Chapter 37
Chapter
Thirty-Seven
KADE
I don't think she remembers the confession she made before she passed out last night.
She was too drunk, too wrecked, too desperate for someone to finally see her.
But I haven't been able to get it out of my head since she let it slip—those broken whispers about bruises and fear and a husband who makes her small.
She's fucking mine.
And I'll be taking her from him soon enough. I just have to plan this carefully.
Damián warned me that her husband—fuck, I hate calling him that, he doesn't deserve the title—Daniel has dirt on the MC.
Enough to cause real problems if I'm not smart about this.
So I can't just roll up to his house and beat him to death like every instinct screams at me to do.
I have to be strategic. Patient. Wait for the right moment.
But I damn sure won't let him hurt her again.
Or the baby I'm making sure I fuck into her before she leaves.
The thought makes something primal and possessive coil in my gut. Mine. My woman. My kid. My family to protect.
"Kade."
Her soft voice pulls me from my thoughts. I blink, realizing I've been staring at nothing while she's been talking.
"Hmm?"
"Is something wrong?" She studies my face with those hazel eyes that see everything. "You seem... distracted."
"No. Sorry." I shake my head, forcing myself back to the present. Back to her naked in my arms. "What did you ask me?"
"I was just asking about your mother." She traces patterns on my chest with one finger, the touch absent and soothing. "You mentioned her yesterday but didn't really say much."
The question catches me off guard. I don't talk about Mom. Not with anyone.
But this is Fallon. And she deserves to know who I am.
"She died when I was eight."
"Oh, Kade." Pain flashes across her features—genuine and deep. "I'm so sorry."
"It's okay." The lie tastes familiar on my tongue. "I was young."
Young enough that the memories blur. Old enough that losing her carved out something in my chest that never quite filled back in.
"What about you?" I ask, turning the conversation before the weight of grief settles too heavy. "What's the story with your parents?"
"They're back home in Nebraska." She says it carefully, like she's stepping around something fragile.
"Are you guys close?"
"We used to be." She won't meet my eyes now. "Not so much anymore."
"Did something happen?"
"We just don't stay in contact much since I moved here."
The way she says it—flat and carefully neutral—tells me everything she's not saying.
"So Daniel doesn't let you talk to them."
She sits up fast, her eyes go wide and startled, like I've reached inside her head and pulled out secrets she's been guarding.
"Why..." Her voice catches. "Why would you say that?"
"You told me." I keep my voice gentle, but I don't look away. She needs to know I see her. All of her. The parts she hides and the truth she's too scared to speak out loud.
She stares at me like I'm crazy. Like I've just shifted reality under her feet.
"You were drunk," I continue, "but I know what he does to you. How he hurts you." I hold her gaze steady. "So I just figured he doesn't like you keeping in contact with anyone."
All the color drains from her face.
"What did I tell you?" The whisper barely makes it past her lips.
Fuck. She really doesn't remember.
I sit up too, closing the distance between us. "You told me enough."
A tear spills down her cheek—just one, but it hits me like a punch to the gut.
"And I'm not going to let him hurt you anymore."
The words are a promise. A vow. A declaration of war against the piece of shit who thinks he owns her.
I reach up and wipe the tear away with my thumb. Her skin is so soft. So delicate. The idea of anyone—especially that fucking suit—putting his hands on her with violence instead of worship makes rage burn hot and vicious in my chest.
"Come here."
She doesn't hesitate. She falls into my chest like she's been waiting for permission to break, and I wrap my arms around her tight. Hold her the way she should've been held all along. Protective. Safe. Mine.
I never want to let her go.
"You're safe now," I whisper into her hair.
She doesn't respond—just presses closer, her body shaking with silent sobs. I hold her through it. Let her cry out whatever poison that bastard put inside her. My hand moves in slow circles on her back while she breaks.
Eventually her breathing evens out. The trembling stops. She goes soft and heavy against me.
Asleep.
I hold her until I'm certain she's completely gone—her breathing deep and even. Moving slowly, carefully, I ease her down onto the mattress. She doesn't stir. Doesn't even twitch. The exhaustion has claimed her completely.
I pull the covers up over both of us, tucking them around her shoulders before wrapping my body back around hers. Protective. Possessive. Every instinct I have screaming that this is right—that she belongs exactly where she is.
She's so fucking small tucked under my sheets. Fragile in a way that makes something primal and fierce roar to life in my chest. The thought of her going back to that house, to that piece of shit husband who thinks he has the right to put his hands on her—
My jaw clenches hard enough my teeth grind together.
She's mine to keep safe.
Mine to protect.
Mine.
I wait in our spot after school, leaning against my bike with my arms crossed.
She canceled tutoring today to pick up her car and I'm not complaining since I get more time with her.
The sun beats down on me, hot and relentless on my shoulders, as it hits me then.
Hard and sudden, like a sucker punch I didn't see coming.
This is the last time she'll ride on my bike for a while. She's going home tomorrow.
The weight of it settles in my chest—heavy, uncomfortable, like something alive and unwanted taking up residence behind my ribs.
Then I see her round the corner and everything else just... disappears.
Her face lights up the second she spots me—this brilliant, genuine smile that transforms her whole expression and makes something warm unfurl inside me. Fuck, I love that. Love being the reason she looks like that, like I'm the best thing she's seen all day.
"Missed you," she says when she gets close, still smiling like she means it.
I reach for her helmet, holding it between us like an offering. "Missed you too, Peaches."
I slide it over her head carefully, taking my time, my fingers brushing along her jaw as I fasten the strap. She doesn't look away—keeps her eyes on mine the whole time, soft and bright and so fucking beautiful it physically hurts to look at her.
She hops on behind me like a pro now—no hesitation, no awkward scrambling like those first few times. Just smooth, easy confidence that makes pride bloom hot and fierce in my chest. Her arms wrap around my waist tight, holding on like she belongs there.
Yeah. She's got this down.
I kick the bike into gear and pull onto the road.
The engine roars beneath us, familiar and perfect, the vibration traveling up through my bones.
A few blocks later, I feel her hands slip under my shirt—cool fingers against warm skin, the contrast making me hyperaware of every point of contact.
She spreads her palms flat over my abs and keeps them there, like she's claiming territory.
The rest of the ride, she doesn't move them. Just holds me like that—intimate and possessive and so fucking right I never want it to end. Never want to feel anything except her hands on my skin and the weight of her against my back.
After stopping by her house we head to the shop and when we get there, she climbs into her car.
I lead the way back to the cabin, checking my mirrors every few seconds to make sure she's still behind me.
Can't help it—I need to see her following, need to know she's there and safe and coming home with me.
"Hey, little hustler," Ash calls out the second we walk through the door, his voice carrying from somewhere in the kitchen.
She smiles, already heading that direction. "Hey."
"So we were thinking—"
"Oh, you shouldn't do that," I interrupt, dropping my keys on the counter with a metallic clatter. "You remember what happened last time you thought about something?"
"Fuck off, nobody was talking to you." He doesn't even look at me, just turns his attention right back to Fallon like I'm not standing three feet away. "As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, we thought we could have dinner again. You know, for your last night here."
She's beaming. Actually beaming like he just offered her something precious.
"What are we making?" she asks, already looking excited.
"Beck's going to make his famous tacos." Ash leans in like he's sharing classified information, stage-whispering loud enough for the whole house to hear, "They're just regular tacos, but it's like the only thing he can cook without burning down the kitchen."
"And I'm making margaritas." He points to the counter where the blender already sits surrounded by bottles of tequila and lime wedges, like he's been planning this all day.
She turns to me with those pleading eyes, her expression hopeful and sweet and impossible to resist. Please, she mouths silently.
"Fine. Okay." I give in immediately because I'm fucking weak where she's concerned and we both know it. "But we aren't staying up late because it's my last night with you and I want to fuck you on every surface of my room and bathroom tonight."
Her cheeks turn bright red, color flooding her face so fast I can practically feel the heat radiating off her. "Kade!" She scolds me, voice sharp with embarrassment, but there's no real heat behind it.
"Trust me, they know, Peaches."
"We know," Ash confirms immediately, then his voice goes high and breathy, perfectly mimicking her. "Oh god, Kade! Oh god, don't stop! I'm coming!"
We both crack up. She whips around and punches him in the stomach—hard enough he actually wheezes and doubles over slightly. I laugh harder, the sound rough and genuine.
She snaps her head toward me, eyes narrowed in warning.
I put my hands up in immediate surrender, still grinning because I can't help it.
"I'm going to change and then I'll help cook," she announces, turning for the stairs with as much dignity as she can manage. Then she pauses, glancing back over her shoulder. "Can we have music again?"
"I got it."
She smiles—this soft, genuine thing that hits me square in the chest and makes it hard to breathe.
Fuck. I'm in love. Completely, irrevocably in love with this woman.
"I like her," Ash says once she's out of earshot, his voice quieter now, more serious.
"Me too." I pull out my phone, connecting to the speakers automatically.
The words feel too small, too inadequate for what I actually feel—for the way she's gotten under my skin and wrapped herself around every part of me until I can't remember what it felt like before her. But they're all I've got right now, so they'll have to do.