2. Raven
RAVEN
Wraith's apartment smelled like leather and coffee, with something underneath that was purely him.
Nothing like the cologne-drenched disaster of my ex's place in Denver.
I set my duffel bag down in what would be my room for the next couple weeks, trying not to think about how the space already felt safer than anywhere I'd lived in the past year.
"Bathroom's across the hall," Wraith said from the doorway, careful to maintain distance. Like he'd been doing since Blade dropped me off an hour ago with strict instructions to "behave herself" that made me want to throw something at my brother's thick skull.
I was twenty-eight years old. But to Blade, I'd always be his baby sister who needed protecting from the big bad world. Especially from men like the ones in his MC.
Especially from men like Wraith Cooper.
The memory slammed into me—walking into that clubhouse three days ago, scanning the room for my brother, and then seeing him.
Wraith. Sitting at the bar with his laptop, completely absorbed until he looked up and our eyes met.
No other way to describe it. One second I was Raven Beckett, unemployed and temporarily homeless, the next I was someone else entirely—someone who belonged to the quiet, dangerous man staring at me like I was salvation and damnation rolled into one.
Before Blade's embarrassing declaration, before the growled threats to his brothers, before everything got complicated, there had been that perfect moment of recognition. Pure, uncomplicated want.
It wasn't just his looks, though God knows the man was devastating in that quiet, intense way.
Dark hair cut short, revealing the sharp angles of his face.
Those shoulders that filled out his thermal shirt perfectly, the kind of build that came from actual work, not gym mirrors.
The scars on his hands that spoke of violence and survival.
It was the way he'd looked at me. Like I was something precious and dangerous all at once. Like he wanted to memorize every curve, every breath, every heartbeat. Like he already knew exactly how I'd fit against him, under him, around him.
Then Blade had opened his mouth and ruined everything.
"You hungry?" Wraith's voice pulled me back to the present. He'd moved away from the door, giving me space. Always giving me space. "I was going to order from Buck's."
"The bar has food?"
"Best wings in Pike Creek. Though Bea would fight anyone who said her diner doesn't own that title."
I followed him to the living room. He kept furniture between us—the coffee table, the arm of the couch, careful barriers that said he was fighting the same pull I felt.
"Any preferences?" He scrolled through his phone, still not making direct eye contact.
"Surprise me."
His thumb paused on the screen. He looked up, and for a second, raw heat flared before he shuttered it. "Dangerous words."
"I like danger."
The air thickened between us. Wrong thing to say when I was living in his space, dependent on his kindness. When my brother would literally murder him for touching me. But I'd been good for so long. Playing it safe with Derek, following all his rules, being the perfect girlfriend, and he'd still—
"Half mild, half hot?" Wraith asked, voice rougher than before.
"All hot."
His mouth twitched, almost a smile. "Woman after my own heart."
My pulse jumped at the phrase. He placed the order, then retreated to the kitchen, pulling two beers from the fridge. The apartment was small enough that I could watch him move—economical, controlled, like he was hyperaware of his body in space. Military training, probably.
"What exactly do you do for the club?" I settled on his couch. The leather dipped in one spot—his spot, where he probably sat every night alone before I invaded his space.
"Keep the books, track shipments, maintain records that keep us legitimate.
" He handed me a beer, careful not to let our fingers brush.
That deliberate avoidance made me want to touch him more.
"Make sure our transport business stays clean on paper.
Also handle security for anything digital—keeping the wrong people from finding what they shouldn't. "
"Legal stuff?"
"Completely. We run a legitimate transport business. I keep the digital side clean and efficient."
"And the non-legal stuff?"
His eyes found mine, held. "What makes you think there's non-legal stuff?"
"My brother's in a motorcycle club. I'm not naive."
"Could've fooled me." The words came out rough, unplanned. Color touched his cheekbones. "Blade said you lost your job?"
Subject change. Fine. For now. "Marketing coordinator at a tech startup.
They decided to 'restructure' which meant firing half the staff.
" The lie came easy. No need to mention that Derek had orchestrated the whole thing, sabotaged my presentation, made me look incompetent.
All because I'd finally tried to leave him.
"Denver's tech scene is rough. Lot of competition."
"Yeah, well. Maybe Montana's hiring."
"You planning to stay?"
The question carried weight. I took a pull from my beer, buying time. "I don't know. Blade wants me to, but..."
"But you're not the type to let your brother run your life."
"You've known me three days."
"I pay attention."
The way he said it, quiet and intense, made heat pool low in my belly. Everything about him was controlled, contained, but underneath I sensed something wild. Something that wanted to break free.
"What did you notice?" The question slipped out before I could stop it.
His fingers tightened on his beer bottle. The tendons in his forearms flexed, and I found myself staring at the contrast—scars over muscle, damage over strength.
"Raven..."
"It's just a question."
"No, it's not." He set his beer down, standing abruptly. "I'm going to check on the food order."
He disappeared into the kitchen even though we both knew the food wouldn't arrive for at least thirty minutes. I heard him moving around, probably fighting the same battle I was.
When he came back, he'd rebuilt his walls. Face neutral, body language closed off. We ate dinner with the TV on, using the noise to avoid real conversation. But I kept catching him looking. Quick glances that lingered on my mouth, my throat, the curve of my shoulder where my shirt had slipped.
"I should shower," I announced when I couldn't take the tension anymore.
"Towels are in the cabinet." He didn't look up from his laptop where he'd retreated after dinner.
The bathroom was small but clean. Basic male grooming supplies lined the counter. His toothbrush, his razor, his soap. Intimate items that felt too personal to be near. I turned the water hot, letting steam fill the space, trying to wash away the frustration of wanting something I couldn't have.
But the hot water only made it worse. Every nerve felt sensitized, aware.
My skin tingled with phantom touches—how his hands might feel, rough and sure.
How he'd touch me if we weren't trapped by my brother's threat.
I pressed my thighs together, fighting the ache that had been building since I'd first seen him.
I'd just wrapped myself in a towel, hair dripping, skin flushed from heat and want, when I opened the bathroom door and collided with a wall of muscle.
Wraith's hands came up automatically, catching my arms to steady me. The towel slipped dangerously, barely covering my breasts, leaving my shoulders and too much of my chest bare. His gaze tracked the movement, lingering on the exposed skin, before snapping back to my face.
We stood frozen. His hands on my bare arms, thumbs aligned with my pulse points where my heart hammered. This close, I could see the scar that cut through his left eyebrow, the tension in his jaw, the way his chest rose and fell too fast.
"Sorry," I breathed, but didn't move away.
His fingers flexed on my arms. The calluses on his palms caught on my wet skin, sending sparks through me. "You should..." He swallowed hard, throat working. "You should get dressed."
"Should I?"
"Raven." My name came out strangled.
I rose up on my toes, bringing our faces closer. His breath fanned across my lips, beer and mint and him. The towel slipped another inch. His gaze dropped to the swell of my breasts, visible above the terry cloth, and his hands tightened enough to leave marks I'd treasure later.
"We can't," he said, but his head lowered toward mine.
"I know," I whispered.
Our mouths were a breath apart. I could feel the heat radiating from his body, could see the war in his eyes—want versus loyalty, need versus honor. His thumb moved on my arm, just the smallest stroke, but it made me shiver. The towel slipped more. Another inch and I'd be exposed completely.
"Fuck," he breathed, and I felt the word against my lips.
Then his phone rang.
Blade's ringtone shattered everything.
Wraith jerked back like he'd been electrocuted, releasing me so fast I stumbled. The towel started to fall. His hand shot out, catching it, holding it in place even as he turned away to grab his phone.
"Yeah?" His voice came out wrecked. He cleared his throat hard. "No, everything's fine. She's fine. Just watching TV." A pause while my brother said something. "Yeah, I'll tell her. Later."
He hung up, shoulders rigid with tension, still not looking at me even though his hand still held my towel in place, knuckles white with the effort of not moving.
"Blade says goodnight." His voice was carefully neutral. "Wanted to make sure you were settling in okay."
The reminder of my brother, of exactly why this couldn't happen, felt like ice water on overheated skin. I clutched the towel, and he finally let go, stepping back.
"I should—"
"Yeah."
I fled to my room, closing the door and leaning against it, whole body shaking. Through the thin walls, I heard him moving, then his bedroom door closing with decisive finality.
But I couldn't sleep. The bed was comfortable enough, but every time I closed my eyes, I felt his hands on my arms. Saw the raw hunger in his eyes before he'd shut it down. My body hummed with frustrated energy.
After an hour of tossing and turning, I gave up. Maybe some water would help. Or maybe I was just looking for an excuse to leave my room, to see if he was as affected as I was.
The living room was dark except for the TV's glow.
Wraith sat on the couch, beer in hand, watching some military documentary with the volume low.
He'd changed into sleep pants and nothing else, all those military tattoos on display.
An eagle across his shoulder blade. Dates in Roman numerals along his ribs—probably fallen brothers.
"Can't sleep either?" He didn't look away from the screen.
"No." I moved closer, hovering near the couch. "Mind if I..."
He shifted over—not much in the small space, but enough for me to sit. Except sitting meant our thighs touched. The heat of his skin burned through my thin sleep shorts.
"This is probably a bad idea," he said quietly.
"Probably."
But neither of us moved. We sat there, thighs pressed together, pretending to watch TV while the air grew thicker with every breath.
His hand rested on his thigh, inches from mine.
I could see the scars on his knuckles, the veins in his forearm, the way his fingers flexed like he was fighting not to reach for me.
"Tell me about the Army," I said, needing to fill the dangerous silence.
"Not much to tell."
"Liar."
That earned me a glance, quick and heated. "Intelligence work, interrupted by moments of terror. Made good brothers, lost some too."
"Is that how you met Blade?"
"VA hospital bar in Billings. Both of us trying to drown different demons." His thumb moved on his thigh, a restless gesture. "Got in a fight, ended up in lockup together. Viper found us there, offered us purpose."
"And now you're brothers."
"Now I want his sister." The confession hung between us, raw and honest. "Want her so bad I can't think straight. Can't sleep. Can't function. Three days, Raven. Three days and you've wrecked me completely."
My breath caught. "Wraith..."
"I know." He stood abruptly, distance necessary again. "I know it's wrong. Know Blade would kill me. Know you deserve better than some broken soldier who can't offer anything but complications. But knowing doesn't make it stop."
"What if I don't want it to stop?"
He turned to look at me then, really look. "Then we're both fucked."
His phone buzzed on the coffee table. He grabbed it, frowning at the screen. "Unknown number?"
My blood chilled. Please not Derek. He couldn't have found me already—
"It's Tara," he said, reading. "Viper's wife. She wants to know if you'd like to get coffee tomorrow at Bea's. Ten AM."
Relief flooded through me. "That sounds nice."
"I'll tell her yes." He typed a response, then set the phone down. "You should try to sleep again."
"So should you."
"Yeah." But he didn't move toward his room.
We stood there, few feet apart but feeling like miles, both fighting the pull that wanted to close the distance.
"Goodnight, Wraith."
"Goodnight, Raven."
This time when I went to my room, I heard him in the living room for a long time after. The TV stayed on, but I doubted he was watching. Probably doing the same thing I was—lying awake, imagining what would happen when our control finally snapped.
Because it would snap. The want between us was too strong, the proximity too close, the need too overwhelming.
Two weeks, Blade had said.
We'd never make it that long.