Chapter 25
Bastiaan
Night falls slow and heavy in the Danish forest.
The van is parked deep in a clearing, pines rising around us like silent guards.
Rain has left the air damp and cold, the smell of wet earth and pine needles creeping in through the cracked window.
Somewhere out there, the world is hunting us—but here, for now, it’s just shadows and the low hum of the lantern in the corner.
Amber sits cross-legged on the folded-down seat, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, her curls a mass of gold in the soft battery light.
She’s talking about Jess and Andrea, her voice low and wistful, and I pretend I’m only half-listening as I rinse our plates in the tiny basin and wipe down the counter.
The truth? I hear every word. I always hear her.
“…I just keep seeing their faces when they knew the wreath was for me,” she murmurs, her gaze fixed on the dark forest outside the fogged window. “I hated leaving them there, no real answers. Hate that they are vulnerable because of me.”
Her voice cracks at the end. That tiny break spears straight through my chest.
“They’re safe,” I say, crouching opposite her, elbows on my knees. “Jack won’t let anything happen to them.”
She nods, but I can tell she’s not convinced. Her eyes are far away, somewhere in Hampstead Island, in the florist shop that smells of roses and eucalyptus, with a bell that rings softly every time the door opens.
The space between us feels like an ocean. I want to close it. I want to drag her into my arms and let her forget the world exists. But the guilt is heavy tonight, a solid stone heavy in my chest.
I shouldn’t want her like this.
Shouldn’t have fucking touched her.
Not when Abel is at home, missing me. Not when Marieke’s ghost still lingers in the back of my mind, a reminder of the man I swore I wouldn’t be again. A man who loves. A man who risks his heart.
But Amber has been under my skin for years, and I’m lying to myself if I pretend otherwise. Every laugh she gave me over that counter, every glance when she thought I wasn’t looking, every time her fingers brushed mine over a bouquet—it all chipped away at my walls.
Now those walls are fucking rubble.
“Bas?” Her voice is soft, pulling me out of my head.
I meet her eyes, and everything else—the forest, the cold, the danger—fades into nothing. It’s just her.
“Come here,” I murmur. My voice is low, rough, like gravel in my throat.
She doesn’t hesitate. She crawls across the narrow space, the blanket slipping down her arms, and when she settles in my lap, it feels inevitable—like gravity finally won.
Her arms loop around my neck. Her fingers slide into my hair, and the scent of her—jasmine that’s just Amber—obliterates the last of my self-control.
I kiss her. Hard at first, like a man starved, then soft, like I can’t believe I’m allowed this.
Her lips part with a soft sound that damn near kills me. The blanket pools at her waist, and my hands are on her before I can stop myself—her waist, her back, tracing every curve I’ve been dying to touch for years.
I should stop. I should pull back. I should remember that we’re running for our lives and that my son is sleeping in a room that’s too empty tonight.
But I can’t.
Because right now, she’s mine. She’s warm and real and pressed against me, and the world is simple. There’s no MC, no black van, no guilt that I’ve been dragging around like a chain. There’s just Amber, and the truth I’ve been too much of a coward to say out loud: I want her.
She whispers my name like a prayer, and I lift her, laying her back on the mattress we folded from the seats. The van becomes our own small universe, dimly lit and heavy with the smell of rain and heat.
“Tell me to stop,” I rasp against her neck, my voice breaking.
“Don’t you dare,” she whispers back, and that’s it. That’s the end of me.
I kiss down her throat, my stubble scraping her soft skin, my hands greedy and sure now. Her hoodie is off before I realise I’ve even tugged it free. My palm slides over her warm stomach, up to her bra, and she arches into my touch with a soft, broken sound that punches straight to my cock.
“Fuck, Amber,” I groan, lowering my head to mouth at her breast through the lace. “Do you know how many nights I’ve thought about this? About you?”
She shivers, her fingers digging into my shoulders. “Bas…”
Her leggings are off in a blur, and I settle between her thighs, the sight of her spread out in the back of my van nearly undoing me.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I mutter, kissing down her stomach, tasting salt and skin. “So fucking mine.”
When I slide my tongue over her, she gasps my name, her hips jerking. I hold her down gently, savouring the way she trembles, the way she’s already wet and ready for me. I lick slow and deep, drinking in every sound she makes, every whisper of “please” that leaves her lips.
She comes fast, clenching around nothing, and I ride it out, kissing her inner thigh before I crawl up her body and kiss her hard, letting her taste herself on my tongue.
I don’t wait long. I can’t. I free myself, slide inside her in one smooth, hungry thrust, and the world tilts.
“Fuck—” I groan, forehead dropping to hers as I fill her completely. “You feel… Jesus, Amber, I could die like this.”
We move together fast, messy, urgent. The van rocks with our rhythm, the cold forest outside and the danger beyond it erased by heat and skin and the raw sound of our breathing. My hand finds hers and pins it above her head, the other gripping her hip as I drive into her.
Every stroke is a confession I don’t have words for. Every kiss is a promise I’m terrified to make but can’t hold back.
“Say my name,” I pant.
“Bastiaan,” she moans, and I’m gone.
Release hits like a freight train, dragging me under. I bury my face in her neck, holding her like I’ll never let go, her soft cries mixing with my groan as I spill inside her.
We stay tangled, catching our breath, until the world bleeds back in—cold air, rain on the roof, the faint creak of the pines.
Amber curls into my chest, her heartbeat matching mine, and I wrap her up in the blanket, my chin on her hair.
She drifts off like that, soft and warm in my arms.
And the guilt comes creeping back, cold and relentless.
I shouldn’t have touched her.
I shouldn’t have let myself fall.
Because I know this can’t last.
Not while we’re running.
Not while Abel is without me.
Not while loving her could end in heartbreak, for both of us.
But as her breath evens out against my throat, I know one thing for certain.
If anyone ever tried to take her from me… they’d immediately find out just how far I’m willing to go. I’d burn through every last drop of blood in my veins, tear down anything in my way, just to get her back.