Aurora
She lay awake beside Nitro; the room was washed in early-morning gray light that came through the drawn curtains.
His arm felt heavy around her waist like an anchor she hadn’t realized she’d been searching for her whole life.
His breathing was steady now—deep, exhausted sleep earned by men who carried too much for too long.
She watched him instead of closing her eyes.
This was the part no one warned her about.
Not the fear. Not the memories of every evil thing that had happened to her in the past. But the quiet after—when the walls were down, and you were left standing in the open, exposed to the possibility of being wanted for more than what you could endure.
Waking up next to Nitro this morning was different.
He didn’t rush her, and the way that he made sure that she was with him at every step did strange things to her heart.
He wasn’t taking anything that she wasn’t willing to give to him, and that was new for her.
He’d looked at her like she was a choice, not a circumstance.
It was as though she mattered beyond her survival of the Saints, and that terrified her more than the men hunting her ever could.
She pressed her fingers lightly against the scars on his chest, tracing them with reverence. This man was built from damage, just like she was—but he wore his like armor, not shame. I don’t want to be another war you fight. The thought echoed again, heavy and unresolved.
Aurora eased out of his hold and padded quietly into the kitchen, wrapping herself in one of his shirts. It smelled like leather, soap, and something indefinably him. She leaned against the counter, arms folded, staring at nothing while her mind raced.
She’d let herself believe in someone to keep her safe, and that was dangerous.
She stayed when every instinct inside of her told her to run.
And she let herself be with a man who was dangerous to her heart—one that she could see herself loving, if that was even possible.
She knew that love always came with consequences.
Footsteps sounded behind her. She stiffened, as she usually did when someone got too close.
She turned to find Nitro looking sexy as sin with his hair tousled and eyes still rough with sleep.
He didn’t speak at first. He just came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin against her shoulder as if he belonged there.
Her heart wanted to tell her that was exactly where he belonged, but her head was more practical about things, shouting at her to tell him to leave while he still could.
“You okay?” he murmured.
She closed her eyes. “I don’t know.” He didn’t press her for answers that she wasn’t ready to give or demand clarity. He just held her.
“I’m scared,” she admitted quietly. “Not of you. Of what this means.”
His grip tightened just a fraction. “Means you’re human. And that you have good taste,” he teased, making her giggle.
She shook her head. “It means I’m attached to you, and attachments get people killed. You, of all people, should know that, Nitro.”
Nitro turned her gently until she faced him.
“Aurora.” The way he said her name grounded her.
“I won’t pretend this won’t cost me something,” he said calmly.
“It will. But not because of you.” His thumb brushed her cheek, catching a tear she hadn’t realized had fallen. “But because this is who I am.”
Her voice cracked. “I don’t want you to lose yourself.”
He rested his forehead against hers. “I already found myself. Right here, with you.” That undid her. Aurora let out a shaky breath and leaned into him, the fight draining from her muscles. She didn’t know how to love safely—but she knew how to be honest with herself.
“If this ends badly,” she whispered, “it will hurt both of us.”
Nitro smiled faintly. “Yeah, it will. So, let’s not let this end badly, or at all.”
She swallowed and nodded. “That’s a lot of pressure, but I’d still do it.”
His expression softened in a way that made her chest ache.
“Good,” he said. “So would I.” Aurora rested her head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat—strong, steady, and real.
For the first time since she’d escaped the Saints, she wasn’t planning her exit, and she wasn’t thinking about running.
She was planning how to stay, and that, she knew, was the bravest thing she’d done in a damn long time.
It was also the most dangerous thing she’d ever done, and that scared the hell out of her.
It had been almost two weeks since Nitro hid her away in the safe house, and Aurora felt as though she was going to lose her mind. She was used to running, and staying in one place for this long felt foreign to her.
Aurora almost forgot what fear felt like.
Not because it was gone—but because, for a few stolen hours, it loosened its grip.
She had woken slowly that morning, her body feeling deliciously used by Nitro during the night before.
Sunlight spilled through the thin curtains, painting the kitchen in pale gold.
Nitro moved around the space as though he belonged there, shirtless, barefoot, and utterly domestic in a way that felt unreal.
He brewed coffee with a focus that made her want to laugh.
He had turned everyday chores into such serious events; she couldn’t help but find it all adorable—not that she told him that.
Big, bad bikers didn’t like hearing that the women they were with found them to be adorable.
Aurora sat at the small table, knees tucked to her chest, wrapped in one of his shirts as she watched him without hiding it. She let herself memorize this version of him. He looked so domestic at the safehouse. He wasn’t just her protector. No, he was just a man making coffee in the sunlight.
“You’re staring,” he said without turning around.
She smiled softly. “I like this version of you.”
He glanced over his shoulder, his brow lifting. “Version of me,” he repeated. “What do you mean by version of me?”
She shrugged, “I guess you are a multifaceted man, Nitro. I like seeing this domesticated side of you. The words slipped out before she could stop them. Nitro didn’t tease her, and he didn’t deflect. He just nodded, like he’d accepted her description of him.
“Seeing you like this, here with me, makes me feel as though you’re not going to take off,” she admitted.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. Her chest warmed—and that scared her more than any threat ever had.
They ate together in companionable quiet. Talking about nothing in particular. They talked about music and about life on the road. They shared places they’d both been to or passed through. Aurora laughed more than she had in years, the sound surprising even herself.
For a while, she let herself imagine what life could look like if this life were allowed to last. She’d have a real home and not have to change names every other day.
But most importantly, she’d have a man who saw exactly who she was and wouldn’t think of her as disposable.
He’d want to stay with her, and that would mean everything to her.
She was playing a dangerous game, though—one that she shouldn’t play. The universe didn’t reward hope to people like her. Aurora had learned that the hard way over her years in captivity, and things weren’t going to change for her now just because she hoped that they would.
The other half of her days was spent worrying about everything that could go wrong—and usually did.
She always had a deep sense of when something bad was about to happen, and right now was no exception.
Aurora stood at the sink, rinsing mugs, when a sense of panic sliced through her calm.
It was as though her instincts had kicked in and were telling her that she needed to pay attention if she wanted to save her ass from what was coming for her.
Aurora learned a long time ago to trust those instincts.
Her hands stilled, dropping the last mug back into the soapy water. “Nitro,” she said quietly.
He was on the couch, cleaning his weapon. He looked up instantly. “What is it?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “But something feels off.” He didn’t question her or make her feel half crazy. Instead, he stood from the sofa and crossed to the window, peering through the curtains.
She followed him over to the window and looked out, seeing nothing.
The street lay empty and was eerily quiet—too quiet.
Still, Aurora’s pulse picked up as her stomach tightened, like it always did when she sensed that something bad was about to happen.
This was the cost of peace—it made you forget that danger didn’t need an invitation.
Her phone vibrated in her jeans pocket, and she pulled it out, staring it down as though it had wronged her in some way. “Unknown number,” she whispered as though saying it too loudly would cause the caller to be able to hear her.
Nitro was suddenly behind her, his presence solid. “Don’t answer it,” he ordered.
She knew better than to answer her cell when an unknown caller appeared on her screen.
It was a sure-fire way of getting caught, and that wasn’t something that she’d allow.
The question was—how did anyone have her number?
She switched phones as often as some women changed clothes.
But she found herself going against her good sense and answering it anyway.
“Renee,” a man’s voice purred. It was familiar in the way nightmares were familiar.
“I was wondering how long you’d pretend you could be happy.
” Her breath caught. She was a fool for answering, and now, the Saints had found her.
God, she was an idiot, but it was too late to pretend that she didn’t just fuck up completely.
“Your father sends his love,” the voice continued.
“He says you always did have a talent for attaching yourself to dangerous men.” Nitro took the phone from her hand before she could stop him.
His expression darkened into something lethal, sending a shiver straight through her.
The Saints had no clue as to how dangerous he was, but she was certain that they were about to find out.
“Who the fuck is this?” Nitro shouted into the phone.
A soft chuckle came from the other end of the call.
“Listen carefully,” the man said, unfazed by Nitro’s outburst. “You’ve had your fun, now you need to make a choice.
You can choose to come back home to us, and this all can end today.
You’ll save countless lives, including your new boyfriends.
Or, you can choose to keep on running, and we’ll burn down the whole fucking world to find you.
You’ll never be safe. There won’t be a place on Earth where you can hide that we won’t be able to find you, Renee.
You know what kind of resources I have.”
The line went dead before Nitro could protest or she could tell the man to go to hell.
There was no way that she’d go back to the Saints.
That wasn’t one of her choices. She’d die before she’d let them put her back into a cage, but the same was true if they tried to hurt Nitro. She’d never let that happen.
Aurora stared at the blank screen, the warmth of the morning draining away as if it had never existed.
Her false calm shattered, just as it always did, and left behind was pure panic.
She knew, deep in her bones, that whatever came next would hurt worse because she had allowed herself to feel safe first.
She turned slowly toward Nitro, fear and resolve warring in her chest. “They found us,” she said. And for the first time since she’d stopped running, Aurora knew the storm had arrived. Her instincts were right—trouble was coming for her, and there was no way to stop it.