Page 29 of Her Possessive Bikers

"Hell no. But I promise anyway." His smile returns, gentler this time. "Thanks, Indy. For everything."

"That's what family's for, right?" The words slip out before I can stop them, but Kyler's answering grin makes my cheeks heat.

We finish breakfast in comfortable silence, the only sounds the gentle clink of forks against plates and birds chirping outside. I steal glances at Kyler between bites, watching how he moves carefully to avoid pulling at his stitches.

"Let me grab my stuff," he says, pushing back from the table. His boots thud softly on each stair as he heads up.

I busy myself loading the dishwasher, trying not to think about how different he looks with his guard down. Or how the morning light had traced the lines of his tattoos. Or especially how my fingers had itched to brush that loose hair back from his face.

The stairs creak again and I turn to see him fully dressed - black t-shirt, jeans, and his kutte settled carefully over his shoulders. His hair's back in its usual bun, and just likethat, he's transformed back into the MC secretary. I hate how disappointed I feel about it.

"Ready?" I grab my keys from the counter.

"Yeah." He pauses at the bottom of the stairs. "Thanks again for playing nurse. And chef."

"Anytime. Though maybe next time we skip the whole knife fight part?"

His laugh is quiet but genuine. "I'll do my best."

We head out to the Chevelle, the morning already heating up despite the early hour. Kyler slides into the passenger seat with only a slight wince, and I pretend not to notice how he has to adjust to accommodate his injuries.

"Your chariot awaits," I say, starting the engine. The V8 rumbles to life, and Kyler's face lights up like a kid at Christmas.

"Man, this sound never gets old."

I pat the dashboard fondly. "Dad always said there's nothing like American muscle."

The drive to the clubhouse is quick, but I find myself taking the longer route, stretching out these last few minutes before Kyler has to go back to being the tough biker, and I have to go back to being... whatever I am here.

17

TRES

Through the clubhouse window, I watch Indy's Chevelle pull into the lot. She races around to the passenger side and helps him get out of the car. Damn, what kind of man am I, jealous over a kid who got carved up like a rotisserie chicken because he got to spend time with Indy.

Kyler's looking rough, but he's alive and moving, which is a step up from last night. My jaw clenches seeing him lean on her shoulder as they walk up.

"Looking better, kid," I call out as they enter. "Those stitches holding up?"

"Like new," Kyler says, wincing as he straightens up. "Doc Cooper here knows her stuff."

Indy rolls her eyes. "Just keep them clean and dry. And remember what I said, no more bar fights for at least two weeks."

"Yes ma'am." Kyler gives a mock salute before limping toward the back room.

"Make sure he heeds my warnings Mr. President," she says, her fingers pointing inches from my face.

"Noted. I would hate to have to feel the wrath of Indiana Cooper." I say with a smirk. I don't miss her intake of breath when I use her full name.

"I should head out," she says, fishing her keys from her pocket. "Got some errands to run."

"Let me walk you out." I move to open the door for her.

The sound hits before I can process it - that distinctive pop-pop-pop of semi-automatic fire. Pure instinct takes over. I grab Indy around the waist and yank her back inside, my body covering hers as bullets pepper the doorframe where she was standing seconds ago. Wood splinters rain down as I slam the heavy door shut.

"Everyone down!" I roar, keeping Indy pinned behind me. The familiar weight of my piece presses against my back, but I won't draw until I know she's safe. "Jacoby, get her to the safe room!"

"No, I can-" Indy starts to protest.

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