42
Luna
“So, how long have you been in Harmony?” I ask, leveling Maria with a wary look. She sits across from me in her tight black jeans, her dark hair swept up into a high ponytail.
She’s the last person I thought I’d sit with after this afternoon. But with Cade off talking to Phoenix, Maria happens to be the only one here who doesn’t look at me like I’d time-traveled to this world by mistake.
“Almost three years now,” she replies, looking around the room. “This place . . . it feels like home in a way Chicago never did.”
Something about the way Maria avoids meeting my eyes makes my initial irritation waver.
I follow her gaze, noticing how her expression softens. The clubhouse isn’t the grungy dive I’d expected. It’s rugged, sure, but with an understated luxury.
The common room is larger than most nightclubs, easily accommodating dozens of patch holders and their women without feeling crowded. Large windows give the illusion of an even bigger space, and the bar selection would make any high-end lounge envious.
It’s clear the club isn’t cash-strapped.
The bikers, too, defy every stereotype I’ve ever had. They aren’t the scarred men with stained teeth the movies taught me to expect. They’re toned, groomed, and carry themselves with an authority bordering on arrogance.
I resist the urge to fidget with my own outfit—a short black leather skirt paired with a vintage band tee cropped just below my ribs, all topped with a leather jacket Sophie had insisted I wear.
“Cade . . . saved our lives,” Maria says, her voice catching as she glances down at the table. “He brought us here to lie low. And when I decided I didn’t want to leave, he bought us a cottage just down the hill.”
Her voice wavers and she still doesn’t quite meet my gaze. But it’s painfully obvious how she feels about Cade. The way she says his name—soft, almost reverent. Like it’s her lifeline. Like it’s the only thing pulling her through her own private hell.
The flicker of guilt that rises in me is unexpected. My earlier jealousy feels petty in the face of this, and I want to take back every dirty look I threw her way.
Although Maria seems too soft for this place, the way patched members nod to her as they pass our table shows she’s earned her place here.
I force my tone to soften and offer her my first real smile. “I think you’ve settled in well, and Victoria . . . seems very happy.”
Mar ia’s face lights up at the mention of her daughter, her beam so warm it catches me off guard. “Oh, yeah. She’s spoiled for attention here. And protected.”
She tucks an errant strand of hair behind her ear, and as if emboldened by my sudden warmth, she ventures, “Cade doesn’t talk much, does he?” Her tone is casual, but there’s a curious edge beneath it.
I arch an eyebrow, tempted to lead her down a maze of wounding facts and half-truths, as per usual, but Maria doesn’t deserve any bitchiness—or seem like she could handle it.
“No, he doesn’t,” I agree simply. Although Cade doesn’t need so many words.
Just this afternoon, Cade had dozens of Bliss Xtra samples delivered—apparently a “gift” from me to the club. The Secretary’s stunned grin said it all. Cade’s reasoning? His brothers didn’t always warm to newcomers, and he figured I’d need an icebreaker.
Maria’s fingers tap softly against her glass. “He’s a good man, though. The best of them.”
“Hmm.” I take a long drink, my non-response deliberate.
She huffs softly. “Cade just gives so much—too much—of himself, and he never asks for anything in return.”
It almost feels like an accusation—like she’s suggesting Cade is giving me more than he’s getting back.
Truth is, he probably is.
“I care about him, too.” The words feel tepid, a pale shadow of the truth clawing at my ribs. But hell if I’m going to start defending my relationship to Maria. I’m hanging on by a thread, just trying to play nice.
I g lance away instead, letting my gaze drift across the room—and that’s when I notice it. Two, then three pairs of eyes trained on me. Slowly, I swivel my head. More than half the room is now staring openly, their gazes unguarded now that the booze is flowing freely.
I instinctively straighten my leather skirt again. It’s short and flared with wide pleats, paired with a vintage band tee cut off just below my ribs and a leather jacket—all courtesy of Sophie’s insistence. It’s edgy but nothing outrageous.
“Does Cade not bring women here often?” I wince at how insecure the question sounds, but I need to know the problem with these bikers.
Maria chuckles softly. “Now and then. But that’s not why they’re looking at you, Luna.” She leans forward, resting her elbows on the polished wood table. “It’s because . . . well, Cade never gets involved with the women he brings here. With women, in general.”
The beer bottle stops halfway to my mouth. “What do you mean?”
A wan smile tugs at her lips. “Cade saves women. He’s protective, but that’s it. To him, we’re—I’m— a project. Which is frustrating when you’re trying to get him to stop being so noble and see you as something more.”
Her candor takes me by surprise. The shift in her—emboldened, almost challenging—unsettles me. It’s as if my thawing attitude has given her permission to test boundaries she wouldn’t dare cross before.
“Now you . . .” Her dark, assessing gaze sweeps over me. “He’s breaking those rules for you.”
I cock my head. “I don’t know what you mean by—”
“Please.” Her smile turns wicked. “These walls are thinner than you think.”
Heat rushes to my face as the memory of this afternoon slams into me. After the meeting with Nico, I’d practically attacked Cade the moment his door clicked shut. I can still feel the rough press of the door against my back, his mouth hot on my neck as I begged him to fuck me . . .
Oh shit.
I might as well have handed out front-row tickets. And judging by the smirks, every single one of them knows exactly how hard I came.
How do I recover from this? Offer to bake cookies? Or just sit here and hope they don’t burst into applause?
“I’m so sorry.” The words tumble out in a mortified whisper.
“Why are you sorry?” Maria asks kindly.
“Well, there are children here—” I sputter, glancing around as though one might appear out of thin air.
Maria shakes her head with a light laugh. “They aren’t allowed in here. The things that go on in here would scar them for life.”
“Case in point.” She nods toward the far corner, where a woman is draped across a patchholder’s lap, her fist sliding up and down in a slow, deliberate motion that leaves no doubt what’s happening.
“Right.” I let out a breath, along with my embarrassment.
We fall into silence, the buzz of the clubhouse filling the space between us. Maria doesn’t chatter idly; she just sits with a serenity that’s starting to annoy me.
It’s like she can outwait anything.
Maybe even the man she loves falling for someone else.
I study her carefully. She’s beautiful in an understated way. Her face is sweet and round, with a natural glow that gives her an almost innocent look.
If I wasn’t in the picture, would Cade have fallen for her in time? Is she part of the life waiting for him here, in Harmony?
“Hey, Luna!”
A d eep, rough voice booms across the room, cutting through the noise like a gunshot.
I whirl toward the sound, pulse skipping. One of the guys who’d been staring finally finds his voice—a mountain of a man with shaggy hair and a Celtic knot inked into his face, grinning like he’s just won a bet.
“You’re like . . . a doctor, right?”
I blink, thrown off by the sudden spotlight.
Maria beats me to it. “You’re getting your lines crossed, Razor. Sophie’s the doctor.”
Razor waves her off with a lopsided grin. “Oh, I know Sophie’s the feelings doctor. Luna’s the way more interesting kind.” His eyes gleam mischievously as he bellows to the room, “Boys, we’ve got ourselves a sex doctor!”
Laughter rolls through the clubhouse like a thunderclap, fists pounding tables, bottles raised in cheers.
“We loved the presents, doc!” someone hollers.
“Very . . . impressive collection,“ another voice drawls, thick with innuendo.
Aw, shit. I’m so going to murder Cade.
A wolf whistle cuts through the chaos. “Too bad the manual wasn’t in Druid-speak. Maybe the good doctor can demonstrate how it works!”
“Better yet, show us how to get it to cum! ”
The roar of laughter grows deafening, and I feel my cheeks flame. My heart’s pounding, but not entirely from embarrassment—there’s a thrill racing under my skin now, sharp and electric.
“Come on, doc! Walk us through it!”
The clubhouse is relentless, chants swelling in a biker version of a stadium crowd. I glance at Maria, who’s doubled over, laughing.
“ Dogs and bones, Luna,” she gasps between chuckles. “You might as well give them what they want, or we’ll be here all night.”
“You can’t be serious.” My lips twitch despite myself.
“What did you expect?” she chortles. “You dropped a box of candy on a bunch of rowdy boys, and you’re surprised they’re running on a sugar high?”
Great.
Cade is still nowhere in sight—probably still outside with Phoenix—so it’s just me, on my own. “Fuck it.” I stand, step onto the bench, and climb onto the table.
The room detonates. Cheers echo, whistles pierce the air, and rough hands shoot up in mock worship. The energy slams into me like a live wire, and I can’t help grinning.
“Alright, boys and girls,” I drawl, tapping my chin like I’m giving a lecture. “Let’s start with the basics.”
Bodies shift closer. I hold up a finger, my grin wicked. “For the ladies—”
Hoots interrupt me, and I wait them out, smirking. “Settings go up to ten. The detachable rabbit ears? They flick, lick, and suck—individually or all together—with a thrust mode for the G-spot.”
“Sweet Jesus, I think I just came.” A woman with flaming red hair fans herself, deadpan.
The clubhouse roars with laughter. Even the hardest-looking patchholders are grinning now, some barely containing it.
“My job’s done then!” I shoot back, riding the high. “Now, for the boys—”
The words stick in my throat as I spot Phoenix leaning against the far wall, arms crossed. Glower ing.
Why does he hate me?
For one- awful moment, I consider crawling off the table. But the crowd starts chanting for more, and something snaps. Screw him.
I turn my back to Phoenix, square my shoulders, and face my eager audience. “Moving on to the boys—let’s talk about the prostate massage feature, shall we? Trust me, the reviews are legendary. ”
Groans ripple through the crowd, but there’s genuine interest gleaming in their eyes. They’re loving this.
“Does Bliss Xtra come with a soundproof guarantee?” A blonde woman perched on Razor’s lap yells, waving her beer. “My man’s a screamer!”
The room loses it, fists pounding the tables, bodies shaking with laughter. My pulse races as I toss her a grin.
“No guarantees, sweetheart, but maybe keep an extra pillow handy—and bite down hard, Razor.”
Cheers explode. The energy crackles so hard it feels like the walls are shaking. I’m ready to drop the final mic moment—the simulated release feature—when a vibration buzzes against my thigh.
Cade’s phone.
We’d been tweaking the settings earlier to scan my fingerprints before Phoenix pulled him away.
I pull it out, ready to ignore whoever’s calling, but the name flashing across the screen stops me cold.
Jacques Dev’s Girl.
Jacques Dev as in Devereaux? What the hell? Is that . . . Reese?
How does she have Cade’s number? How does Cade have hers saved that way? Why the fuck would she be calling Cade?
I force a smile, holding up a hand. “Sorry, boys, duty calls. Give me a minute.”
Gro ans and playful complaints follow me as I hop down, but my mind’s already racing as I head for the door.
The night air hits my face as I step onto the porch, and I press the phone to my ear and wait.
“Agent Quinn?” I’d recognize that fake vocal fry anywhere.
“Reese? Bitch, how the fuck do you have this number?”
“Luna? Luna! Thank God! I’ve been worried sick.” Then she pauses. “Wait a sec, why do you have this phone?” This time, she uses her real voice.
“Cade’s phone? Long story. Your turn, and don’t you dare lie.”
She sucks in a breath. “Do you know Cade Quinn?”
“Do I know Cade Quinn?” I mimic. “What the hell are you talking about, Reese? I told you about him in the email I sent. Which I regret sending, by the way. It was a moment of weakness, and I would like to go back to hating your backstabbing ass.”
Silence. And then she begins to laugh.
“Whenever you’re done cackling, you can clue me in,” I snap.
“I’m sorry, but this is priceless. Cade is the person I was talking about! The guy I know who tracks people down. And I was calling him today because I didn’t hear from you.”
Oh shit. I lean against the rough wood of the porch railing. I forgot all about Reese and my stupid backup plan. I check the clock on the phone—just after eleven.
“What time is it over there?”
“Eight in the morning,” Reese huffs. “You didn’t check in last night. Do you have any idea how worried I was?”
“I forgot,” I admit, running a hand through my hair. “I’m sorry, okay?”
“ You forgot?” she spits. “Jesus, Luna, I thought you were dead! Where are you, and . . . and what’s that noise in the background?”
“Uh . . .” I stare out into the darkness, almost laughing at how insane this will sound. “I’m in a biker clubhouse.”
The silence stretches so long, I pull the phone away from my ear to check if the call dropped.
“You’re where?”
“A biker clubhouse,” I repeat.
“What the hell are you doing in a biker clubhouse?” Her voice pitches somewhere between disbelief and horror.
I take a slow breath, trying to keep my tone calm. “Cade brought me here.”
“Why?” she demands.
And this is where I don’t say any more. She might know Cade Quinn as a rescuer or assassin. But she doesn’t know this is his home.
“Not sure. Anyway. How is . . . Uncle Jacques?” I ask to deflect. Reese can be tenacious when she scents blood . . . or a good story.
Long silence. “I’m sorry. It was a shitty-as-hell thing to do. I should have told you the moment you came to Paris. I broke it up with him instead. And then his sister—your mom—got sick, and Jacques was so lost, and I felt like a heel for keeping him away when he needed me—”
“It’s fine,” I cut in, not quite ready for the gory details. She makes him sound like a needy pet. To be fair, she makes all her men that way, it’s just too nauseating imagining my aristocratic uncle as one of her lovers.
I hear a rough exhale on the line. “So, Luna. You’re hanging out with Cade. Do you even know him? Granted, he’s sexy . . . but also more than a little deranged.”
“ Agreed he’s a lot of things, Reese.”
“You said you were in trouble?” Her voice gains that edge of softness that always makes me want to tell her anything.
I debate putting the phone down, but really. I’m going to need friends, and I have none right now. If this thing with Cade goes sideways . . .
“I am,” I admit quietly, switching to French. The words feel safer—like a confession whispered behind a screen. “Although the bigger one is that . . . I’ve fallen in love with him.”
Dead silence. My stomach twists as I wait.
“You’re in love with Cade Quinn?” Her tone cuts like glass.
“Deeply.”
The air shifts behind me—a sudden and overwhelming presence. I turn to find Cade coming up the short steps until he stops a few feet away. He leans on the railing, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on me with an intensity that steals my breath.
Shit.
“Hey, I gotta go.” I hang up before she can respond, my pulse thundering in my ears.
I dart for the door and just make it back into the common room, only for his arm to snake around my waist. Cade lifts me clear off the floor and right onto the bar top like I weigh nothing.
He spreads my thighs, steps between them then buries his face in my neck.
Right in front of everyone.
Hoots and whistles erupt from the crowd. Heat floods my face, but my body—Christ, my body lights up like a fucking Christmas tree.
“Was that Jacques’ girl?” Cade murmurs against my throat.
I t ry to keep my composure, but his teeth scrape against the sensitive skin of my neck, nipping and sucking, and I can barely hold back a moan.
“How do you even know Reese?” My words cut off on a gasp when he nips at my earlobe.
“I look out for her now and then. She used to have a very messed up family.”
I pull back, my eyes bugging in shock as the implications sink. Cade knows who she really is.
Before I can probe deeper, he nips at my skin and then swallows my gasp in a kiss. It’s slow and exploratory, his tongue boldly sliding against mine and stealing my breath. The room rouses with cheers, but it barely registers. The rush of blood in my ears drowns out everything else.
“You were quite descriptive out there,” he growls against my lips.
“What do you mean?” I ask, caught somewhere between shame and desire.
He pulls back, his lips hovering over mine, his breath teasing. “Say it again,” he commands.
My hands clutch at his shoulders as his hand slides beneath my skirt, the rough pads of his fingertips scraping along my inner thigh.
“Cade,” I gasp as his mouth moves lower. “See, I think the room gets it. We’re together. I’m your Old Lady.”
“No harm in rubbing it in, baby,” he murmurs wickedly, throwing my own words back at me. His thumb strokes the edge of my panties, teasing, until I’m shaking so hard I can barely hold on to him.
“Everyone’s staring at us.”
“Since when did that become a problem for you?” Cade’s lips capture mine in another bruising kiss.
The n, before I can even process the heat blazing through me, he pushes the crotch of my panties aside and presses his thumb right against my clit.
Ah . Fuck. I’m panting, mortified yet completely lost in the way he’s claiming me, staking his territory in front of his family. My own fingers find their way into his thick hair, drawn to him like gravity. “Cade . . .”
“Say it,” he growls against my lips, his thumb stroking slow circles around me. “And I’ll stop and leave you alone.”
Stop? Leave me alone with a room full of filthy-mouthed bikers after he’s had his hand up my skirt?
I’d never survive the teasing. The only escape from this crowd tonight is letting Cade take me out of here.
Decision made, I hoist myself up, wrapping my legs around his waist to thunderous approval from our audience.
“No,” I breathe against his ear. “Actually, I don’t want you to stop until morning.”
Something dark and promising flashes in his eyes. “That can be arranged.”
He turns with me still wrapped around him and walks us through the room before heading for the stairs, each step punctuated by boisterous hoots and catcalls of a thoroughly entertained crowd.
“Get the good doctor half a dozen pillows!” someone shouts, earning a chorus of laughter.
My face burns so hot I feel like I’m seconds from combustion. I bury my head in Cade’s neck, breathing him in—citrus and leather and everything sin I can’t resist.
Oh, ground, if you’re listening, now would be an excellent time to swallow me whole.