Chapter 13 Third Location, First Touch, Zero Surrender
KADE
The second Amanda’s fingers graze my helmet, I react without thinking. My hands snap forward, wrapping around her wrists, stopping her before she can lift it off.
And just like that, I’m touching her. For the first time in eight years.
Fuck.
It’s instant, the rush of it, the jolt that shoots down my spine straight into my cock. Her skin is softer than I remember. My fingers tighten, just slightly, feeling the delicate bones beneath them, the way she tenses under my grip.
I know I should let go. Shouldn’t let myself enjoy this as much as I do.
Because what I want to do? What I really want to do? Pin her right here, right against me, press my body into hers until she remembers exactly who I am and why she belongs to me and me alone.
Instead, I force myself to exhale and loosen my grip. Not yet.
One more day. Then I can tell her everything.
I release her slowly, letting my fingers drag over the inside of her wrists, just enough that she shivers, and I fucking feel it.
That little, unconscious reaction, the way her body responds to me before her mind can catch up.
I smirk under my helmet, reach back, and grab the second helmet from my bike. I hold it out to her.
Her test. Her choice.
She hesitates. Her thumb brushes against the helmet, but she doesn’t make a move to put it on. For a second, I think she might not. And then—
“AMANDA?!”
Izzy. Fucking perfect timing.
I stay still as Amanda whips around, watching her best friend barrel down the sidewalk in full-blown panic mode.
“AMANDA, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!”
It takes less than three seconds for Amanda to make her decision. Helmet on. Leg swinging over my bike. Arms around my waist. I’ll have to send Izzy a thank-you card later. Without her perfectly timed intervention, Amanda might have actually walked away.
I take off fast. Faster than I probably need to.
Maybe I weave through traffic a little too sharp, maybe I lean into turns just a little too much, so that she has to hold on tight.
But I can feel her. Pressed against me, gripping tight, chest flush to my back, legs hugging around me like she’s instinctively trying to become part of me.
And I fucking love it.
Amanda is the only person I’ve ever allowed to ride pillion with me. And she’s holding on to me like she never wants to let go.
Good girl.
The city is lit up behind us, but I don’t stop there. I don’t take her home. I don’t take her anywhere familiar. Instead, I drive us across the bridge, through the roads until the skyline stretches behind us instead of above us. She probably doesn’t realize where we’re going yet.
But she will. Soon enough.
Because I’m taking her to the cliffs. A quiet, secluded stretch on the outskirts of the Palisades, overlooking the Hudson, with the best goddamn view of Manhattan you could ask for.
It’s a place Amanda would love—dramatic, beautiful, with that perfect Instagram-worthy backdrop she’d never admit she cares about.
It’s remote. And most important? It’s just us.
I pull off the road, winding through the last stretch of pavement before the world opens up around us.
The Hudson spreads out below, dark and endless, the Manhattan skyline a glowing mass of steel and glass in the distance.
It’s quiet here—far enough from the city that the only sounds are the wind, the water below, and the soft hum of the S1K’s engine before I kill it.
Amanda shifts behind me, her hands still gripping me, her body still pressed against my back. She doesn’t move right away. I feel her head tilt slightly, probably looking around, taking it in. Wait until she sees what’s next.
I swing off the bike first, steadying it before turning toward her. She hesitates for half a second, then climbs off, too, standing stiffly like she has no idea what happens next. Which is fair. Because she doesn’t.
I walk a few feet ahead, stopping at the exact spot I set up earlier today.
The blanket is spread out neatly, held down by a small cooler, a lantern, and a picnic basket.
It’s not fancy, but it took effort. Because if I’m going to take her somewhere secluded at sunset, I should probably offer her something other than the mystery of what’s under my helmet.
She removes her helmet as her footsteps slow behind me. I can practically feel the confusion radiating off her.
“Is this…” She trails off, blinking. “A fucking picnic?”
I pull out my phone, tap the screen. Her phone pings.
CHAD
Didn’t want you to think I was taking you here to murder you, baby doll.
She snorts, stepping closer. “Oh yeah, a suspiciously well-prepared picnic totally rules out murder.”
I could have taken you to a second location instead.
She crosses her arms, staring at the setup. “This is a second location.”
Third location, then.
She tilts her head, mock serious. “Ah, yes. Because nothing says ‘trust me’ like driving a woman to a remote cliffside at night.”
You came willingly, baby doll.
She exhales, still looking around, still processing.
And then, finally, she sits. Right on the blanket, right where I want her.
Not because she trusts me. But because she’s too curious not to.
I sit beside her, keeping a careful amount of space between us.
Not too far—never too far—but enough to let her think she still has room to run.
She won’t. Not now. Not when she’s this deep already.
I reach into the cooler, pull out a bottle of wine, and pour her a full glass. She takes it without hesitation, lifts it to her lips, and downs the entire thing in one go.
Jesus. I raise a brow behind my visor.
She sighs, holds out the empty glass, and wiggles it at me. “Refill.”
I smirk, pouring her another. She’s too comfortable with this.
Not with me—not yet. But with the idea of throwing herself into dangerous situations like she’s untouchable.
Sure, I wanted her here. I made sure she got here.
But the fact that she agreed to drive off into the night with a faceless stranger from the internet? That’s a problem. One I’m going to fix.
She needs to be more careful. More aware. She needs to stop trusting so easily, stop making herself a target. Good thing I’m always watching. And I’m going to keep her safe. Even if it’s from herself.
She takes another long sip from her refilled glass before sighing, shifting on the blanket to face me.
“Okay. Now what?” She gestures vaguely at me. “So, I can’t see you. Am I supposed to just sit here and vibe?”
I pull out my phone.
You could try to enjoy the moment, baby doll.
She snorts. “Okay, cryptic. Let’s say I do try to enjoy this moment. How am I supposed to do that? What’s next? We sit here and stare at each other until I drink enough wine to make this feel normal?”
We could make small talk.
She blinks, then bursts out laughing. “Small talk? Chad. My love. My darling. My absolute favorite mistake.” She leans in slightly, eyes bright with amusement. “We’ve been talking for days. We skipped small talk somewhere around the second bedtime story.”
She pauses. A flicker of realization crosses her face.
“Wait.” Her head tilts, eyes narrowing. “Actually, scratch that. You know a decent amount about me from our conversations. But I literally know nothing about you except that you’re confident, pushy, and apparently very good at telling dirty stories over the phone. ”
I watch her brain catch up to what this means. She shifts closer, gripping her glass, suddenly all business. “Okay, then. Who are you? Like, actually. Real facts. No evasive Chad bullshit.”
I tilt my head.
I’m Chad.
She rolls her eyes. “Okay, smart-ass. Who are you? Like, what’s your real name? What do you do? How did you know where I was going to be tonight?”
What’s wrong? You don’t trust me?
She scoffs. “Of course I don’t trust you. You refuse to show me your face, and you text me instead of speaking out loud like a normal human being.”
Maybe I’m just shy.
She lets out a full-body laugh. “Yeah, okay. Sure.”
Glad we agree.
She huffs, swirls the wine in her glass. “You think this is funny.”
I think you’re funny.
She mutters something under her breath. I type again.
Tell you what. You ask me a question, and I’ll decide if I want to answer it.
She narrows her eyes. “That sounds like a terrible deal.”
And yet you’re already thinking of your first question.
She groans. “God, you’re so fucking smug. Fine.” She straightens, tilting her glass toward me like she’s conducting an interrogation.
“What is it you want from this?” She gestures vaguely with her hand between the two of us. I take my time, watching her through the visor. The question I can’t answer. Not yet. Not really. Then I type.
I want to be the only man who knows you better than you know yourself. To be the only one who knows how to touch you, how to pull you apart, how to put you back together. To be the one who never lets you go.
I watch her reaction. The flicker in her eyes, the slight hitch in her breath, the way she squeezes her thighs together just a little before shifting in place.
She wants this. Wants me. She’s just too stubborn to admit it.
Instead, she huffs loudly, throwing her hands up.
“Okay, see? That is exactly the kind of thing that makes me think you’re a serial killer. You need better PR.”
Or maybe you should stop fighting it and just go with it.
She lets out an exaggerated sigh, tilting her head back dramatically. “Fine. You lead. What are we gonna do?”
I shift slightly, spreading my legs just enough before patting the blanket between them. She immediately narrows her eyes. “I’m not sucking you off.”
I chuckle silently, waving a finger at her before tapping out my next message.
That’s for later, baby doll.
Her phone pings, and she makes a choked sound, face flushing instantly before she glares at me. “Oh my God.”
For now, I just want you to relax and watch the sunset with me.
She eyes me suspiciously, like she’s waiting for the punch line. Like she’s expecting me to flip her over and ravish her on the picnic blanket just because I can.
And trust me, I could. And I will. But not yet. She still thinks she’s in control. And I like watching her pretend. She sighs, draining the rest of her wine before mumbling, “Fine. But if this is some weird serial killer trick, I’m haunting your ass.”
I’d expect nothing less.
She grumbles, then finally moves between my legs, sitting stiffly. I don’t give her a chance to doubt it. The second she’s within reach, I pull her back into me, flush against my chest, until she’s fully in my arms.
She tenses, but then I feel it. The moment she lets go.
The moment she stops fighting it. She relaxes into me, breath steadying, head tipping slightly back against my shoulder.
For a moment, it’s like we’re back in Vegas.
Like she’s still mine. Like eight years didn’t happen.
I trail my fingers down her arms, along the soft skin of her wrists, daring to touch the dip of her waist. Slow.
Possessive. Because she’s mine, and I want her to know it.
She shivers. I smirk.
The sky turns a deep, molten orange, fading into violet, the city below glowing like a mass of fireflies. I feel her exhale, shifting slightly.
“Okay,” she mutters. “I’ll admit… this is kinda nice.”
Good girl.
She freezes. Then she groans loudly, smacking my arm. “Don’t ruin it.”
You love it.
“I hate you.”
And yet here you are, letting me hold you.
She doesn’t respond to that. She just huffs, shifts deeper against me, and lets me keep touching her. We sit like this for a moment, her breathing slowly evening out. Then she glances over at the bike parked nearby.
“So… that your bike?”
I nod, and she can feel it against her head.
“What kind is it?”
S1K RR. You ride?
“I learned once,” she says, and her voice has gone softer. Sadder. “Someone taught me. A long time ago.”
My chest tightens. I remember. Of course I remember.
Teaching her to ride in empty parking lots at two a.m., her laughing when she stalled out, the way she’d lean back against me at red lights.
The way she looked at me when she finally got it right.
She thinks she’s telling a stranger this story.
She has no idea I’m the one who lived it with her.
“It’s nice,” she finally says. “Looks fast.”
It is.
“Have you had it long?”
Few years. Good for getting away when I need to.
She’s quiet for a moment. “Getting away from what?”
Everything.
It’s the most honest answer I’ve given her all night, and I can feel her relax even more against me. Real. This is real.
We sit like that for a while, her questions trailing off into comfortable silence. The city lights blur in the distance. One more day. Tomorrow night I complete the last mission. Eliminate the final target. And then no more secrets. No more watching from a distance.
Tomorrow everything changes.
But tonight? Tonight I get to hold my wife.