Chapter 5 - Emma
The ride back into town is a blur. My hands are still shaking where they're gripped around Crow's waist, but I can't tell if it's from fear, adrenaline, or the lingering memory of how quickly and efficiently he moved to protect us.
I should be terrified. I just watched him shoot a man, beat him unconscious. But all I can think about is how he stepped in front of me, how his first instinct was to keep me safe. The violence was controlled, purposeful - so different from the drunken brawls I've seen outside bars.
We pull up to my small house far too soon. The porch light is on - I always leave it burning when I know I'll be home late. It looks so normal, so peaceful. Like nothing has changed.
But everything has changed.
Crow kills the engine but doesn't move, his body still tense under my hands. I realize I'm still clinging to him and force myself to let go, sliding off the bike on unsteady legs.
"You okay?" he asks roughly, not looking at me.
"I'm fine," I say automatically, then amend, "I will be fine."
Now he does turn, swinging off the bike to face me. His eyes are still hard, scanning the street before settling on my face. "Emma..."
"Don't," I stop him, knowing what he's going to say. "Don't apologize again. Don't tell me I shouldn't have seen that or that you understand if I never want to see you again."
He takes a step closer, then seems to catch himself. "You deserve better than this life. Better than watching men get shot on your night out."
"Maybe," I acknowledge, wrapping his jacket tighter around me. I should give it back, but I'm not ready to let go of his warmth just yet. "But I knew who you were when I asked you to be my date tonight. What you are, what the club is - I've known for years."
"Knowing is different than seeing," he says quietly.
"Yes, it is." I take a deep breath, gathering my courage. "But seeing you tonight, how you protected us... it didn't scare me the way it should have. What scares me is how safe I felt, even with everything happening. How right it felt to be holding onto you, trusting you to handle it."
A motorcycle roars past - not an Outlaw, just some random rider - but it breaks the moment. Crow immediately moves to put himself between me and the street, his hand going to his gun.
"It's just a random rider," I say softly, touching his arm without thinking. His muscles are coiled tight under my fingers.
He nods but doesn't relax completely. "Should get inside, doll. It's not safe out here."
"Come in with me?" The words slip out before I can stop them. When his eyes snap to mine, I add quickly, "Just... I don't think I want to be alone right now."
Something dark and hungry flashes across his face before he controls it. "Emma..."
"Please?" I fumble with my keys, suddenly nervous. "I could make coffee, or I have beer if you prefer. And you should probably wait to hear from the club about... about what happened."
He studies me for a long moment, and I can see him wrestling with the decision. Finally, he sighs. "Coffee would be good."
Relief floods through me as I lead him up the steps. My hands are still shaking slightly as I unlock the door, but I manage it on the second try. The familiar scent of books and cinnamon greets us as we step inside - I live above my bookstore, and the smells always drift up.
"Nice place," Crow says, looking around my small living room. His large frame makes everything seem smaller somehow.
"Thanks." I flip on lights as I move toward the kitchen, desperate for something normal to do. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll just..."
I gesture vaguely at the coffee maker, then realize I'm still wearing his jacket. "Oh, here, let me-"
"Keep it," he says roughly. "For now."
The possessive note in his voice makes my cheeks heat. I busy myself with the coffee maker, hyperaware of him moving around my living room. Through the kitchen doorway, I can see him examining my overflowing bookshelf, his gun a dark shape against his shirt.
"You really do read a lot of romance," he comments, picking up one of the paperbacks.
I nearly drop the coffee scoop. "I... yes. It's kind of my thing. Occupational hazard of owning a bookstore, I guess."
He hums, replacing the book. "Any of them about bad boys on motorcycles?"
"A few," I admit. "Though none quite like you."
His eyes find mine across the room. "What do you mean by that?"
The coffee maker gurgles to life behind me, but I barely notice.
"You're real," I say. "Not some fairytale bad boy who's actually sweet underneath it all. You're... complicated. Dangerous but protective. Violent but controlled. Real."
He goes still, his expression hard to read in the soft kitchen light. "Most women would prefer the fairytale version. The kind where the bad boy gives up his wicked ways for love."
"I'm not most women." The words come out stronger than I intended. "And I wouldn't want you to change who you are. What I saw tonight... yes, it was violent. Yes, it should probably scare me more than it does. But it was also you protecting us, protecting me. That's who you are - someone who will do whatever it takes to keep safe what's his."
"You sound very sure about who I am."
"Because I pay attention," I admit.
The coffee maker beeps, making me jump. I turn to grab mugs, needing a moment to collect myself. My hands are steadier now as I pour, but my heart is racing.
"Black, right?" I ask, remembering how he takes his coffee from the times he's stopped by the store.
"You know how I take my coffee?"
I glance over my shoulder to find him watching me with an intensity that makes my breath catch.
"I told you. I notice things," I say, then add more quietly, "About you."
He moves into the kitchen, closing the distance between us. When I turn with the mugs, he's right there, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.
"What else do you notice, Emma?"
The way he says my name makes me tremble.
"I notice how you always park your bike where you can see it through the store window. How you run your hand through your hair when you're thinking hard about something. How you're gentler with kids than anyone would expect."
His breath comes out harsh. "Keep going."
"I notice how you take your coffee breaks at my store even though The Grind has better coffee. How you always check the exits when you enter a room. The way your hands are calloused from working on bikes but so careful when you handle old books."
"Dangerous things to notice about a man like me," he says, voice rough.
"There’s more," I whisper. "The dangerous things. The way you move like you're always ready for a fight. The gun you never go without. How your eyes squint when club business comes up. The tattoos that peek out from under your shirts - the ones that tell stories you never talk about."
"And yet you invited me in," he says, taking the mugs from my hands and setting them on the counter. "After watching me shoot a man tonight. After seeing exactly what kind of violence I'm capable of."
"Yes."
"Why?"
I could lie, could say it's because I was scared to be alone. But I'm tired of dancing around this thing between us. Tired of pretending I don't feel what I feel.
"It’s like I said before… You're real," I say again, holding his gaze. "Because in all those romance novels on my shelf, the bad boy is just playing a part. He's dangerous until he falls in love, then he changes, becomes someone else. But you... you are who you are. The violence, the loyalty, the protective instincts - it's all part of you. And I'm tired of fairytales. I want something real."
"You have no idea what you're saying," he growls, taking a step back. "No idea what you're asking for."
Something snaps inside me. I punch his chest, not hard enough to hurt but enough to show my frustration.
"I hate that! I hate how you act like I don't understand, like I can't make my own decisions. Like you don't respect me enough to-"
His hands shoot out, grabbing my wrists. Not roughly, but firmly enough to stop my next punch.
"Don't," he says, voice tight. "Don't ever think I don't respect you. This isn't about respect, Emma. This is about putting yourself in danger. We're in the middle of a fucking war. The Outlaws already tried to hurt us tonight - and that was just because they saw me alone. If they knew you meant something to me..."
He trails off, his grip on my wrists loosening but not letting go. "Is that what I'd be?" I ask quietly. "A weakness?"
Crow's eyes close briefly, like he's in pain. When they open again, they're dark with emotion.
"I don't know," he admits roughly. "Don't know if you'd be my greatest weakness or my greatest strength. But I do know I can't let anything happen to you. Just the thought of them touching you tonight..." His hands tighten again. "I would have killed them, Emma. Without hesitation. That's the kind of man I am."
"I know," I whisper, stepping closer despite his attempt to maintain distance. "I know exactly what kind of man you are. That's what I've been trying to tell you."
"Do you?" His thumbs stroke over my pulse points, "Because the man I am will never be safe. Never be the kind you can introduce to your parents or take to dinner parties. The man I am lives in violence, breathes it, deals in it."
"And protects with it," I add. "Loves with it."
He sighs. "Emma..."
"You can push me away if you want," I say, heart pounding. "Tell me I'm not cut out for this life. But don't do it because you think you're protecting me. Do it because it's what you want."
His eyes search mine, looking for something - doubt maybe, or fear. But there isn't any. Not anymore. Not after tonight.
"What I want," he says slowly, deliberately, "has never been the issue”
"Then what do you want?" I challenge, tired of the half-truths and careful distance. "Tell me. No protecting me, no thinking about what's best. Just... what does Crow Harrison want?"
His hands slide from my wrists to my arms, his touch burning through the fabric of his jacket that I'm still wearing. For a long moment, he just stares at me, the internal battle clear in his eyes.
"What I want," he finally says, voice rougher now, "is to claim every fucking inch of you. To be your first, your last, your only. To mark you as mine so deeply that no one would dare look at you the way those Outlaws did tonight. I want to wake up with you wrapped around me," he continues, something dark and hungry breaking free in his expression. "Want to watch you read your romance novels and know that none of those fictional men could ever give you what I can. I want to teach you to ride a bike and feel you pressed against me on long runs."
His hands tighten on my arms. "But most of all, I want to keep you safe. And being with me? That's about as far from safe as you can get."
"Maybe I don't want safe," I whisper, stepping closer until we're sharing breath. "Maybe I want you."
The sound he makes is almost painful. "Emma-"
"No more maybes," I cut him off. "No more protecting me from my own choices. I want you, Crow. All of you - the violence, the danger, everything. I want the man who shoots someone to protect me and then apologizes for letting me see it. The man who offers me his jacket and remembers how I take my coffee. The man who's trying so hard to push me away even while his hands are holding me closer."
His eyes drop to my lips, then back up.
"If we do this," he says roughly, "there's no going back. No changing your mind when it gets too real. The club, the life - it'll all be yours too."
"Good," I say and watch something snap in his expression.