Chapter 7
AXLE
T he first thing I did when I opened the door was look at her mouth.
I shoved the image away and reminded myself why I was there. Cage had asked about her, and I wanted to check on my angel so I could report back to him. That was what I told myself, anyway.
Ashlynn was sitting cross-legged in the center of my bed, a fortress of pillows behind her back and my dark gray comforter pooled at her hips.
Someone else in that position would’ve looked vulnerable.
Somehow, she didn’t. She looked…set. Like a driver belted into a cage, hands at ten and two, eyes on the flag.
That stubborn tilt to her chin again, the one that had shown up the second she’d woken up and saw me sitting there.
The one that told me, without a word, she was about to put up a fight.
It was aggravating as shit. But her sass and fire were also sexy as fuck. I liked it, which was a problem.
My gaze strayed to the closet where I’d stashed the money in my safe. Then I looked back at the gorgeous angel in front of me. I decided right then that she wouldn’t be getting it back until I knew she wouldn’t take it and run.
“Cage said to take it easy.” I let the door fall shut with a soft click and leaned my shoulders back against it for a beat. “No sparring matches with what-if ghosts. No high-impact life choices.”
She slid me a look from under those thick lashes and dropped her gaze to my forearms as though she was cataloging every vein. “And you’re here to enforce the doctor’s orders?”
“Something like that.” I pushed off the door and crossed the room slowly, like I was approaching a skittish mare.
She folded her hands in her lap and pretended she wasn’t watching me watch her. “Your tech guy really is hacking the drive?”
“He’s not ‘hacking’ it,” I corrected, because Jax hated that word unless he was using it to needle someone. “Peeling it. Like an onion booby-trapped to explode if a knife gets within three inches.”
Her nose scrunched adorably. “That sounds…um, messy.”
“Will be if anyone so much as sneezes near his rig.” I stopped at the end of the bed and hooked a thumb into a belt loop so I wouldn’t do something stupid like climb onto my mattress and kiss her. “Jax will do what he does. Until then, I want you to rest. Let me handle the noise.”
That earned me a slow sigh. She tipped her head to the side, hair spilling over one shoulder in burgundy waves with those thin neon streaks catching the morning light.
The color should’ve been loud. On her, it just made the gray of her eyes look deeper.
“You keep saying I should let you handle it, Mason. I appreciate the caveman routine—though it’s rather bossy—but I’m not built to sit around and let somebody else fix the mess I’m in.
That’s not who I am. Especially when it puts innocent people in danger. ”
There it was. The line in the sand.
Didn’t matter how sweet her voice was, or how strong her iron core was. I wasn’t letting Ashlynn anywhere near this bullshit.
“Not asking you to change who you are,” I carefully explained.
Because I knew if I leaned too hard, she’d jump sideways simply out of principle.
“I’m telling you how this day is going to go.
Jax pulls at threads. My brothers make sure there aren’t any uninvited guests sniffing fences.
I keep you breathing while the rest shakes out.
And until Cage clears you for anything more than walking to the bathroom, that means your ass stays right here in this bed. ”
Her mouth flattened in almost a pout. “And if I refuse to lie here like a…a damsel in distress?”
“Can’t say I hate the idea of you waiting around for me to come kiss you and save the day.” I stepped closer and planted my hand on the headboard above her shoulders, my shadow spilling over her.
She didn’t shrink under my heavy presence. She met me head-on, eyes bright, pupils gone a little wide like adrenaline was coursing in her blood.
Good girl.
“But you’re a courier, angel,” I explained. “Built to move. That’s fine. Today, though? You’re cargo. Cargo gets guarded.”
“I’m not cargo.” Her voice dipped low and fierce. It should’ve been easy to ignore. Instead, it crawled down my spine and tightened everything that chipped away at my control. “I have skin in this.”
Fucking hell. She needed to use a different analogy before I tore off her clothes and took a closer look at said skin.
Unaware of the fight between my mind and body, she continued. “I have choices, and if you won’t let me help, I’ll go. I’ll figure this out on my own.”
I leaned down until my mouth hovered at her ear. “You try to leave, and I will catch you, Ashlynn. Then I’ll carry you back and tie you to this fucking bed.”
She shivered but tried to play it off by straightening her shoulders. “You can’t be serious.”
My voice came out mild. “Willing to bet your freedom on that, baby?”
The question hung between us as the air in the room went thick and warm.
I could hear our breaths, a brother’s footsteps in the hall, a soft thump from the stairwell, the distant metallic clang from the small garage next door.
The world kept going. But everything in me narrowed to the way her pulse leaped in her throat.
She blinked, then spoke thoughtfully. “If I stay…if I rest…if I stop trying to fix this for five minutes—and that’s all I’m willing to promise—will you answer a question honestly?”
My eyes narrowed, but I agreed. “Yes.”
“What happens if your tech cracks that drive, and the answers make me look bad?”
I shrugged. “Then we deal. Not gonna throw you to the wolves because they have a badge or a budget.”
She bit her lip, making my cock throb. Then she released it, to my great relief. “And if it puts your club in danger?”
She left it there, but I heard what she didn’t say. Danger you didn’t ask for, that could've been avoided if you’d let me run.
I didn’t sugarcoat the truth. “We live in danger. We were born in the grit and carved out of the kind of violence polite society pretends doesn’t exist. We also live in lines.
And when someone crosses them, we don’t just hit back—we dismantle them.
Piece by piece, until nothing is left standing.
You didn’t bring this to our door, angel.
It flew onto our track and almost died under my wheels.
At that point, this stopped being your problem and started being ours. ”
She tipped her chin back, skeptical and stubborn, but there was a wobble in it now. A softening she didn’t want to show me. “You’re very sure for a guy who doesn’t know my last name.”
“That’s because I’m not negotiating with your last name.” I let my hand slide down the headboard, my palm brushing the loose waves of her hair before I could stop myself. “I’m negotiating with you . And you’re staying.”
“And if I say no?”
“Then we’re back to the tying-you-to-the-bed option.” I let it roll out flat, no heat, no joke. The heat was already there anyway, flickering through her eyes.
“You should probably know my last name if that’s really an option,” she teased before her eyes turned serious. “It’s Bahr.”
“Thank you for trusting me with that, angel.” I clenched my fist to stop myself from stroking her hair again, worried it’d spook her.
“Rest. Hydrate. Eat the food I put in your hands. When you’re steady on your feet, we’ll walk to Jax together, and you can watch him work. Until then, let me do my job.”
“And what exactly is your job?”
I didn’t blink. “You.”
That earned me a look that would’ve knocked a lesser man on his ass.
There was shock and wariness, but it was the beginning of something hotter that had me unsteady on my feet.
She opened her mouth and closed it just as fast, as if any argument she had would admit she liked the sound of it too much.
“Fine,” she agreed at last, voice feathered with exasperation that she didn’t sell well. “I will rest. I will hydrate. But I will not promise to eat anything with raisins in it.”
My mouth twitched. “Deal. Raisins are an abomination.”
Her lips curved up. “Finally, common ground.”
Exhaling through my nose, I pushed away from the bed and stepped back before the urge to lean down and find out if her lips tasted like strawberries or sin got the better of me. “Good. I’ll grab coffee and something without raisins.”
I crossed to the dresser, picked up the burner I’d left there, and set it within easy reach on the nightstand. “My number’s in there. You need me, you press call or text. You get bored and want a book, you call or text. You so much as think about leaving, you call or text.”
She rolled her eyes and flopped back onto the pillows as I left.
The day stretched and blurred. I tried to get shit done, but my mind remained upstairs. Even when my sister video-called with my adorable nephew, I was distracted by the woman in my bed.
I checked on her frequently. Sometimes pretending I was just passing by, other times I didn’t bother. But every time I opened the door and saw her breathing easy in my bed, that feral snarl inside me settled for a while.
She rolled her eyes at the way I hovered and pretended she wasn’t cataloging each time I came in and left like she was timing my laps.
With every visit…every damn thought of her, desire built inside me. When she looked at me through those long, thick lashes, or smiled with those pretty lips or…just fucking breathed, I moved closer and closer to the edge of my breaking point.
By midnight, my nerves were raw in a way that only happened when I couldn’t burn it off with speed.
My bed was full, but my hands were empty.
Every time I thought about lying down in some other bed, my brain staged a small riot.
So I did what I always did when sleep was out of reach, riding wasn’t an option and responsibility kept my throttle pinned at the redline—I went to the garage.
Not The Pit. The pro mechanic shop was a couple of miles up the road, locked down for the night. The compound's own garage was quieter, and since it was attached to the clubhouse, I was close enough that if my phone buzzed with her name, I’d make it back upstairs before the second ring.
The roll-up was pulled halfway, letting in a slice of fresh air.
Though the August night was hot as balls and humid, it woulda been a fuck of a lot worse with the door closed.
The crickets created a symphony, and laughter drifted to my ears from the area where we had a firepit, and a TV murmured low in the common room.
The clubhouse never slept, not really. Brothers were always coming and going, and several men were always on sentry duty.
I swiveled on my rolling stool and grabbed a torque wrench, then turned back to my bike and pretended the swingarm bolt needed my attention more than my sanity did. The cool steel in my palm steadied the buzz under my skin, as did the scent of chain lube and rubber.
“Work that thing any harder,” a voice drawled from the kitchen door, “and it’s gonna need a cigarette.”
I didn’t look up. “Don’t flirt with my hardware, Drift. It’s rude.”
He wandered in with a lopsided grin and a mug of something that smelled like coffee strong enough to strip paint. Tilting his chin toward the door, he murmured, “Figured you’d be upstairs guarding.”
“I am guarding.” The wrench clicked once, twice, moderately satisfying. “Doesn’t require staring at her sleep.”
“Sure. Keep telling yourself that.” He took a sip, eyes glinting over the rim. “Skills must be slippin’ then ’cause your woman’s drifting.”
I froze mid-turn. Just a flicker. Drift’s grin widened like he’d been waiting for it.
“Define drifting,” I said, setting the wrench down hard enough to make the tool cart rattle.
“She’s creeping.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder toward the main hallway.
“Bare feet, quiet as a shadow. Slipped by the common room, skirted the pool table, hugged the wall like she learned it from a manual.” His eyebrows went up as he took another sip from his mug.
“Sweet as she is, the woman’s got instincts. ”
The sound that left me was more growl than breath. “You didn’t stop her, did you?”
“Nah.” He flashed teeth. “Left the catching up to you. Figured it would be more fun this way.”
A pulse throbbed in my jaw. “Of course you did.”
“Headed toward the back exit at the end of the main hall. Might want to move your ass before she gets outside and runs into a prospect while not wearing your brand. They might assume she’s?—”
“Keep talking, and I’ll forget the difference between your face and a speed bag.” A slow burn hit my bloodstream, tightening everything in me. The stool creaked as I stood, and my hands curled as the urge to drag her back coiled through my chest.
Drift snorted. “You wouldn’t hurt this pretty face.”
My elbow “accidentally” cracked against his jaw as I shouldered through the door into the kitchen.
The tile floor, white-washed walls, and stainless steel all carried the faint lemon of cleaner and the heavier comfort of grease from hundreds of breakfasts.
But my only focus was on my little jailbird.