45
Luna
Morning light floods through the large window, making the timber-and-glass room feel too empty without Cade. Through the mist, bikes lined up like soldiers in the yard below.
Home , something whispers inside me. This could be home.
Already missing Cade, I swing my legs off the bed, drawn to his closet. The neat rows of T-shirts and leather cuts hit me with his scent—leather and that citrus scent that never fails to make my belly tighten. I choose a white one, worn cotton soft against my skin.
My fingers find the tungsten beads on my wrist. His mark. His claim. For a moment I consider taking them off, but they feel solid and grounding. Like the rune hanging around my neck.
The scent of coffee pulls me downstairs to find a transformed clubhouse. Last night’s chaos has settled into morning-after peace: leather cuts sprawl over chairs, bottles lined up like trophies, and distant laughter still echoing in the air.
In the industrial kitchen, a woman—the redhead who declared she’d orgasmed from my product description alone—works a chrome espresso machine. Her flame-red hair falls in chunky braids to her tailbone, setting off the leather vest with its “Property of Grease” patch.
“Morning Luna!” She greets with a warm smile, then her eyebrows wag suggestively. “Rough night?”
Knowing I’ve more than earned her teasing with last night’s antics, I smile back, feeling surprisingly comfortable in this strange new world.
“A little. I could ask you the same, um . . .”
“Diamond,” she supplies, hands moving over the machine with practiced ease. “And honey, thanks to you, all sixteen rooms were buzzing with energy.”
“Oh really?” I chuckle, a surge of pride warming my chest. “Well, I’m glad to be of service. But I thought bikers didn’t sleep at the clubhouse?”
“Most don’t. But when it’s Cade’s return party? Nobody wants to leave.” She turns back to me. “Coffee?”
“God, yes. Flat white, if you can manage it.”
“I can make anything this beast can dream up.” Diamond nods at the machine. “Running this place means mastering all kinds of skills.”
“You run the place?” I ask.
She winks, pulling eggs from a restaurant-sized fridge. “For this morning, yes. I’m on breakfast duty. Someone has to keep those post-orgasmic party animals fed and watered. Now how do you like your eggs?”
Before I can respond, a child’s excited scream from the yard outside shatters our bubble. “Mama, Zio Cade’s back!”
I m ove to the porch just in time to see Cade high-fiving Victoria, and then his gaze swings toward the door, instantly landing on mine. His smile remains, but his eyes are clouded with something heavy.
Then I see the swollen bruise darkening his jaw and fresh bloodstains blooming across his white shirt—mercifully not near his healing side. But it’s enough to make my stomach plummet.
He’s been in a fight.
“Get a coat, baby.” Cade jerks his head toward the clubhouse, and my heart skips with the gut feeling that something is wrong.
I grab one of the coats off the rack in the common room and head out, hardly feeling the cool air as I follow Cade. He strides toward the row of bikes in the yard, his steps sharp and jerky, and only stops when we’re out of earshot. He has his back to me, hands flexing at his sides like he’s trying to contain something volatile.
I wait, suspended in dread of what he’s about to say. “Cade. Is everything okay?” I ask.
He doesn’t respond right away, his shoulders rising and falling with a deep cadence. When he turns around, the look in his eyes steals my breath.
There’s something raw there—something I’ve seen glimpses of before but never this stark. The darkness he carries is staring me down now in full force.
“There’s been a . . . development.” He rumbles. “I need to leave.”
Pain fists my chest, but I keep a straight face. “Leave?”
“Moscow.” His eyes lock onto mine. “Now.”
“Right now?”
He nods solemnly.
“ B-But . . . you were going to wait until tomorrow. We were going to Valencia today.” My voice cracks, but I cover it up in a chuckle. “I was kinda looking forward to seeing where you got fucked up as a child.”
He steps closer, then slowly reaches out to tuck my hair behind my ear. His touch lingers, thumb trailing my cheekbone down to the curve of my jaw, then along my lips. It’s as if he’s trying to memorize me in pieces.
He drops his hand and looks away, jaw tightening. “I know, baby, I’m sorry. And I love you.”
Shit. This is really happening. He’s leaving.
Don’t cry. Don’t beg. You knew this would happen, Luna. Scar told you it would happen.
I try to play it cool, but the ground is shifting under me. Not even twelve hours ago, I was starting to think about a future here. With him. And now . . .
“When will you be back?”
Cade’s expression stays unreadable. “When I finish.”
I swallow the painful lump in my throat, but it only lodges lower in my chest. “Finish with Antonov? Finish the entire list? Until something finishes you?”
He says nothing, his silence more eloquent than any answer he could give.
“Caden.” My voice cracks as I reach out to cup his jaw, my thumb ghosting over the purple-blue evidence of whatever battle he’s fought. “What happened this morning?”
His lips quirk in a humorless smile. “I was faced with an impossible choice. Life or death.”
Before I can process his words, his fingers spear into my hair and his lips capture mine. The kiss tastes like heaven, like everything I’ve ever wanted, but there’s something else—the desperation of a last time.
Whe n we break apart, his forehead drops to mine in a gesture that feels like resignation.
“Alright.” I sigh, trying to be brave. “What do you need me to do?”
Give me a task, a purpose, a reason to believe you’re coming back soon.
His gaze flickers with something I can’t quite name—regret, maybe, or something deeper. It hovers there for a raw, unguarded moment before he blinks it away and his face hardens again.
Ask me to wait for you, Cade.
He squeezes my hand, and when he speaks, his voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it.
“Trust your family. Phoenix and Nico and Dante.” Each name carries weight—like he’s passing me into their keeping. “Sophie already loves you like a sister, and so does Addy—Dante’s wife. Love them back, Luciana. And be safe.”
The realization settles like ice in my veins. He’s saying goodbye. He chose death.
“That’s it?” I force a smile, though my heart is shattering. “Just ‘be safe’? I’m sure I can do better than that.”
I push through the searing pain with false bravado. “I’m going to build an empire with Nico. Maybe I’ll even find myself a hot, grumpy psycho that reminds me of you. I’m told the Outfit is crawling with them.”
He chuckles, his mouth takes mine again, desperately, like he’s the one trying to hold onto me. But before I can say anything else, he pulls away. “You belong to me, Poison doux . Whatever you do, wherever you go.”
Sweet Poison.
Oh God, this is hard. I blink against the burn behind my eyes, biting down on my lip to stop it from trembling. “Yeah, we’ll see.”
Cad e gives me one last kiss, a half-smile that’s all tension and no warmth, and then he bounds upstairs. I’m still rooted to the same spot when he returns with his backpack and gets on a bike.
I turn away, as the engine roars to life, unable to watch him go. Unwilling to let him see the tears gathering in my eyes. And then he’s gone in a cloud of dust.
You couldn’t control him if he had a leash. I remember what Cade told me about Saint. How apt. You can’t make a man like that stay by begging. Nor can you own him.
He has to want you enough to stay. Enough to willingly submit.
I notice the faces at the windows, including Diamond’s. Maria. Phoenix. Thankfully, no one comes to offer platitudes when I step back into the clubhouse. They give me my much-needed space.
I barely make it up the stairs before the hot tears fall.
I knew this would happen. From the moment I saw that macabre kill list, I knew I could never compete with twenty-two years of vengeance.
But knowing doesn’t make it hurt any less.