Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 33713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 169(@200wpm)___ 135(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 169(@200wpm)___ 135(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
The silence stretches between us, thick with the weight of my request. I’m asking her to upend her life for me. I’m asking her to trust that the safety I provide isn't just a cage. I’m asking because the thought of living without her is a physical ache I can't breathe through.
"You want me to move into your house?" she whispers, her hands coming up to rest on my forearms, her fingers tracing the ink of my tattoos. "Just like that?"
"Not just like that," I say, leaning in until our foreheads touch. "I want you to live here because this house is empty when you're not in it. I want to see your shoes by the door and your coffee mug in the sink. I want to know that when I come home from the garage, you're the one waiting for me. I’m doing this to protect you, sweetness, and because I can’t fucking live without you."
She searches my face, her gaze moving over my eyes, my mouth, looking for the catch. When she finds nothing but the raw, bleeding truth, her expression softens into something so beautiful it hurts to look at. She smiles, a small, sassy tilt of her lips that tells me the fire hasn't gone out—it’s just found a place to burn safely.
"I’m going to be a nightmare to live with," she warns, her voice regaining that sharp, playful edge I love. "I’m a neat freak, I take up way more than half the bed, and I will absolutely keep you on your toes."
"I like things neat," I promise, a laugh huffing out of me, the first real one in days. "You can have eighty percent of the bed. And I wouldn’t expect any less than that. In fact, I’d be bored out of my skin if you didn’t keep me on my toes."
"Then I guess you’re stuck with me," she says, and then she’s pulling my head down, her mouth meeting mine in a kiss that tastes like relief and a thousand future mornings.
"What are you doing?" I ask, watching her fingers fly across the keys.
"Enrolling in the online classes," she says, not looking up, though the flush on her cheeks is bright.
I watch her for a long time, the sight of her working at my counter filling me with a sense of peace that feels almost foreign. For the first time in my life, the future isn't a series of problems to be solved or threats to be managed. It’s a quiet afternoon in a house that’s finally a home. I feel like I can finally breathe, the air no longer thick with the scent of a fight, but with the quiet, domestic reality of a woman who chose me.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SERENITY
The Nevada wind has a specific way of scouring the world clean. It doesn’t just blow; it exfoliates, stripping away the grit of the city until all that’s left is the raw, vibrating hum of the desert. I’m leaning into Diesel’s back, my cheek pressed against the rough, familiar leather of his cut, and for the first time in months, the air doesn’t taste like static and high-alert adrenaline.
It tastes like him. Sandalwood, cinnamon, and the metallic bite of the bike’s exhaust. It’s the scent of a man who makes his own luck and a sanctuary that moves at eighty miles per hour.
“You doing okay back there, sweetness?” Diesel’s voice vibrates through the headset in my helmet, a low rumble that competes with the growl of the Harley. He doesn't need to look back to know I’m there. He feels my every shift, the way my thighs grip his, the way my fingers are locked around his waist as if he’s the only thing keeping the earth from spinning off its axis. Which, lately, he is.
“I’m perfect.” I hug closer to his muscular body. I’m not sure life could get any better than this. This morning, Diesel got a call from Savage. Evidently, Kirk won’t be harassing me anymore. He has much bigger problems to deal with.
There’s a wave of relief that rolls through me every time I think about it. The jerk is off the streets and locked up, where he belongs. And the whole thing literally happened by accident. Savage was keeping a close watch on him when his operative caught Kirk in the act of buying a ton of drugs from a lowlife dealer behind a 7-Eleven. Savage called in the tip himself, and the police immediately responded. Kirk barely had time to blink before LAPD took him down, pockets full of enough narcotics to guarantee he won’t be stepping outside of prison walls for years.
I push thoughts of Kirk the Jerk to the back of my mind and pull back far enough to see the world over Diesel’s massive shoulder. We’re deep into the red rock territory now, far beyond the neon reach of the Strip. The horizon is beginning to bruise, a deep, aching purple bleeding into a violent orange that looks like someone cracked the sky open just to see what was inside. It’s beautiful in a way that feels intentional, like the desert is putting on a show just for us.