27
Luna
I wake to the sound of tires crunching over gravel. The seat’s reclined—Cade must have adjusted it while I slept. Stretching, I rake a hand through my hair, gathering the tangled mass away from my face.
His hand moves toward me, and I freeze. For a moment, I think he’s going to brush back the strands I missed, but then his fingers retreat to the wheel. “You’re awake.”
“How long was I out?” I yawn.
“Four hours.” Though he keeps his eyes on the road, there’s a hint of a smile on his lips.
“What? That long?” I rub the sleep from my eyes and force myself upright, fighting the lingering heaviness in my limbs.
“You needed it.” His voice carries an unexpected gentleness that seeps into my bones like warm honey.
“Where are we?”
“The Black Hills. Western South Dakota,” he says casually, like driving me to the middle of nowhere is perfectly normal.
The Black Hills. I know the name. It’s the kind of place people vanish to when they don’t want to be found. Dense forest, winding roads, and hidden cabins.
More gravel crunches as Cade makes another turn, the narrow road twisting deeper into darkness.
The trees finally break into a clearing, where a compact house rises from the forest like some alien creation—white stucco and glass catching the moonlight in sharp angles.
The garage door lifts at the press of a button, and Cade pulls in. I step out, blinking against the harsh lights that seem deliberately disorienting.
The interior is all black leather, chrome, and bare white walls. Glass takes up one wall of the open plan sitting room, but there’s nothing to see except forest. There’s a surprisingly large kitchen with a huge refrigerator and round dining table. I’m getting that Cade is big on food. A spiral staircase coils up to the second floor.
“ Is this yours?” I ask as I move closer to the glass wall, absently noting the cameras tucked into corners. This isn’t just a house; it’s a fortress.
Cade nods. “Another pit stop. Come on.”
He leads the way up the winding stairs to one of the bedrooms.
I stop at the sight. Shelves line one wall, displaying rows of ammunition like trophies. This is more than a safe house. It’s an armory. A place to prepare. But for what?
“Like Sophie’s place?”
Cade nods. “Yeah.”
I swallow back the unease pooling in my stomach. He must have places like this everywhere—a network of hideouts. Because he’s always on the move.
Once Cade leaves me in the bedroom, I dart into the bathroom and lock the door, my heart slamming against my ribs.
Now. It’s now or never.
My hands shake as I dig the phone out from inside my bra. The screen lights up, and I fumble through the setup, my fingers trembling as I tap through options. The seconds feel like they’re slipping away, but I push through the panic.
Finally, the email app loads and I type a message to the one person I vowed never to speak to again.
Subject: SOS - Just In Case
Hey,
Don’t freak out but I think I’m in trouble. I’m stuck with this guy. He’s hot as hell but also UNHINGED.
Honestly, I don’t know who I trust less—him or myself.
Which is why I need a backup plan: you.
Yeah, you. Says a lot about how shit my life is right now, doesn’t it ?
We’re headed to San Diego, camping somewhere in the Black Hills forest tonight.
If I don’t check in every night with my location, tell Uncle Jacques . . . and call the cops.
PS: Don’t think for a second this means I’ve forgiven you, stupid bitch. I haven’t.
Luna
I hit send. I probably sound entitled considering I haven’t spoken to the woman since I cussed her out six months ago, but she’ll do as I ask. She fucking owes me.
I hide the phone behind the folded towels in the cupboard and leave the bathroom.
As I descend the spiral staircase, Cade’s voice drifts up from below. I stop to listen.
“Yes. She’s the reason I didn’t show up. But I promise, it’s not what you think.”
My stomach knots. I’ve never heard him speak to anyone like that—not brusque or menacing, but like a father managing a difficult child.
“I know what I said, Scar. Now I’m telling you to go.”
There is a pause, and then his voice hardens with impatience. “Well, too fucking bad. I’m tied up here and I need an extra pair of hands. So how about you take Kat and get your ass over there? Thank you.”
The call ends, and I descend into the living area to find Cade standing by the wall of glass, his broad shoulders outlined against the moonlit forest beyond.
Saint lies sprawled in the corner, his massive form rising and falling in a steady rhythm, dead to the world.
The space feels deceptively homey—a gleaming kitchen island, a plush black leather couch, and matching chairs arranged around a sleek coffee table, and a large dining table set to one side.
“Hungry?” Cade asks, his gaze still locked on the dark woods. He gestures toward the kitchen. “There’s plenty of ready meals.”
I choose a pack of pre-cut tropical fruit, perfect chunks of mango, pineapple, and watermelon lined up like bright jewels. Something about the neat order of them settles me for just a moment.
Carrying my food back to the living room, I perch on the edge of the sturdy wooden table, not bothering to pull out a chair.
“Want some?” I offer, holding it up. The words are a feint, a test to gauge his mood before I dive into the real questions.
“Later.” He moves to the couch and powers up his tablet. The blue glow hits his sculpted face and the short waves of his dark blonde hair, making him look otherworldly.
“What are you always studying on there anyway?” I ask between bites.
“Blueprints mostly.”
My fork freezes halfway to my mouth. Blueprints. For his next hits.
I set aside the half-finished food as my stomach tightens. “Who is Scar?”
He looks up at me with an expression I’ve never seen before. “You don’t want to know.”
“Come on, Cade. You two were talking about me.”
He puts his tablet away and unfolds from the couch. My breath catches as he crosses the room and then stops in front of me. His hand lifts, slow and deliberate as if giving me time to pull away.
I don’t.
War m, callused fingers tuck my hair behind my ear, brushing against the shell. Back and forth. Slow. Hypnotic.
That simple touch throws my entire system into chaos. My heart trips over itself, my belly flips with mad flutters, and heat pools low between my thighs.
I’m in so much trouble.
His pure green eyes search mine. “There’s another hailstorm there, princess. You sure you want that story now?”
He remembered my comment about dumping jarring information on me. Damn him, he almost sounds like he cares.
I can handle Cade’s sharp edges and assholery. But this? This tenderness? I have no defense against it.
I grit my teeth against the part of me melting under his touch and jerk my face away. “Fine,” I snap. “Maybe not right now . . .”
“Sure.” As if sensing I need space, he returns to the couch. “I’ll tell you something else instead. We’re headed to a place called Harmony. Population one hundred fifty thousand. My sister and I grew up there. Her old man still lives there.”
I blink, caught off guard and more than placated by this voluntary offering. “You and Sophie don’t have the same father?”
Cade leans back and folds his arms behind his head as if settling in for another round of questioning “No. But Phoenix Kellan is the only man alive who calls me his son.”
Phoenix Kellan. The name lands heavy with history. A large chunk of Cade’s childhood. His humanity. Cade somehow feels more real now, sprawled on that couch, his posture open and . . . inviting. Part of me—the stupid, reckless part—wants to curl into his lap and pretend I can trust him.
“Does Phoenix Kellan know . . . about the killings?”
“Yes.”
“And Sophie? Does she know?”
“ No. It’s just Phoenix. And you.”
Me.
I swallow hard and wrap my arms tight around myself—as if trying to hold the pieces of me that he’s just cracked open. To remind myself why I can’t let down my guard.
“And this morning, when you said there are ‘walking red flags’ there, what did you mean?”
His mouth curls into a lazy smirk. “Bikers and vets and ex-cons. It’s a motorcycle clubhouse.”
My jaw slackens as I stare at him. I know jack shit about MC clubs beyond some over-the-top TV drama, but suddenly Cade’s tattoo—the flaming skull—makes sense now.
“You’ll fit right in,” he says casually.
I blink, torn between disbelief and offense. “Wait, you’re taking me to a club full of ex-cons, and you think I’ll fit in there?”
Cade laughs, deep warm rumbles filling the room. “Come on, Luciana. We both know your taste runs a hell of a lot darker than the garden-variety criminal. Those guys? Piece of cake for you.”
Luciana. My heart stutters to a halt. Not princess —his usual taunt—but my real name. The one only he calls me. The one that makes me feel like he sees beyond everyone else. Like he knows me.
Or so my stupid heart wants to believe.
I arch a playful brow, ignoring my pulse’s slow ascent. “You know, Cade, that’s the first time you’ve actually said my name when you weren’t talking to Saint.”
He drawls lazily, “That can’t be true.”
“Trust me, I’d remember.” And because I can’t resist, especially since he’s in such a rare, agreeable mood, I shoot him a look from beneath my lashes and settle against the table in a way that I know emphasizes the curve of my hip.
“ Now, I was going to hang you out to dry for presuming to know my taste in men, but I’ll let it slide . . .” I drop my voice to a throaty purr. “ If you say my name again.”
Cade’s expression doesn’t change as he crosses one large boot over the other on the low coffee table. “No can do.”
“No?” My lips curve as I up the ante. “What if I begged?” I pull my lower lip between my teeth and twirl a lock of hair between my fingers.
“No, princess.”
“Come on, Cade,” I lean forward, making damn sure he can see my cleavage. “I’ll make it worth your while. Say my name, and I’ll—”
“Nope.”
“Don’t fucking interrupt me,” I snap.
That does it. Heat flares in his gaze, but he doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he leans back and gestures for me to continue.
Now that I have the floor, my confidence wavers. My mouth opens, but nothing clever comes out. “Well, I was going to suggest . . . making you dinner.”
He snorts, utterly unimpressed. “Try harder.”
“Fine.” I throw my arms up. “One kiss.”
His eyes track me like a predator sizing up prey. “No.”
My jaw drops, caught somewhere between shock and disbelief. “No? Come on, Cade. I know you’re a bargaining man.”
The air shifts. The playful edge between us disappears, replaced by something heavier. Darker. A warning buzzes in the back of my mind, telling me to stop, to quit while I’m ahead. But I never back down from a challenge.
Cade gives me a slow once-over, saying nothing. Then he plants his feet on the floor, points to his lap, and issues a gruff command. “Hop on here and show me your piercings.”
The smirk falls off my face, replaced by the erratic thud of my pulse. Panic, heat, and something dangerous coil low in my belly.
The force of his will is like a wall closing in. I’m cornered. And he knows it.
My voice wavers. “I . . . anything but that.”
“I wasn’t asking, princess. Take off your clothes, get on my lap, and show me your piercings.”
“Cade—” I try to protest, but the raw dominance in the arch of his brow freezes the words in my throat.
“You’ll take off all your clothes,” his voice drops to that deep, gravelly timbre that makes the slut in me ache to spread her legs. “Then you’ll get on my lap, show me your piercings—and that pretty, tight cunt.”
His words pull me under. There’s no escape now—I jaywalked right into his sensual bog. The more I fight, the faster I’ll sink.
This isn’t just about trust. It’s something else. Something I absolutely refuse to name.
“Princess.” His voice slices through my spiraling thoughts. “If you’re not naked and on my lap in the next twenty seconds, you’re going to sit on my face.”