WOLF
Watching women sleep in my bed had always been about calculating exit strategies—theirs or mine. But Quinn Jenkins curled on her side, dark hair spilled across my pillow, one hand tucked under her cheek? Different game entirely.
The sheet had slipped down, revealing the curve of her shoulder, the gentle rise and fall of her breathing. Peaceful.
Just Quinn.
My Quinn.
The thought should have terrified me. Three weeks ago, bachelor life suited me fine—the club, the garage, the occasional woman who knew the score. Now I lay here planning a future around a woman who'd written me a speeding ticket.
Quinn stirred, brown eyes blinking open, and the smile spreading across her face made my chest tighten with something I'd never felt before.
"Morning," she said, voice rough with sleep.
"Morning, beautiful."
She stretched, and I gripped the sheet to keep from pulling her under me. Then reality crept into her expression as the clock caught her attention.
"Shit. I have to go." She sat up, sheet clutched to her chest even though I'd mapped every inch of her last night. "I can't show up to work in yesterday's clothes."
"Call in sick."
"I can't." But she leaned over for a kiss, soft and lingering. "Dad's already suspicious. If I don't show up for my shift, he'll probably send a search party."
Her movements were efficient, pulling on yesterday's jeans and sweater—someone used to quick exits. Not sneaking out, just practical. Still, something twisted in my chest at her preparing to leave.
"When do you get off?" The question came out more intense than intended.
"Four o'clock." She finger-combed her hair, trying to look less thoroughly debauched. "Why?"
"Just wondering."
She paused at the bedroom door, vulnerability flickering across her face. "This is still happening, right? Last night wasn't—"
I crossed the room before she could finish, pressing her against the doorframe. "Last night was the beginning. This is happening, Quinn. You and me."
The kiss left no room for doubt. When I pulled back, her breathing had gone ragged, fingers twisted in my shirt.
"I really have to go."
"I know."
"You're not making it easier."
"Not trying to."
Her laugh filled the room. She pushed against my chest. "I'll see you later?"
"Count on it."
After she left, her absence filled the apartment—her scent on my sheets, her coffee mug in my sink. Three weeks of dancing around each other, three days of hell thinking I'd lost her, and now she was mine.
But sneaking around? Hiding what we were? That shit ended now.
My whole life had been about taking what I wanted, consequences be damned. Why should this be different? Why should we hide like we were doing something wrong?
By three-thirty, my decision was made. Showered, dressed in my best jeans and my leather cut polished and proud. If I was declaring war on Sheriff Bill Jenkins, might as well look good doing it.
The ride to the sheriff's department took ten minutes. Could have been quieter, could have parked down the street, could have texted Quinn to meet me somewhere discrete.
Instead, I rumbled right up to the front entrance, engine deliberately loud, pipes echoing off the buildings. Deputies peered out windows. Good. Let them all watch.
I killed the engine but stayed on the bike, checking my watch. 3:58.
The front door burst open at 4:02, but not with Quinn.
Sheriff Bill Jenkins stormed out like thunder in uniform, face already red with rage. "What the hell do you think you're doing, McCarthy?"
"Waiting." I didn't move from the bike, didn't even remove my sunglasses. "That a crime now, Sheriff?"
"Making a disturbance outside a law enforcement building might be." His hand rested on his service weapon like I posed some kind of threat. "You've got ten seconds to clear out before—"
"Dad."
Quinn's voice cut through his threat. She stood in the doorway, out of uniform, wearing jeans and a soft blue t-shirt, duty bag slung over her shoulder. Her gaze moved between us—her furious father, me on my bike—and the moment of her choice was visible on her face.
"There's something I've been meaning to tell you."
She walked straight to me, each step deliberate, determined. Bill's complexion went from red to purple as understanding dawned.
"Quinn Marie Jenkins, don't you dare—"
But she already had the spare helmet in her hands, the one I'd bought weeks ago hoping for this exact moment. "Dad, Wolf and I are together."
"Like hell you are!"
"It's not your choice." She turned to face him, magnificent in her defiance—spine straight, chin up, every inch the woman who'd pulled me over three weeks ago. "I'm twenty-eight years old. I can date whoever I want."
"He's a criminal! A thug! Everything I taught you—"
"He's a good man." She cut him off, voice steady.
“I seriously doubt that Quinn. You have no clue who he really is, what that club is. You are being naive Quinn.”
I stood, moving beside Quinn but not touching her. This was her fight, her choice to make.
"You're right," Quinn said, surprising both of us. "He is MC. Vice President of the Pike Creek Riders. And I'm a deputy sheriff. And somehow, despite everything that says we shouldn't work, we do."
"If you get on that bike—" Bill's threat hung in the air.
"You'll what?" Quinn challenged. "Disown me? Fire me? I'm a good cop, Dad. Dating Wolf doesn't change that."
"It changes everything!"
"No," she said softly. "It changes your image of me. Your perfect daughter who follows all your rules. But I'm done living in your shadow."
She put on the helmet, swinging her leg over the bike behind me. Her arms wrapped around my waist, and the slight tremble in them spoke of adrenaline, not fear.
"Don't worry, Sheriff," I said, starting the engine. "I'll take good care of her."
Bill Jenkins' expression could have melted steel. But Quinn just pressed closer, and we'd won this round.
The ride to the clubhouse was pure freedom. Quinn's arms tight around me, her body pressed against mine, the whole town watching us pass. No more hiding. No more sneaking around. Just us, out in the open, consequences be damned.
The clubhouse parking lot held a handful of bikes. Good—enough brothers to make it official, not so many that Quinn would feel overwhelmed. She climbed off, pulling off the helmet, hair wild.
"You sure about this?" I asked. "Meeting the club? It's a big step."
"I'm sure." She took my hand, interlacing our fingers. "If we're doing this, we're doing all of it."
Inside, Viper sat at the bar with Wraith and Phoenix. Tank worked the pool table with Blade. Conversations died when we entered.
"Brothers," I announced, Quinn's hand still in mine, "this is Quinn. My old lady."
The words hung in the air for a heartbeat. Then Viper stood, approaching with that measured walk that meant assessment, calculation.
"Deputy Jenkins," he said carefully.
"Just Quinn here," she replied, meeting his gaze steadily. "I'm off duty."
"You understand this is complicated? A cop and an MC—"
"I understand." She didn't back down an inch. "I'm not here as a cop. I'm here as Wolf's... whatever old lady means exactly."
"It means you're his," Viper said simply. "And that makes you ours. Family. Protected."
"I can accept that." Quinn's mouth quirked. "Look, I know this is weird. You're cautious about having a cop around—I get it. Hopefully I can earn your trust. But just... don't do any shady shit around me and we'll be fine." She winked, and Phoenix hid a grin behind his beer.
The tension broke. Viper actually smiled—a rare occurrence. "Fair enough."
"Quinn!"
Tara appeared from the back room, Izzy's artwork in her hands—probably decorating the clubhouse again. She crossed quickly, pulling Quinn into a hug that surprised them both.
"I'm so glad there's another old lady! It's been just me surrounded by all this testosterone." Tara pulled back, grinning. "We need to stick together."
"I'd like that," Quinn said, relaxing visibly.
"Come on, let me show you around. Did Wolf explain about the patches? And the rules? They pretend it's all complicated but really it's just—" Tara led her away, chattering about club life while Quinn shot me an amused look over her shoulder.
"The sheriff's daughter," Phoenix said, shaking his head. "You really know how to complicate shit, brother."
"Yeah, well." Quinn laughed at something Tara said, more relaxed than I'd ever seen her. “It keeps life interesting.”
We stayed for an hour, long enough for Quinn to get comfortable, to understand what being an old lady meant. She handled it perfectly—friendly but not trying too hard, asking questions without prying, making it clear she was with me, not investigating them.
When we finally left, the sun was starting to set, painting the sky orange and pink. Quinn climbed on the bike without hesitation, arms wrapping around me like she'd been doing it for years.
"Where to?" I asked.
"Anywhere," she said against my back. "Just ride."
So I did. Took the mountain roads as the sun disappeared, Quinn pressed against me, her arms tight around my waist. No destination, no plan, just us and the bike and the open road.
This morning she'd been sneaking out, worried about being seen. Tonight, the whole town knew. Her father knew. The club knew.
Quinn Jenkins—sheriff's daughter, deputy, rule follower—had chosen me. Publicly. Defiantly. Completely.
"No regrets?" I called over my shoulder as we stopped at an overlook, Pike Creek's lights spread below us.
She pulled off her helmet, shaking out her hair, and the smile she gave me was pure freedom. "None. This is who I am when I'm not trying to be perfect."
"And who's that?"
"The woman who's crazy about you." She leaned in for a kiss, soft and slow. "The woman who chooses the bike over the badge every time if that's what it takes."
"You don't have to choose. You can have both."
"Can I?" Her gaze drifted toward town, where her father was probably still fuming. "Dad's never going to accept this."
"He doesn't have to. This is your life, Quinn. Your choice."
Quiet stretched between us before she nodded. "You're right. My choice." She put the helmet back on, settling behind me. "Let's go home."
"Your place or mine?"
"Yours," she said without hesitation. "Mine doesn't feel like home anymore."
As we rode back down the mountain, Quinn holding tight, something fundamental had shifted. This morning, keeping her had been my focus. Now I knew I already had her—completely, publicly, permanently.
The sheriff could rage all he wanted.
The town could gossip.
None of it mattered.
Quinn had chosen me, and I'd chosen her, and everything else was just noise.
We pulled into my apartment, and Quinn's expression went soft as she climbed off the bike.
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For coming to get me. For making me brave enough to choose what I wanted instead of what I should want."
"You were always brave, sweetheart. You just needed someone to remind you."
She smiled, taking my hand. "Come on. Let's go inside and not hide anymore."
Following her up the stairs to my apartment—our apartment now, really—I thought about how three weeks ago she'd written me a ticket, all fire and determination.
Now she was mine, and everyone knew it.
Best speeding ticket I ever got.