Chapter Twenty-One
Twister
The day dragged on like a bad hangover.
After the run-in at the bike shop yesterday, I got back to the clubhouse with my jaw tight and my fists clenched after leaving Tempi with Cord to keep an eye on her. My mind was chewing on the word Ledger like it was poison. Whoever they were, they didn’t like the Saint’s Outlaws being in Madison, and they weren’t subtle about it. Bricks through windows. Notes to Tempi. Threats. Shadow shit.
Not my favorite kind of game.
I gave the guys the rundown of every word Frank and Nick stammered out. Swift paced the length of the room like a caged animal, and Wheels was already firing off texts to some of his off-the-grid contacts. Hodge and Podge took turns spitballing theories, some realistic, some straight out of a conspiracy podcast.
Later that day, Swift and Rev came back from checking in with a former alderman with a gambling problem. They pulled me into church.
“You’re not gonna like what we heard,” Rev said.
“Try me,”
I grunted.
“There’s chatter about The Ledger being tied to old money in Madison,”
Swift said.
“Like real old. Political dynasties, real estate, university donors, backroom handshakes, kind of shit.”
“So not just small-time thugs?”
I asked and arched a brow.
“More like ghost kings,”
Rev said.
“No faces. No names. Just whispers.”
“Perfect,”
I muttered and scrubbed a hand over my face.
“Fucking ghost stories.”
“They don’t play fair,”
Swift warned.
“If they want us out, they’ll dig in. Could be the start of a war.”
“I don’t care who they are,”
I said.
“We’re not going anywhere.”
They nodded.
“No one is going to push us out of Madison. The club stays here, and this is where Tempi is. We’re fucking cemented here no matter fucking what.”
That was that.
A couple hours passed. The clubhouse was quieter than usual. Most of the guys had either gone to check out State Street or were tucked away in their rooms. I sat at the bar for a while, chain-smoking like I was twenty and angry at the world again.
Then the front door creaked open behind me.
Boots. Soft ones.
Tempi.
I turned around, and there she was, wearing tight jeans, a faded hoodie that had the bar’s name across the chest, and a look in her eyes I couldn’t quite place.
“Thought I’d come see the biker in his natural habitat,”
she joked and stepped inside.
I shut the door behind her and locked it.
“Glad you did.”
Her eyes scanned the place.
“It’s quieter than I expected.”
“Saturday night,”
I said.
“Some of the guys are out, others are asleep or buried in porn and whiskey.”
She grinned.
“Charming.”
I nodded toward the stairs.
“Wanna come up?”
Her answer was to walk ahead of me and start climbing the stairs.
My room was simple: bed, dresser, blackout curtains, a few spare shirts tossed in a chair. I shut the door behind us and leaned against it for a second, and just watched her. She moved around like she belonged there.
“Tempi,” I said.
She turned. “Yeah?”
“What are you really doing here?”
Her smile faltered just a little.
“I think I’m trying to figure out what the hell this is.”
“This?”
“You and me,”
she said, and crossed her arms.
“I don’t do half in. I don’t do games. And I’ve been trying really hard not to let myself fall into something I don’t understand, but then you go and kiss me like I’m the only woman in the world, and now I can’t think straight.”
I swallowed hard.
“It’s not a game. I thought we worked that out?”
“Then what is it?”
I stepped toward her, slow and steady, until there was barely space between us.
“It’s me waking up with you in my bed and not wanting you to leave. It’s me going out to punch ghosts and shadows because some asshole threatened you. It’s me not wanting to be anywhere except where you are.”
She blinked fast. “Oh.”
I reached up, tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.
“That answer your question?”
Instead of replying, she kissed me.
Not rushed. Not wild. Just slow, warm, and full of meaning.
I shrugged off my cut and pulled my shirt over my head.
We moved to the bed like we’d done it a hundred times. My hands slid under her hoodie, skimmed up her sides, and memorized every curve. Her fingers traced the tattoos on my chest and followed the lines like they told her a story.
Tempi's hoodie fell away first, revealing the thin tank she wore beneath. My hands slid under it, my thumbs skimmed her waist, and my palms curved along the dip of her waist. She lifted her arms, and I pulled the tank top over her head. I tossed it somewhere behind me. She wasn’t wearing a bra.
I stilled, just for a second, taking her in.
She watched me as her lips parted and her chest rose and fell. There was a vulnerability in her eyes I hadn’t seen before. Not fear. Not nerves. Just… openness. Like she’d finally decided to stop fighting whatever this was between us and let it happen.
“Tempi,”
I said softly and let her name sit between us.
“Yeah?”
Her voice was a whisper.
“This isn’t just sex.”
She nodded slowly. “I know.”
I brushed my lips over hers, soft, unhurried. A promise. She melted into me, and her hands moved over my chest, tracing the ink, and her fingertips dragged over old scars, muscle, and years of hardened edges that she seemed to soften with a single touch.
There was no rush. No frenzy. Just a simmering, aching pull between us that got stronger with every kiss, every breath, every look.
When we were both bare, I leaned back on the bed and drew her down with me. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders as she straddled my waist, and her hands rested on my chest. For a moment, we didn’t move. Just stared at each other.
“We’re in deep,”
she said quietly and brushed her fingers over my jaw.
I nodded.
“Yeah, doll. I think I was the second I saw you.”
She bent down and kissed me again. Slow and sensual like she had all the time in the world. I slid my hands over her thighs, up her back, and held her closer. Our bodies aligned, and the heat coiled between us like a fuse about to spark.
When she finally sank onto me, it wasn’t fast or hard. It was deep. A slow, sensual slide that made us both gasp. Her hands braced on my chest, and mine anchored her hips as she moved with a rhythm that was all her own—steady, aching, consuming.
I watched her lose herself in it. In me. Her eyes fluttered closed, and her mouth parted with a soft moan as her hips rocked against mine. Every roll of her body pulled me deeper. Every kiss sent electricity racing through my veins.
“You feel like everything,”
I murmured against her throat.
She opened her eyes, and her gaze locked with mine.
“So do you.”
It wasn’t just the way we fit together. It was the way she looked at me. Like I wasn’t just a man in her bed, but the man she was starting to trust with her heart.
She leaned down, and I kissed her again. Her body trembled above mine, and I felt her tighten, her breath hitching as she neared the edge. I held her closer and whispered her name.
“Tempi, come with me,”
I said, voice thick with emotion.
“Right here.”
She did. So did I.
Together.
She collapsed against me, her cheek pressed to my shoulder, and our bodies tangled slick with sweat. I rolled us slowly, keeping her close, and let her settle against my chest as the aftershocks pulsed between us.
For a long time, we just lay there.
Our breathing synced. Our hearts slowed.
And for once in my life, I wasn’t thinking about the club. Or danger. Or how we were going to fight our way through Madison.
All I could think about was her.
Tempi.
The way she felt in my arms.
The way she fit into my life without even trying.
She hadn’t saved me. I didn’t need saving.
But damn if she didn’t make me want more.
More mornings like this. More nights like this.
More of her.
Always her.