Chapter Five #2
Wind whips across my face as Tomcat rockets out of the parking lot, the rush stealing my breath. I tip my head back, eyes fluttering shut, letting the wild freedom of speed and open air wash over me.
No walls. No cages. No locked doors.
It’s another reason that I love walking everywhere.
Damon locked me away so often that the simple brush of wind on my skin became a rare luxury, something I had to earn. He feared I’d slip away if I breathed too much freedom.
The memory coils in my chest, squeezing until it aches.
After I believed I’d killed him, I spent countless nights beneath open skies, just me and the endless universe overhead. The quiet was a balm, a reminder that even after he stole everyone I loved, I remained.
Still alive. Still breathing. Because I fought back.
When nightmares pull me under, I ache for the fire I wish I’d found sooner. If only I’d fought harder, run sooner. Maybe my mom and dad would still be alive.
A well-worn ache unfurls in my ribs.
Deep down, I know I was powerless. Damon wanted them gone, so he made it happen. Sometimes, no matter how much light you carry, the dark still swallows everything.
That day it did.
Tomcat’s hand finds my thigh, his gentle squeeze anchoring me to the present. The storm inside me quiets, his silent support pulling me from spiraling memories.
That’s the thing about him, isn’t it?
He’s always there. No matter how many times I push him away, no matter how often I run or waver between craving him and fleeing. He still shows up, unwavering, ready to set the world ablaze for me.
Maybe it’s finally time to tear off the mask and let him see the real woman beneath.
Tomcat rolls into my driveway and kills the engine, the sudden silence ringing loudly in my ears.
He helps me off the bike with steady, practiced hands.
The kickstand thuds down, and he rises to his full, imposing height.
He steps in, unfastening the strap beneath my chin.
The helmet slips away, and his hand instantly finds the back of my neck, thumb tracing that sensitive spot behind my ear.
“You good?” he rumbles.
I nod like a marionette, my breath gone, my brain useless. “Uh huh. Yep. All good. Totally good.”
A low chuckle rumbles from his chest. “You sure, Goldie? You look a little flustered.” He steps in, heat radiating from him, swallowing the space between us. “I haven’t even gotten my face between those juicy thighs yet, and you’re already shaking.”
γαμ?το.
Fuck.
His thumb presses the spot he claimed earlier with his teeth. Lightning crackles between my legs. A helpless moan escapes me, my body arching into his touch before pride or reason can catch up. His eyes darken, heat flaring when he hears it.
The tension between us coils tighter with every heartbeat as we lock eyes. The air sizzles with electricity. My soul aches, wild with hunger for this man, gnawing at me until I can barely breathe. My pulse hammers as our mouths inch closer, drawn by a force I can’t resist.
Our breaths mingle in hot, ragged bursts.
His fingers tighten at my neck as he drops the other one to my waist.
Closer.
Closer.
My mind fractures, and a blade of cold terror cuts through me as something over Tomcat’s shoulder snaps into focus, wrong in a way that sends a glacial rush through my veins.
No one else would notice, but I do. This is my home. My space. Everything here sits exactly how I need it to be. Nothing shifts without purpose. A flowerpot, moved to a new spot? Of course, I notice. That was the whole point.
My body goes rigid as realization dawns, horror settling in as the shifted flowerpot signals an intrusion. I can’t ignore what this means: someone has been here, violating my sanctuary.
Tomcat moves in a heartbeat. His face goes blank, all warmth vanished as he releases me so abruptly it sears. Bitterness flashes in his eyes as he steps back, yanks off his hat, rakes tense fingers through his hair, then jams the cap on, bill now facing forward.
“Don’t know why the fuck I keep putting myself in this position,” he snaps. “You run so hot and cold it fucks with my head. This shit,” he gestures sharply between us, “this is why I don’t get involved. Shit is messy as fuck.”
Every word lands like a blow.
“You either want me, or you don’t, Marigold. It’s as simple as that. Not going to continue to push for something if you really don’t want it.” His gaze pins me in place. “Straight up. Do you want to be with me or not?”
The world shrinks to a pinpoint. I tremble, adrenaline and emotion crashing together in my veins.
This is it. This is the moment I tell him. The moment I finally admit I’m his shadow, the one who follows him everywhere. The moment I confess I love him.
The words surge up, desperate to escape, but my eyes catch on the flowerpot’s new position again.
Wrong. Still wrong.
My breath stutters, and the words die in my chest as terror pours in, icy and suffocating. Images of my parents’ lifeless bodies crash through my mind, their faces pale and broken, then morphing cruelly into his.
Tomcat. Dead. Gone. Taken.
My stomach lurches.
What if honesty puts a target on his back? Losing my parents nearly destroyed me. Losing him would finish the job.
My heart thunders painfully against my breastbone.
The longer I stay silent, something in Tomcat changes. The dangerous heat in him cools, replaced by that familiar smirk. The mask he wears when disappointment hardens into something sharper.
“All good, darlin’. No harm. I hear you loud and clear.” He swings his leg over the bike with restless irritation, jerking his chin toward my house. “Go on inside. I got somewhere to be.”
My heart jolts in my chest at the glint in his eyes.
Oh, no.
He’s on the verge of something reckless. He always is when things between us explode like this. When frustration claws under his skin, there’s only one way he knows to let it out.
Other women.
A familiar ache blooms between my breasts, and I lift my hand to rub it away.
No matter.
There are always steps to prevent unfortunate stupidity.
Like tailing him and derailing whatever disaster he’s about to chase.
It’s what I’m best at.
“Be safe,” I murmur.
“I’m always safe, Goldie,” he replies with a wink.
Oh, he’s definitely about to do something reckless.
Bad boy.
I keep my eyes forward as I walk away, his stare burning into me like sunlight on bare skin. The man is absolutely delusional if he thinks this is the end of us.
Never.
I bend down and pick up the displaced flowerpot, straightening its bent stems with unnecessary precision before returning it beside the door. Only after it’s set right do I pull my keys from my fanny pack.
My knife slides into my palm automatically.
My security system stayed silent, but I feel its failure in my bones. Someone was here, right outside my door, and the system missed it. I’ll deal with that later. For now, there’s something—someone—far more urgent.
I have someone to keep safe since he’s about to be reckless.
My alarm shrieks the second I unlock the door, a sharp, satisfying sound that loosens the knot in my chest. Good. No one’s been inside. They’d have to know my favorite thing about Tomcat to guess my code.
244863.
Big toe.
Weird? Completely. But that tiny, perfect beauty mark by his nail has me hooked. Most feet make my skin crawl, but his? Soft, pretty, and unfairly photogenic.
Honestly, he could cash in on those adorable toes. Just a few snapshots to the right crowd? Instant payday. OnlyFans, but make it feet.
I’d be his first subscriber.
Best money ever spent.
Sudden silence snaps me out of my spiraling daydreams.
I turn, smiling brightly at Tomcat, waving him off like this is normal, like my insides aren’t vibrating with urgency. He nods, the bike roaring to life, and then he’s gone, tearing out of the driveway without a backward glance.
My smile drops instantly. I glare at the empty space he leaves behind.
Seriously? He didn’t have to look so thrilled to leave.
I hate that more than I’ll admit.
Quickly, I move through my home, clearing rooms with practiced efficiency while tracking Tomcat’s location on my phone.
Once every shadow is accounted for and nothing lurks where it shouldn’t, I change into my hunting gear for the second time today.
Because if Tomcat insists on behaving like a reckless idiot, someone has to be the responsible one.
Hidden in my garage is the one secret I’ve kept from everyone.
A matte black Honda Cbr1000RR-R Fireblade. The obedient assassin of sports bikes.
It fits me perfectly.
Registered under an alias two cities over, shielded by precautions I implemented long before Coral Cay. I ride it so rarely that no one could ever link it to me.
I don’t call it paranoia. I call it being prepared.
Tonight, speed matters, and this beauty is the only thing capable of getting me to Tomcat before he does something spectacularly stupid.
My bike glides smoothly along the road, engine humming beneath me like a restrained predator as I track the tiny moving dot on my screen.
Then he stops on the outskirts of the Coral Cay.
There’s only one place out there he’d go.
The biker bar previously known as The Broken Compass. Now known as The House of Saints.
Dramatic? Painfully. But no one asked for my opinion, so here we are.
I twist the throttle, and the Fireblade answers like the obedient assassin she is, the city blurring into streaks of light and motion as I race toward my man before he does something he regrets.
Okay. So he probably wouldn’t regret it. In fact, he’d probably enjoy it.
A lot.
But I aggressively shove that thought out of my brain because it makes something dark and stabby bloom inside my chest.