful anyway, because restraint is the only thing keeping me from becoming the kind of man I hate.
Her lips are warm. Trembling. Real.
I pull back hard, breath rough, my forehead nearly touching hers.
“Ruby,” I murmur, voice tight.
Her eyes are wide, cheeks flushed, lips swollen from one kiss.
She swallows. “Why did you stop?”
I force myself back a step.
“Because you’re shaken,” I say, raw. “And I should know better.”
Her hand stays fisted in my shirt for one more beat before she lets go.
Her voice comes out small. “You didn’t do anything I didn’t want. You asked with your eyes. And I wanted to kiss you.”
Wanted.
The word lands low and hard.
Something in me cracks along a fault line.
I step back in slowly, giving her room to pull away.
She doesn’t.
My thumb brushes her cheek. “Say that again.”
Ruby’s breath shakes. “I wanted to kiss you.”
My whole body goes tight.
“You keep saying things like that,” I murmur, “and my restraint’s going to run out.”
Her hazel eyes lift to mine, bright and brave in a way that makes me want to burn the world down for her.
“I’m still here,” she whispers. “I’m still choosing you.”
That’s all it takes.
I kiss her again.
Deeper this time. Hotter.
My hand slides into her hair, anchoring her gently. Her fingers clutch my cut like she wants me close and doesn’t know how to ask for it yet.
I drag my mouth to the corner of hers, breathing hard.
“Tell me to stop,” I say, voice low. “You want me to stop, you say it, and I stop.”
Ruby’s lashes flutter. She gives the smallest shake of her head.
“I don’t want you to stop,” she whispers.