Chapter Seventeen
Penny met Eddy at the dock.
He was standing at the water's edge when she found him, still damp from the lake, still wearing the clothes he'd killed in. River sat beside him, both of them watching the distant glow where the fire still burned against the sky.
She didn't speak. Just walked up beside him and took his hand.
His fingers closed around hers automatically. Possessive. Certain. Like holding her hand was as natural as breathing.
"It's over," he said quietly. "The hard part's over."
"Not quite." She leaned into his shoulder. "Kirby's still out there."
"Three days."
"Three days."
They stood in silence, watching the fire die down to embers on the horizon.
The lake was glass-smooth, reflecting stars that seemed close enough to touch.
Somewhere behind them, the compound had gone quiet—brothers standing down, threat neutralized, everyone catching their breath before the final push.
"Come with me," Penny said.
She led him to his cabin, not rushing, their fingers still intertwined. River followed without command, settling on the porch when they reached the door, taking up his guard position without being told.
Inside, she turned to face him.
"Let me," she said softly.
She reached for his shirt—wet, muddy, smelling of lake water and violence—and pulled it over his head. He let her, watching her face with an intensity that made her breath catch.
She'd undressed him before. In the desperate collision after the compound attack. In the tender first night when everything was new.
This was different.
This was deliberate. Unhurried. A woman claiming her man with full knowledge of what she was choosing.
Her hands moved to his belt. His jeans. Stripping away the evidence of what he'd done tonight, leaving only the man underneath.
"Your turn," he said when she finished.
He undressed her with the same careful attention. No urgency. No desperation. Just his hands moving over her body like he was memorizing every curve, every freckle, every place that made her shiver.
When they were both bare, he pulled her close.
"I want to talk about after," she said against his chest.
"After?"
"After Kirby. After all of this." She pulled back to meet his eyes. "What happens to us?"
He was quiet for a moment. His hands settled on her hips, warm and steady.
"What do you want to happen?"
"I want to rebuild Pampered Paws." The words came out certain. Solid. "I want to reopen the business I built with my own hands and prove that Kirby didn't break me."
"You will."
"I want to get my mother out. Help her find somewhere safe, somewhere Kirby's shadow can't reach." Her voice wavered slightly. "I don't know if she'll let me. But I want to try."
"We'll try together."
"And I want—" She stopped. Swallowed. "I want this. You. Whatever this is becoming."
Eddy's expression shifted. Something softened in his eyes—something that looked almost like wonder.
"You're sure about that?"
"I've never been more sure of anything."
He kissed her. Slow and deep, his hands cradling her face like she was something precious. Something worth protecting with every violent capability he possessed.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers.
"I'm not easy," he said quietly. "The club, the life, the things I do—none of it's easy."
"I know."
"I'll always have currents running underneath. Things I can't show to anyone else. Darkness that doesn't go away just because the threat's over."
"I know that too."
"And you still want this?"
She pulled back and met his eyes. Held them without flinching.
"I've spent my whole life managing chaos," she said. "Running from one disaster to the next, holding things together while everything fell apart around me. I've been with men who hid their anger behind smiles. Men who performed calm because they thought that's what I wanted to see."
Her hand came up to rest against his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath her palm.
"You're the first calm that felt real. The first person whose surface I could trust because I've seen what's underneath, and it's not something to fear." She smiled slightly. "It's just water. Deep and strong and steady. And I'm not afraid of drowning anymore."
He made a sound—low, rough, something between a groan and her name—and lifted her off her feet.
He carried her to the bed.
Not in the desperate rush of before, but with deliberate purpose. Setting her down like she was something to be savored rather than consumed.
Penny pulled him down with her.
"Slow," she whispered. "I want to feel everything."
He gave her slow.
His mouth traced a path down her throat, across her collarbone, between her breasts. Taking his time. Learning her responses all over again, even though he already knew where she was sensitive, where she gasped, where she melted.
She arched into him, hands tangling in his hair. "Corbyn."
His whole body shuddered at his name.
"Again," he said against her skin.
"Corbyn."
He rewarded her with his mouth on her hip, her thigh, places that made her writhe and grab at the sheets. He was worshipping her, she realized. Not with urgency or desperation, but with reverent attention.
Like she was holy.
Like she was his.
"I need you," she breathed. "Please."
He rose over her, bracing himself on his forearms, and met her eyes. In the soft lamplight, she could see everything—the desire, yes, but also the vulnerability. The man behind the mask, trusting her to see him.
"Yours," he said quietly. "Whatever happens Thursday. Whatever comes after. I'm yours."
She pulled him down and kissed him.
When he finally slid into her, the sound she made wasn't desperate. It was satisfied. Complete. Like a puzzle piece finally finding where it belonged.
They moved together in a rhythm that felt practiced now. Known. Two bodies that had learned each other's language and spoke it fluently.
His forehead pressed against hers. His breath mingled with hers. Every thrust was deep and deliberate, hitting places that made stars burst behind her closed eyes.
"Look at me," he murmured.
She opened her eyes.
He was watching her with an expression that stopped her heart. Not the hungry intensity of the first time. Not the raw desperation of the second. Something deeper. Something that looked like forever.
"I love you."
The words hung in the air between them.
She hadn't expected him to say it. Hadn't expected those words from a man who communicated in minimum phrases and loaded silences. But there they were, offered without reservation, while their bodies moved together in the dark.
"I love you too," she whispered.
Something broke open in his expression. Joy, maybe. Relief. The wonder of being seen and accepted after a lifetime of hiding the currents underneath.
His rhythm changed—not harder, but deeper. More intentional. Like he was sealing the words with his body, making them permanent.
She wrapped herself around him and let herself fall.
The aftermath was quiet and warm.
They lay tangled together in the narrow bed, her head on his chest, his hand tracing patterns on her back. The lamp cast everything in gold. Through the window, she could see the first hint of dawn coloring the sky.
"The business," she said after a while. "Will the club help me rebuild?"
"The club will do whatever you need." His voice was sleepy, satisfied. "Brothers owe you. You held your ground during the assault. Proved yourself. They won't forget that."
"And my mother?"
"We'll get her out Thursday. When we hit Kirby's lake house, we'll extract her first." His arm tightened around her. "She'll be scared. Probably won't trust us at first. But she'll be free."
Penny closed her eyes, letting herself imagine it. Her mother, safe. Her business, rebuilt. Her life, no longer defined by other people's chaos.
"I never thought I'd have this," she admitted.
"Have what?"
"Something stable. Someone who stays." She pressed closer, breathing in the lake-water smell that clung to him even now.
"My whole life, everything's been temporary.
The businesses my mother's boyfriends ruined.
The apartments we got evicted from. The relationships that crashed and burned the moment things got hard. "
"I'm not going anywhere."
"I know." She smiled against his skin. "That's what's so terrifying about it."
He laughed—a low, quiet sound that vibrated through his chest. "I'm terrifying?"
"The permanence is terrifying. The idea that something good might actually last." She propped herself up on his chest, meeting his eyes. "I've spent so long waiting for the other shoe to drop that I don't know what to do when it doesn't."
"You learn to trust it." His hand came up to cup her face. "Takes time. But you learn."
"Is that what you did? With the club?"
"The club's different. Brothers are family, but it's..." He searched for words. "It's easier to trust a brotherhood than a person. The club has rules. Structure. You know what to expect."
"And with me?"
"With you, I don't know what to expect." His thumb traced her cheekbone. "Every day, you surprise me. Every day, I find something new to—" He stopped, swallowed. "To love."
The word still sounded unfamiliar on his tongue. Like he was learning a new language.
Penny kissed him. Soft and lingering.
"I've spent my life managing chaos," she said when she pulled back. "Taking care of everyone else because nobody was taking care of me. Smiling through disasters because falling apart wasn't an option."
"I know."
"You're the first calm that felt real." She settled back against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. "Not performed calm. Not the surface hiding something ugly underneath. Just... steady. Like the lake when there's no wind."
His arms wrapped around her, pulling her close.
"Still water runs deep," he said quietly.
"I know. I've seen how deep." She smiled. "I'm not afraid of the depth. I'm just glad I finally found something real to hold onto."
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
Outside, dawn was breaking properly now. The compound would wake soon. Brothers would start moving, planning, preparing for Thursday's final strike. The real world would come crashing back in with all its dangers and demands.
But for now, in this cabin, in this bed, with this man—
Penny let herself rest.
Not manage. Not plan. Not hold anything together.
Just rest, in the arms of someone who wouldn't let her fall.
It was the first time in twenty-nine years she'd trusted anyone that much.
And it felt like coming home.