5. Tiffany
TIFFANY
The Pike Creek Riders' clubhouse felt like a cage, even with pool tables and leather couches and Tara trying to keep me distracted with stories about her daughter Izzy's latest adventure.
Four hours since Blade had pushed me away. Four hours of his brothers watching me pace, Phoenix apologizing for the tenth time about the photos, Viper studying me like I was a puzzle to solve.
"I'm done hiding," I announced to the room at large.
"Blade said—" Phoenix started.
"Blade's a coward who thinks pushing me away keeps me safe." I grabbed my purse, checking my phone. "These criminals want me to deliver drugs. Fine. Let's give them what they want."
"Like hell," Viper stood, all presidential authority. "You're not playing bait."
"I'm not playing anything. I'm ending this." I pulled up the last threatening text. "They gave twenty-four hours. That time is up. They'll come for me whether I'm hiding here or out in the open. At least if I'm out there, we control when and where."
"Blade will lose his shit," Phoenix warned.
"Blade already lost his shit when he decided I was too fragile to handle his world." I headed for the door. "I'm going to the clinic. Dr. Tad needs help with inventory anyway."
"You're not going alone," Viper said, then pulled out his phone. "But maybe drawing them out isn't the worst idea. Phoenix, Tank, shadow her. I'll get Blade."
Twenty minutes later, I stood in the clinic's medication room, actually doing inventory because nervous energy needed an outlet. The familiar routine of counting pills and checking expiration dates almost made me forget I was deliberately making myself a target.
Almost.
The clinic felt different in the late afternoon emptiness. Dr. Tad had agreed to the plan, staying in his office with the door locked while I worked. Phoenix and Tank were outside somewhere, invisible but supposedly watching.
My phone rang. Unknown number.
"Hello?"
"Time's up, nurse." The distorted voice sent ice through my veins despite expecting this. "You have what we want?"
"I'm at the clinic. Alone. Medication room." My voice stayed steady somehow. "Come get what you want."
Silence, then: "If this is a trap—"
"It's not. I'm done running. Done hiding. You want the drugs? Come take them."
I hung up, hands shaking as I set the phone down. This was insane. But Blade's rejection had lit something inside me—a need to prove I wasn't some delicate flower requiring protection. I could face danger. I could be strong.
The back door's lock clicked.
My heart hammered as footsteps approached. Two sets, maybe three. They'd actually come.
Three men entered the medication room, and my courage evaporated. These weren't nervous junkies. These were professionals—cold eyes, steady hands, one with a gun visible in his waistband.
"Smart girl," the leader said, normal voice now, no distortion. "Load up the oxy. All of it."
I moved toward the controlled substances cabinet, fingers fumbling with keys. Where were Phoenix and Tank? Where was—
"Drop the keys."
Blade's voice filled the room like thunder. He stood in the doorway, death personified, gun trained on the leader. Phoenix and Tank flanked him, weapons drawn.
"MC trash," the leader sneered, but his hand moved toward his weapon.
Blade shot him in the shoulder before he could draw. The crack of gunfire in the small room made my ears ring. The man dropped, screaming.
The second man lunged for me, probably thinking a hostage would help. Blade moved faster than thought, gun reversing, striking the attacker's temple with the butt. The man crumpled at my feet.
The third tried to run. Tank clotheslined him in the doorway, dropping him hard.
It was over in seconds. Three threats neutralized with surgical precision. No hesitation, no excess violence, just devastating efficiency.
"Clear the building," Blade ordered his brothers, never taking his eyes off me. "Call the sheriff. These fuckers are done."
Phoenix and Tank dragged the men out, already on phones, coordinating cleanup. And then we were alone, Blade still standing in the doorway, gun holstered, chest heaving.
"You used yourself as bait." Not a question. An accusation wrapped in barely controlled fury.
"I ended it."
"You could have been killed."
"But I wasn't. Because you came." I stepped over the unconscious attacker, moving toward him. "You'll always come for me, won't you? Even when you're pushing me away, even when you think you're too damaged—you'll always protect me."
"Tiffany—"
"Shut up." I reached him, hands fisting in his shirt.
"I'm done with your excuses. Done with you deciding what I can handle.
I just faced down three criminals. I watched you shoot someone to protect me.
And you know what? I'm not running. I'm not scared.
I'm just pissed that you think I'm too weak for your world when I just proved I'm not. "
"You're not weak." His hands came up to frame my face. "You're the strongest woman I know. That's the problem. You're so fucking strong you make me weak."
"Good." I pulled his head down. "Be weak for me. Let me be strong for you. Stop fighting this."
He kissed me like a drowning man finding air. Desperate, consuming, all his control finally shattered. His hands tangled in my hair, tongue claiming my mouth, body pressing me against the doorframe.
"My place," he growled against my lips. "Now."
The ride to his apartment passed in a blur of desperate touches at red lights, his hand gripping my thigh, my fingers tracing the muscles of his back through his shirt. The tension that had been building for days felt ready to explode.
Inside his apartment, he kicked the door shut and pressed me against it, mouth finding my throat.
"Tell me to stop," he said against my skin. "Last chance."
"Never." I pulled his shirt up, needing skin. "I'm never telling you to stop again."
He lifted me easily, carrying me to his bedroom, but I pushed him down onto the bed when we got there, straddling his lap.
"My turn," I said, pulling my scrub top over my head. His hands immediately found my waist, but I caught his wrists. "No. Let me show you. Let me worship you for once."
I took my time undressing him, kissing every scar I revealed, tracing old wounds with my tongue until he groaned. His chest was a map of survival—bullet wounds, shrapnel scars, burns—and I honored every one.
"You're not broken," I whispered against a puckered scar near his ribs. "You're a survivor. A warrior. Mine."
When I finally freed him from his jeans, he was hard and ready, but I wasn't done exploring. I kissed my way down his abs, feeling them tense under my mouth, until I reached my destination.
"Tiffany—"
I took him in my mouth before he could protest, and his hips bucked off the bed. His hand tangled in my hair, not forcing, just holding on as I showed him with my mouth what my words couldn't convey—that I wanted all of him, darkness included.
"Enough," he growled, pulling me up. "My turn."
He flipped us easily, and then his mouth was everywhere—my neck, my breasts, my stomach. He took his time with my breasts, lavishing attention until I writhed beneath him, needing more. His hands mapped my hips, my thighs, finding every soft spot and showing it appreciation.
"So fucking perfect," he murmured against my inner thigh. "All this softness, these hips made for my hands, this body that drives me insane."
When his mouth found my center, I cried out, back arching off the bed. He worked me with lips and tongue and fingers, building me up slowly, deliberately, until I shattered with his name on my lips.
But he didn't stop. He kept going, pushing me higher, and when he slid two fingers inside while his mouth continued its assault, I came again, harder, seeing stars.
"Please," I gasped, pulling at his shoulders. "I need you inside me. Now."
He moved up my body, settling between my thighs, and when he pushed inside, we both groaned. The stretch was perfect, filling me completely, and when he started to move, slow and deep, I wrapped my legs around his waist to take him deeper.
"Look at me," he commanded, and I opened eyes I hadn't realized I'd closed. The intensity in his expression stole my breath. "You're mine now. No more running. No more pushing away. Mine."
I pulled his head down to whisper in his ear. "And you're mine. My protector. My warrior. Mine to heal, mine to love, mine to keep."
Something in him broke at those words. His control snapped, and he started moving harder, faster, one hand gripping my hip while the other tangled in my hair. The headboard banged against the wall, and I didn't care, too lost in the feeling of finally, finally having him completely.
His thumb found my sensitive bundle of nerves, circling, and combined with the perfect angle of his thrusts, I felt myself climbing again.
"That's it," he encouraged. "Come for me again. Let me feel you."
The third orgasm hit like a tsunami, my entire body convulsing, internal muscles clenching around him. He followed immediately, my name a broken prayer on his lips as he came deep inside me.
We collapsed together, sweaty and sated, still joined. His weight on me felt perfect, grounding, safe.
"No regrets?" he asked against my neck.
"None. Ever." I ran my fingers through his hair. "This is where I belong. Where we both belong."
He pulled back to look at me, and the vulnerability in his expression made my chest tight. "I love you. Fuck, I shouldn't, it's too soon, you're too young, but—"
I kissed him to shut him up. "I love you too. Age doesn't matter. Time doesn't matter. This feeling? This matters."
"You sure you can handle my world? The MC, the violence, the danger?"
"I'm sure I can handle you. Everything else is just details." I traced his jaw. "Besides, someone needs to patch you up when you punch through windows defending my honor."
He laughed, the sound rusty but real. "That's going to be a regular occurrence with you around. Every man in town looks at you like they want a taste."
"Let them look." I pulled him down for another kiss. "I only want you."
We made love again, slower this time, savoring each touch, each sensation. When we finally separated, he pulled me against his chest, my back to his front, arm heavy around my waist.
"Move in with me," he said against my hair. "For real this time. Not for protection, just... because I want you here."
"Yes." No hesitation. "But I get to decorate. This place needs some life."
"You are my life," he said quietly. "You brought life back to this place the minute you walked in."
As I drifted toward sleep, safe in his arms, I thought about how this had all started—with threats and fear and running. But it had led me here, to this man who'd protect me with his life but also let me be strong. Who saw my softness as strength, not weakness.
"No more pushing me away," I murmured, already half asleep.
"Never again," he promised. "You're stuck with me now, princess."
"Good." I pressed back against him, feeling his body respond. "Because I'm never letting you go."
Tomorrow would bring explanations to the sheriff, statements about the criminals, integration into the MC world as Blade's woman. But tonight was just us—no more barriers, no more excuses, just two people who'd found home in each other despite every reason they shouldn't work.
We worked perfectly.