Chapter 6
six
Clark
I can't focus on a damn word Dex is saying. The diamonds from the heist are spread across the table—three million worth of sparkle that should have my full attention. But all I can think about is another kind of treasure, currently wandering my compound with that stubborn tilt to her chin. Emilia. Even her name in my mind sends a jolt of possession through me. I've had her body, claimed her in the most primal way, but it wasn't enough. One night was a fucking joke. I need more—need all of her. My fist clenches on the table, and Dex pauses mid-sentence, eyeing me warily. The crew thinks I'm losing it. Maybe I am. But I'm not letting her go, not when the mere thought of her walking away makes something violent rise in my chest.
"Boss?" Mick's gruff voice pulls me back to the moment. "Did you hear what I said?"
I straighten, forcing my attention to the business at hand. "Repeat it."
Mick exchanges a glance with Dex, both clearly noting my distraction. "I said our buyer's getting antsy. Wants to move up the exchange to tomorrow night."
"No." My response is immediate, instinctive. "The original plan stands. Three days from now."
"Why wait?" Dex asks, pushing his luck. "The longer we sit on these rocks, the more risk. Let's move them and be done."
What he's saying makes sense. It's what I would normally do—get the merchandise moved, collect payment, close the job. Clean, efficient, minimal risk. But the thought of dealing with the exchange tomorrow sends a spike of unease through me. Tomorrow means leaving the compound, leaving Emilia. Or bringing her along, exposing her to more danger, more criminals. Neither option sits right.
"Three days," I repeat firmly. "The buyer can wait."
Mick leans forward, lowering his voice though we're alone in the office. "This about the girl?"
My eyes snap to his face, warning clear in my expression. "Careful."
But Mick's been with me longer than the others, has earned the right to speak his mind. "The crew's talking, Clark. Wondering why she's still here. Why you brought her in the first place."
"Let them wonder." I gather the diamonds, returning them to their velvet pouch. "My decisions aren't up for debate."
"Since when do we keep witnesses?" Dex persists, either braver or stupider than I gave him credit for. "That's never been our way."
My hands still on the pouch, something cold settling in my chest. "Are you questioning me, Dex?"
He swallows visibly but doesn't back down. "I'm questioning the risk. She's seen our faces, our operation. She knows where our compound is. If she talks?—"
"She won't." The certainty in my voice surprises even me.
"You can't know that," Mick says quietly.
"I do know that." I rise to my feet, reminding them both who's in charge here. "And even if I didn't, she's not going anywhere. Not until I'm certain she's not a threat."
"And when will that be?" Dex pushes.
Never. The answer rises unbidden in my mind, startling in its clarity. I'll never be ready to let her walk away. But I can't say that aloud, can't admit that what started as a strategic move has become something else entirely.
"When I say so," I answer instead. "Until then, she stays. Under my protection. Is that understood?"
Both men nod, though I can see the reservation in their eyes. They think I'm compromised. Maybe I am. But I'm still the leader of this MC, still the one who built this operation from nothing, still The Wolf. They'll follow my orders, even if they don't understand them.
"What about the Vipers?" Mick asks, changing the subject. "They've been sniffing around since the job. Probably heard about the score."
The Vipers—a rival MC with a grudge against us that goes back years. The mention of them sends a different kind of tension through me. If they know about the diamonds, if they're watching us...
"Double the security," I order. "No one gets within a mile of this place without us knowing."
"Already done," Mick confirms. "But if they're determined?—"
"They won't get past us." I cut him off, not wanting to consider the alternative. Not with Emilia here.
The meeting concludes, both men filing out with backward glances that speak volumes. I'm losing their confidence. All for a librarian with wide eyes and soft skin who's crawled under my defenses like no one else ever has.
I should care more about that. The MC is everything I've built, my life's work, my family. But as I catch a glimpse of Emilia through the window, walking in the enclosed yard with a book in her hand, something shifts in my priorities.
I move to the window, watching her. She's removed her cardigan in the afternoon sun, exposing slim arms and the gentle curve of her neck. Her hair lifts slightly in the breeze, catching the light, turning from chestnut to gold at the edges. She reads as she walks, completely absorbed, occasionally lifting her head to glance at the fence line, calculating, measuring. Looking for escape.
My jaw tightens. She won't find one. I've made sure of that.
I should be handling business—calling the buyer, checking our security, debriefing the crew about the heist. Instead, I'm standing here like a lovesick teenager, watching a woman read a fucking book.
But I can't look away from her. Can't stop remembering how she felt beneath me last night—tight, hot, perfect. The surprise in her eyes when pleasure overtook her, like she never imagined her body capable of such response. The way she said my name like a revelation, a prayer.
My hands are numb from gripping the windowsill, but I feel a warmth in my chest, an uncomfortable heat that I recognize as something dangerously close to tenderness. This isn't about sex anymore. If it were just physical, I could have had her and let her go, satisfied the curiosity and moved on. But one taste of Emilia West has left me hungry for more—not just her body, but her mind, her heart, her future.
It's fucking terrifying.
I've built my life around control—of my crew, of our territory, of my own emotions. Feelings are weaknesses, exploitable vulnerabilities that get men like me killed. I learned that lesson early and reinforced it with every betrayal, every knife in the back, every loss.
Yet here I am, watching a slip of a woman pace my compound, feeling things I have no business feeling.
A knock at the door interrupts my thoughts. Cruz enters without waiting for permission, his usual stoic expression replaced with tension.
"We've got incoming," he says without preamble. "Viper scouts, two miles out. Watching the compound."
My body goes cold, then hot with rage. "How many?"
"Just a couple now. But if they're scouting..."
"They're planning something." I finish his thought, mind racing through scenarios, none of them good. "Alert the crew. Full lockdown protocol."
Cruz nods, already turning to go, but pauses at the door. "What about her?" He jerks his chin toward the window, toward Emilia.
"She stays with me," I say immediately. "At all times."
"You sure that's smart, boss? If things go sideways?—"
"She. Stays. With. Me." Each word is clipped, final.
He leaves without further argument, and I return my gaze to the yard. Emilia has settled on a bench, face tilted toward the sun, book open in her lap. She looks peaceful, untouched by the danger that surrounds her. That's about to change.
I stride out of the office, making my way to the yard. She looks up as the door opens, her expression shifting from startled to wary as she sees me approaching. Something flickers in her eyes—fear? Anticipation? Both?
"Come inside," I order, harsher than intended.
She frowns, closing her book slowly. "I'm reading."
"Now, Emilia." I scan the perimeter, suddenly feeling exposed, though I know the Vipers aren't close enough yet to pose an immediate threat.
She must hear something in my voice because she stands without further argument, clutching the book to her chest like a shield. "What's wrong?"
"Inside." I take her arm, guiding her firmly toward the door. "We need to talk."
Once we're back inside the compound, I steer her toward my quarters, away from the main areas where the crew is already mobilizing for potential conflict. She allows herself to be led, though I can feel the tension in her body, the questions building.
"Clark," she says as I close the door to my bedroom behind us. "What's happening?"
I consider lying, consider sheltering her from the reality of the situation. But something about Emilia makes me want to be honest—something in those direct hazel eyes that seems to demand truth.
"There's a threat," I tell her, keeping it simple. "Another MC that doesn't like us much. They're watching the compound."
Fear flashes across her face, followed quickly by resolve. It's an impressive transition, one that makes something tighten in my chest.
"Are they coming here?" she asks, voice steady.
"Maybe." I move to the window, checking that the reinforced shutters are secure. "Probably."
"Because of the diamonds?"
I glance at her sharply. "What do you know about the diamonds?"
She gives me a look that makes me feel strangely chastised. "I was there, remember? I saw what you took from the jewelry store."
Right. Of course she did. It's why she's here in the first place, why I've turned my life upside down keeping her. I sometimes forget that part, too caught up in what's developed between us since.
"Yes," I confirm. "They want what we took."
She nods, processing this. "And if they come here...there will be violence?"
The clinical way she phrases it almost makes me smile. "That's usually how these things go."
"I see." She places her book carefully on the bedside table, then turns to face me fully. "What do you need me to do?"
The question takes me by surprise. I expected panic, protests, maybe tears. Not this calm acceptance, this offer of assistance.
"Stay here," I tell her. "Stay out of sight. If things go bad—" I cross to the closet, pulling out a small handgun from a hidden compartment. "You know how to use this?"
She stares at the weapon, throat working as she swallows. "No."
"Simple enough." I check that the safety is on, then approach her slowly, not wanting to frighten her more. "Safety here. Point and pull the trigger. Only as a last resort, understand? Only if someone other than me comes through that door."
Her hands shake slightly as she takes the gun, holding it awkwardly. "I don't think I could?—"
"You could," I interrupt, certain of it. "If it meant survival, you could."
She looks up at me, something vulnerable and trusting in her gaze that makes my chest ache. "Will it come to that?"
"No." I take her face between my hands, needing her to believe me. "I won't let it. No one will touch you, Emilia. No one but me."
The possessiveness in my voice should frighten her. Instead, I watch as her pupils dilate, her breath catching. She's responding to it—to the claim I'm staking, to the protection I'm offering.
"I should be trying to escape," she whispers, almost to herself. "I should be hoping your enemies break in and create a distraction so I can run."
"But you're not," I state, seeing the truth in her eyes.
"No." Her confession is barely audible. "I'm afraid for you. How twisted is that?"
I laugh softly, the sound rusty and unfamiliar. "About as twisted as me keeping you prisoner and then giving you a gun."
A small smile curves her lips, and the sight of it hits me like a physical blow. Even in this moment of danger, of uncertainty, she can smile. Because of me. For me.
I lean down, pressing my forehead to hers, breathing her in. "This isn't how I planned to spend our second night together."
"You planned a second night?" There's something in her voice—hope, maybe. Desire, certainly.
"I planned every night," I admit, the truth dragged from somewhere deep. "From the moment I saw you in that alley, something inside me knew. You were meant to be mine."
Her eyes widen, searching mine for deception, for manipulation. She won't find any. I've never been more honest about anything in my life.
"I need to go," I say reluctantly, pulling back. "The crew needs me out there. But I'll be back, and I need you to be exactly where I left you. Understand?"
She nods, still holding the gun awkwardly.
"Under the bed," I instruct. "If you hear fighting. And only use that if you have no choice."
"Be careful," she says, and the genuine concern in her voice wraps around my heart like a fist.
I kiss her then, hard and possessive, claiming her mouth with a desperation that surprises us both. She responds immediately, rising on tiptoes, free hand clutching my shirt, pulling me closer. When I break away, we're both breathing hard.
"I'll be back," I promise again. It's a vow, a declaration of intent. Nothing—not rival MCs, not diamonds, not my own crew's doubts—will keep me from returning to her.
I leave her there, standing in the middle of my bedroom with a gun in her hand and my taste on her lips. The image burns itself into my mind as I stride toward the main area where my crew awaits instructions.
I've kidnapped Emilia West. Taken her freedom, her choice, her innocence.
But now I’ve given her a gun. I must be cerifiably insane.
But somehow, in the process, she's captured something of me as well—something I didn't even know was available for the taking.
And as I prepare to defend what's mine, I realize that list now includes more than just my crew, my compound, and three million in diamonds.
It includes a librarian with hazel eyes who's surrendered to me in ways that run much deeper than the physical.