Chapter Seventeen
THE FLOOR WAS hard, but I didn’t give a damn. I stretched out against the boards beside her bed, one arm folded under my head, the other resting across my chest.
I could hear her breathing above me, soft and uneven, like every breath was a fight. The blanket rustled when she shifted, restless even in sleep.
I’d offered the floor, but the truth was, I didn’t plan on sleeping much anyway. Not with her here. Not with the weight of Roxy back in the clubhouse and every ghost Wren carried pressing down on her shoulders.
But even with all that noise clawing at me, I kept coming back to one thing.
Her voice.
One word, rough and cracked from disuse, but real. Yes.
I hadn’t realized how much I’d needed to hear her until she gave it to me.
That whisper had cut deeper than a scream, burrowed under my ribs and lodged there like a brand.
She could’ve told me no. She could’ve stayed silent, hidden behind the wall she built between herself and the world.
But she didn’t. She let me hear her. She trusted me enough to let that piece of herself out.
And fuck, the way it made feel. I can’t put it into words.
It wasn’t long before the first sound tore out of her throat.
A whimper, broken and low. Then another. She tossed, the mattress creaking as her legs kicked, caught in whatever hell her dreams dragged her back to.
“Wren,” I murmured, already up, climbing onto the bed.
She thrashed, arms locked tight around her chest, lips tearing open on a strangled cry. The sound gutted me.
I pulled her against me, arms wrapping around her small frame, holding her tight but careful. “I’ve got you,” I whispered, keeping my voice calming. “It’s just me. You’re safe. He’s gone. He can’t touch you.”
Her body fought mine at first, wild and desperate, but I didn’t let go. Bit by bit, her sobs broke down, her shaking eased, and she curled closer. Her breath hitched against my chest, damp with sweat, but she didn’t pull away.
I pressed my chin to her hair, the scent of her—soap and something softer underneath—cutting through my senses. My chest ached with it, heavy and deep.
Venom was dead, but his shadow was still here. Still choking her in the dark. And I swore again, like I had the night I found her in that closet—I’d kill him twice over if I could.
I lay there in the silence, holding her while her breathing smoothed out again. My eyes drifted to the window, to the stretch of desert night outside.
Movement caught my eye.
Just a flicker. A shadow against the darker dark. Could’ve been nothing—an animal, the wind in the brush. But my gut tightened.
I eased one arm free without letting her go and thumbed my phone from my pocket. A quick text to the prospect on watch:
Something moved outside. Check the perimeter and report back. Now.
I slipped the phone away and tightened my hold around Wren’s trembling frame. Because if someone was out there watching, they weren’t getting anywhere near her. Not while I breathed.
My thumb hovered over the phone longer than it needed to, waiting.
The seconds dragged, each one slower than the last. I kept my arm locked around Wren, her breathing unsteady against my chest, but my eyes stayed fixed on that stretch of dark desert beyond the window.
Finally, the screen lit up.
Prospect: Walked the perimeter. Didn’t see anything. Probably a coyote.
Probably.
I ground my teeth, shoving the phone back into my pocket. Maybe it was an animal. Maybe the night was playing tricks on me. But my gut wouldn’t let it go.
I glanced down at Wren, her face tucked into my chest, lashes damp, lips parted on soft, uneven breaths. Fragile, but still here. Still fighting, even in her sleep.
Her whispered yes still echoed in my chest, stronger than the shadow outside, stronger than Roxy’s perfume, stronger than every ghost clawing at us both.
Didn’t matter if it was a coyote or the devil himself.
If something was out there, it would have to get through me first.
And that wasn’t going to happen.
***
MORNING LIGHT CUT soft through the blinds, laying pale stripes across the floorboards. My back ached from the awkward angle I’d held most of the night, but I didn’t give a damn. Not when the weight in my arms was Wren.
At some point in the dark, her thrashing had eased, her sobs had broken down, and she’d gone quiet. I’d expected her to pull away once she slipped deeper into sleep. But she hadn’t.
She was still here.
Still curled tight against me, her back pressed to my chest, my arm hooked firm around her waist. Every shift of her breathing brushed warm across my skin.
And when she stirred, her body didn’t jolt away. She sank deeper.
That one small movement damn near split me open.
Women came and went. Bodies, nights, nothing more. I never asked for more, never gave it either. Plenty of nights, plenty of faces. Forgettable. But her trust? That’s the kind of shit that brands a man.
Something special was beginning between us. I could feel it in my bones.
I let her stay there a moment longer, memorizing the way it felt to have her in my arms, before I eased back.
Careful, slow, not to startle her. She blinked up at me, eyes hazy from sleep, hair tangled wild around her face, and Christ—she was beautiful.
More than Roxy, or those like her, ever could’ve been with all their make-up and clothes meant to entice a man into sin.
“I’m gonna grab a shower,” I said, my voice rough with all the thoughts in my head. “I’ll come back to get you for breakfast.”
For a second I thought she’d stay quiet like always. But then her lips parted, and a single, soft word slipped free.
“Okay.”
It was faint, barely a whisper, but I heard it clear as a bell.
My chest tightened. Her words were starting to mean more than anything anyone had ever given me, more than most of the promises I’d heard from brothers I’d bled beside.
I gave a short nod, because anything more would’ve cracked me wide open, then stood and grabbed my cut from the chair.
I stepped into the hall, pulling the door shut behind me, just as the door across the hall opened.
Roxy.
She emerged from another brother’s room, hair tousled, dress hanging open over her naked breasts, lips curved in a sly smile meant to gut me. Her heels clicked as she shifted into the hall, tossing her hair back with a flick that was all performance.
She wanted me to look. Wanted me jealous.
I wasn’t.
I didn’t even slow. Didn’t spare her more than a glance. Just opened the door to my own room without a word, without a flicker of interest.
Let her play her games.
She could suffocate the whole damn clubhouse with her perfume and smirks, fuck every brother who’d bite, and it wouldn’t change the truth burning in my chest.
The only woman who mattered was the one I’d just left behind, tangled in a blanket and finally beginning to trust me with her voice.