5. Avery
AVERY
Saint was beautiful when he gave orders.
Not handsome. Not attractive. Beautiful in the brutal way fire was beautiful when it had something worth consuming.
He stood in the garage beneath a row of hanging work lights, black T-shirt stretched across his shoulders, cut open over it. Men twice as loud as he was went silent when he spoke.
“Double the east gate. Nobody rides alone. If you spot Pike, you call before you move.”
A patched brother started to object.
Saint looked at him and the objection died.
I sat on a workbench six feet away with my laptop and watched the club’s vice president control a room full of dangerous men without raising his voice.
This was the part Rook believed I needed protection from. The outlaw part. The man who could decide whether somebody got hurt and have five bikers carry it out before lunch.
It should have made Saint less safe.
Instead, I understood why every frightened thought during the attack had ended with him. He walked over after dismissing the men. Grease darkened one knuckle.
“You finish that cover?”
“My client asked whether the hero could look more dangerous.”
“Make him uglier.”
“That isn’t how romance works.”
“Explains a lot.”
I turned the laptop so he could see the illustrated man. “Leather jacket, motorcycle, tattoos. He’s basically you.”
“He’s got styled hair.”
“You’re right. Completely different species.”
Saint rested a hand on the bench beside my thigh. “He looks soft.”
“Readers like soft.”
“You don’t.”
His gaze dropped to my mouth.
The garage was busy around us. Wrenches clanged. A compressor kicked on. Rook spoke to Mace near the open service bay.
None of it stopped the air from tightening.
“Office,” Saint said.
“Am I in trouble?”
“You’re about to be.”
I shut the laptop.
He put his hand at my lower back and guided me across the garage. The gesture was familiar now, but it no longer felt brotherly or protective. He spread his fingers over me with quiet possession, and anybody who knew how to look could read it.
Mace knew.
His eyes dropped to Saint’s hand. One corner of his mouth moved.
Saint caught the look. “Got something to say?”
“Not if I enjoy having teeth.”
Rook glanced over.
Mace turned away before my brother followed the exchange to its obvious conclusion. Saint pushed me into the small office beside the parts room and closed the door. It had one narrow window into the garage. He twisted the blind shut.
“That was subtle,” I said.
“Mace needs to mind his business.”
“Mace knows.”
“Mace suspects.”
“What happens when he asks?”
“He won’t.”
“Because?”
“He doesn’t want any part in Rook finding out.”
I laughed. Saint’s gaze softened before he could stop it.
That expression mattered more than it should have.
I reached for him. “Come here.”
He caught my wrist, kissed the inside of it, then pulled me between his legs as he sat on the edge of the desk.
“This door doesn’t lock,” he said.
“You chose the room.”
“Bad fucking judgment seems to be a pattern around you.”
I kissed him.
He opened my jeans and pushed his hand inside, finding me already wet. His pleased exhale brushed my lips.
“Watching me give orders does this to you?”
“Maybe.”
“Knew it.”
His fingers moved in slow, shallow strokes. I gripped his shoulders.
“Cocky.”
“Accurate.”
I reached beneath his shirt and dragged my nails over his stomach. His muscles tightened. When my hand dropped to his belt, he let me open it.
“My turn,” I whispered.
I went to my knees.
Saint swore.
His cock pushed heavy and hot into my hand. I stroked him once, watching his face. Control drew his mouth into a hard line.
I licked the broad head.
His hand settled gently against the back of my neck.
“You keep looking at me like that, this ends fast.”
I took him deeper.
The taste of him, the rough sound in his throat and the danger of discovery combined into something intoxicating.
I worked my mouth over him while my hand held the base, learning what broke his restraint.
A twist of my wrist. My tongue along the underside.
Taking him until he touched the back of my throat.
“Avery.” His fingers tightened. “Up.”
I ignored him.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
The office door rattled.
“Saint?” Rook called.
Saint’s entire body locked.
I pulled back, covering my mouth with one hand to hold in a laugh. He looked down at me on my knees between his spread legs.
Murder would have been less dangerous.
“What?” he barked.
“Open up.”
Saint pointed beneath the desk.
I crawled under it while he shoved himself into his jeans. Papers slid to the floor. I tucked my feet in just before the door opened. From the dark space beneath the desk, I saw Rook’s boots enter.
“Why was the blind closed?”
“Glare on Avery’s screen.”
“Where is she?”
Saint didn’t hesitate. “Bathroom.”
“Without you?”
“Door’s across the hall.”
“You’re supposed to stay on her.”
The irony nearly killed me.
Saint’s boot pressed against my thigh in warning.
“I’ve got her,” he said.
“Pike’s been seen near the access road. We’re locking the gates.”
“I’ll bring her to the officers’ wing.”
“Do it now.”
Rook left. The door shut behind him.
For two seconds, neither of us moved.
Then I crawled out.
Saint put one hand over his face, and I leaned against the desk, laughing soundlessly.
“You think that’s funny?”
“A little.”
He caught me around the waist and turned us, pinning me against the desk.
“Your brother was two feet from your mouth being on my cock.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“I’m supposed to be keeping you safe.”
“I felt very secure under there.”
He stared at me and then gave up and laughed into my neck.
The sound warmed the entire room. I wrapped my arms around him. “I like this.”
“Almost getting caught?”
“You.”
His laughter stopped. I felt the shift and wished I could pull the words back. Not because they weren’t true, but because truth still scared him more than desire.
Saint lifted his head. “We need to go.”
He reached for my zipper, then stopped. “No.”
“No what?”
“You don’t get on your knees for me and walk out with nothing.”
“Pike is outside.”
“Near the access road. The gates are locking.”
He turned me toward the desk and swept papers aside with one arm.
“Saint.”
“Quiet.”
“You say that far too often.”
“And you listen far too rarely.”
He opened my jeans again and pulled them to my thighs. Cool air touched skin already wet from his fingers earlier.
“Hands on the desk.”
The order went through me and I obeyed.
Saint dropped to one knee. His mouth found the inside of my thigh.
“This is a terrible time to be thorough.”
“I can be fast.”
His tongue proved it. He licked through me from behind, one arm locked around my hips to keep me still. The first broad stroke nearly folded my knees.
“Oh, God.”
“Wrong man.”
I choked on a laugh. He used the moment to slide two fingers inside me. The combination was indecent. His mouth over my clit, fingers working deep, the blind closed and my brother still somewhere in the corridor. I pressed my fist to my lips.
Saint curled his fingers.
My body tightened.
“There,” I whispered.
He found it again. Harder.
Pleasure climbed too quickly for dignity. I pushed back against his mouth, chasing the pressure.
“That’s it,” he said against me. “Use me.”
His words vibrated through sensitive flesh.
I came with my forehead against the desk and his name caught behind my teeth.
Saint kept his hand over me until the shaking eased. He zipped me with careful fingers and kissed the back of my neck. At the door, he checked the hall before bringing me out.
The thing between us had started turning into something neither of us could hide beneath a desk.
The identification of Pike made the club move.
Saint brought me into the main room while brothers checked weapons, changed plates on two vehicles and argued over who would ride the east road. He stayed close enough that I could feel the heat of him without touching. Dare crossed the room carrying three coffees and a stack of maps.
“Prospecting looks glamorous,” I said.
“It’s all caffeine and personal growth.”
Mace took one coffee without thanks.
Dare looked at his empty hand. “That was mine.”
“Not anymore.”
The exchange made the room feel like a family kitchen until Riot entered and dropped a photograph beside my laptop. Pike stood near a gas station two miles from the compound. The image had been taken less than an hour earlier.
Saint’s hand rested on my shoulder.
“He’s checking routes,” Riot said. “Not coming in.”
“He doesn’t need to,” Saint replied. “He wants us to know he can get close.”
“Then let him see us leave.”
Riot’s suggestion carried the anticipation of a man who solved problems with his fists.
Saint shook his head. “He wants movement. We give him none.”
Riot disagreed. He didn’t challenge the order.
That authority again. Quiet. Absolute.
I put my hand over Saint’s where it rested.
The men around us saw, and nobody said a word.
But when Mace met my gaze, the warning in his expression wasn’t for me.
It was a question. Are you sure?
I answered by leaning more firmly into Saint.
Mace gave one slow nod and turned back to the maps.
Saint drew one of the maps toward us.
“Show me the fastest route from here to the safe room.”
I looked at him. “Is this a test?”
“It is now.”
The compound plan had been sketched over so many times that the older pencil marks showed beneath fresh black ink. I found the garage, traced the interior corridor and tapped the reinforced room behind the officers’ office.
“Through there.”
“Main room’s compromised.”
I studied the alternatives. “Kitchen. Service hall. Outside along the north wall, then back in through the officers’ entrance.”
“Only if the north gate is clear.”
“And if it isn’t?”
“You don’t run for the bike yard. Too exposed.” He moved my finger to a narrow space between the garage and the perimeter wall. “Concrete divider here. It’ll stop rifle fire. Stay behind it until you know which gate we hold.”
Rook’s version of protection had been simple. Stay where he put me and wait for armed men to solve the problem.
Saint was teaching me how not to need rescuing.
“Alarm code?” he asked.
I gave it to him.
“Backup?”
“There’s a manual switch under the bar.”
“Weapon closest to your room?”
“Yours.”
His mouth almost moved. “Besides me.”
“Lockbox in the office.”
“Combination?”
“Rook never gave it to me.”
Saint’s expression went flat.
He crossed the room, opened the lockbox and returned with a spare magazine. He placed it on the map between us.
“Fourteen, nine, thirteen.”
Mace glanced over. That was club security, not information handed out casually.
“You sure?” he asked.
Saint didn’t look away from me. “She’s the reason we might need it.”
He wasn’t treating me like the president’s frightened sister being moved from one locked room to another. He was treating me like someone trusted with the plan.
I picked up the magazine. “And if somebody gets past the gates?”
“You move to cover. You call out what you see. You don’t come looking for me.”
“That last part seems unlikely.”
“Avery.”
“Teach me what you need me to know. Don’t ask me to promise I’ll stop thinking because you’re scared.”
The rebuke landed. He accepted it without pretending otherwise.
“Fine,” he said. “After lunch, I check what Rook taught you.”
“You mean shooting.”
“I mean surviving.”
His hand closed over mine around the magazine. The gesture looked instructional to anyone watching.
It didn’t feel instructional.
“If I have to use this,” I said quietly, “I won’t freeze.”
“Being afraid isn’t freezing.”
“I know.”
His thumb pressed once against my knuckles. “Good.”
That one word held more faith than Rook’s entire locked compound.