Chapter Four
Jade
For a few soft heartbeats, I hovered on the edge of sleep. Warm sheets hugged my skin. Clean cotton carried the faint scent of laundry soap mixed with something darker -- leather and smoke woven into fabric. My muscles ached less. My head stopped buzzing for the first time in months.
Then wrong details slid into place.
The ceiling hung lower than mine. A fan wobbled overhead on one dusty blade.
Sunlight leaked around unfamiliar blinds instead of my crooked curtains.
A dresser with a chipped corner occupied the space where my little bookshelf belonged, and an alien quiet pressed against my ears -- the wrong kind of silence, nothing resembling my apartment.
Panic surged so fast it stole my breath.
Roth. His hands. His voice. The sound of my door splintering. My lungs seized. Air refused to enter. I tried to bolt, but it felt like something pinned me down, heavy as a hand across my ribs.
Memories flashed through me in jagged pieces.
The compound gate. Cold air bit my face.
Rows of bikes stood under security lights.
Everyone at the long table in the meeting room watched me with eyes sharp enough to cut.
Kane spoke to me in the dark when nightmares dragged me under.
He told me about Bruno the dog, mean and dangerous -- the kind of story a man shares when he wants you to remember you aren’t alone.
Savage Raptors.
Kane.
I forced myself to examine my surroundings again.
The room remained unchanged. No suffocating cologne poisoned the air.
No heavy footsteps echoed beyond the door.
Kane’s phone lay on the nightstand where he’d left it, screen dark.
A thin strip of hallway light crept under the door -- deliberate, I realized. He wanted me to see.
Four in. Hold. Four out. My breath came shaky at first, then steadier.
I counted the rhythm until the tremble in my chest eased enough to let me move.
Breathing exercises had seemed fake whenever I read them online.
Self-help nonsense for people with time to burn candles and fill journal prompts.
Now they became my lifeline -- a rope thrown down into my personal abyss.
I eased myself up and swung my legs over the mattress edge. My ribs screamed in protest. The bruise along my shoulder sent sharp signals through my nerves. The pain anchored me to reality, which I needed more than I wanted to admit.
Kane’s T-shirt engulfed me, soft cotton hanging mid-thigh. His sweats cinched tight around my waist while excess fabric pooled over my feet. I shouldn’t find comfort in his scent. I barely knew Kane. My brain understood this. My body refused to care. My body craved safety above all else.
I rose from the bed with caution. The room remained steady.
Relief unwound my spine a notch. I crossed over the hideous carpet on bare feet toward the exit.
The door creaked when I opened a crack to listen before venturing out -- a habit my old apartment had taught me.
Caution had burrowed deep into my bones.
Roth had transformed my natural wariness into pure survival instinct.
The hallway stayed quiet.
Kane lay on the couch in the living room, one arm flung above his head, blanket twisted around his hips.
His cut hung on the hook near the front door.
The Glock sat on the coffee table within easy reach, close enough to grab without thinking.
His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, but even asleep he looked alert, like sleep never fully claimed him.
He looked younger in sleep. The hard edges melted away. Stubble shadowed his jaw while a lock of hair fell across his forehead. The lines around his mouth had softened. I stood watching him breathe for too long. My ribs seemed to loosen with each rise and fall of his chest.
The man sprawled before me had given up his bed, his sleep, and maybe his future in the club for me. He barely knew me -- a woman wrapped in bruises and bad timing. Yet he never treated me as a debt or a prize.
He saw me as a person.
My throat tightened. I cleared it softly before emotions could betray me. His eyes snapped open, and his gaze found me and locked on, precise as a marksman with a target.
“Morning.” His voice came rough with sleep, but his body already moved like he could stand and fight in the same breath.
“I didn’t mean to wake you.” My hands twisted in the hem of his shirt, nerves showing even when I tried to hide them.
His gaze swept me quickly, taking in bare feet, messy hair, the way I held myself. “You okay?”
“My brain tried to kill me for a minute.” A shaky breath escaped. “I won.”
A faint grin tugged at his mouth. He pushed up to sit, blanket falling away. “Good. Hungry?”
My stomach chose that moment to growl loud enough to betray me.
His grin deepened. “Coffee?”
“I might love you for coffee,” I blurted, then immediately wanted to crawl under the couch.
Something flashed in his eyes -- amusement, heat, a warning he never bothered to soften. He stood and stretched, his shirt riding up to reveal a strip of skin at his waist. “Careful, Jade. You keep saying stuff similar to that, I’m gonna start believing you.”
“Shut up and feed me.” My cheeks burned, but the words came out sharper than I expected.
His laugh rumbled low. “Bossy now. I dig this version.”
Kane shuffled into the kitchen and flipped on the light. I followed behind him and hovered in the doorway, not sure whether to help or stay out of the way. My brain still kept one foot in survival mode. Relaxing felt wrong, dangerous.
The small kitchen became Kane’s domain as he moved around with ease. Coffee grounds went into the filter without measuring. Water filled the machine. He cracked eggs into a bowl and whisked them with practiced motions.
“Sit.” He nodded at the table.
I slid into the chair, hands curling around the mug he set in front of me. Heat seeped into my fingers. The first sip made my eyes close. A sound escaped before I could stop it. Not quite a moan, not quite a sigh. Too honest.
His mouth curved. “That good?”
“Life-changing.” I opened my eyes and met his gaze. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
He snorted, turning back to the stove. Bacon sizzled in a pan. Butter melted. Eggs hit heat. The smell filled the room and did something steadying to my nervous system. Food meant normal. Coffee meant morning. Morning meant I’d survived.
Kane served breakfast on mismatched plates -- eggs, toast, bacon, and a second mug of coffee as though my earlier confession became his personal mission. Extra food appeared on my plate without asking. I didn’t argue. My body craved fuel, and exhaustion had stripped away any pretense of pride.
The first bite melted across my tongue. “You managed not to poison me last night,” I mumbled around a mouthful. “Your reputation remains intact.”
He dropped into the chair across from me, mug in hand, watching me devour everything. “Don’t tempt fate.”
Laughter made my ribs hurt.
Silence wrapped around us, comfortable instead of awkward.
The quiet felt peaceful -- no underlying tension, no waiting for danger to strike.
By the time I tapped my fork on the empty plate, fullness warmed my belly.
“I could marry you for this,” I said, then winced. “That sounded less weird in my head.”
One eyebrow lifted. He took a slow sip of coffee. “You propose to all the guys who fry bacon?”
“Only the ones who rescue me from violent men.” I shrugged like my heart didn’t pound. “So you’re the first.”
“Lucky me.”
Our eyes held a beat too long. Heat curled low in my belly, unwelcome and inevitable. My body didn’t care about timing, trauma, or logic. It recognized a man who felt safe and strong and close.
Kane broke the moment first. He rinsed dishes and set them aside. “I get the feeling we’re going to have a busy day.”
“I don’t have a schedule anymore.” The words came out softer than I meant. The truth behind them hurt.
“You do now.” He wiped his hands on a towel, then looked at me with steady seriousness. “Atilla wants us at the clubhouse this morning. Not interrogation. Logistics. Routines. Next steps on Roth.”
The name tightened my chest again, but Kane stood right there, real and solid. I nodded. “Okay.”
Kane disappeared down the hall and returned with a faded black hoodie. The sleeves held the memory of his arms even when empty. He offered the garment without ceremony.
“This will help. Cold outside.”
I slipped the hoodie on. The sleeves engulfed my hands completely. Warmth wrapped around me, becoming my armor.
His gaze lingered on me wearing his clothes. Something dark flickered behind his eyes, quick and restrained.
“Come on, little stray.” Kane grabbed his cut from the hook. “Time to meet the pack.”
“You called me a dog.” I followed him toward the door while I pretended my pulse remained steady.
“Yesterday you called me one.” He opened the door and scanned outside. “Bruno, remember?”
“You’re impossible.”
“You’re adorable.” He glanced back, grin crooked and dangerous, then stepped out into the cold.
Morning had broken fully. Pale blue sky stretched over the compound.
Cold air bit my nose, sharp and clean. The daylight transformed the place from nightmare hideout to rough neighborhood wrapped in fences and rules.
Bikes stood in rows, gleaming metal beasts at rest. A stray cat darted under a truck.
Smoke curled from a barrel behind the main building where someone burned trash.
Barbed wire still crowned the fence. Men still carried guns.
Kane walked beside me, his hand hovering near my back without touching. I sensed his presence without feeling owned. He guided without pushing, understanding how my skin remembered wrong hands.