Page 26 of What Lies Within

I want to hold this man to me and never let go.

I still can't reconcile how strongly I feel for him in such a short time. They both said it doesn't matter, but it does to me. I can't trust my feelings on my best days, let alone when I know my hormones play havoc with my neural transmitters. And when I fall in love with not one but two men in the space of mere weeks, well, a girl has to question her sanity.

What if my rose-tinted glasses mean I can't see the forest for the trees? Maybe these men play me to their advantage? Perhaps they tell me what I want to hear to keep me under their control?I mean, the club comes first. Look at what we're doing now—if that doesn't prove they only need me for their gain, what does?

What better way to make a woman complicit than to speak to her through her heart?

Yet, it's my own damn fuckery I can't trust more. What if, in the coming days, I lose this sense of security with them? What if once my hormones tank and the inevitable breakdown ensues, the fog lifts, and I see this for what it is—the hero complex inherent in all men's egos, making me appealing to Tyke and Digger?

Fuck—what if my infatuation is a symptom of the trauma of the past few months?

Stop. Jesus—stop.I’m fucking doing it already: expecting the worst and letting logic search for a justification for this unwarranted fear that courses through my adrenals.Shit.If my head noise is this bad now, it will only worsen.

“Hey.” Digger leans forward, resting his cheek against the side of my head. “What’s goin’ on? You’ve tensed right up. You that worried about seein’ him again?”

Bless him. He thinks it’s Connor that has me in a chokehold, yet it’s the strength of this connection with him that has me wanting to throw myself off the nearest bridge to avoid the inevitable heartache when it all turns to shit.

Because it always does. It always will as long as I am the way I am. As long as I continue to lie to myself and others and expect that I can change.

“Lots of things on my mind,” I assure him with as much light in my tone as I can muster. I fixate on Tyke, arms folded over his chest as he leans against the side of the storage container. “If this doesn’t work, what’s next?”

“Cross that bridge when we come to it.” Digger turns his head slightly, nose brushing my cheek. “Breathe, baby girl. This ain’t our first rodeo.”

I know that, but “How do you stay so calm?”

“Who says I’m calm?” He moves away from me, reaches for my hand, and coaxes me to turn side on between his legs.

I allow him to move my palm to his chest, Digger slipping my hand beneath his cut to press over his heart. I wouldn't say it races as such, but the beat is super strong and steady. Poised for action. Ready to fuel him up should he need to react.

“Got worries the same as the rest of you,” he assures me, moving my hand between his. “But I also know that focusing on the day minute by minute is how I get through it without making decisions based on fear or panic.” He nods toward Tyke. “It’s him you should be worried about.”

I glance to our President again—to the man whose body I know intimately. Yet his heart and mind are still an exploration in progress. Outwardly, he's the picture of control, with his legs crossed at the ankle and his massive arms folded over his chest. Morning light paints his dark hair in rusty shades, the gentle shadows accentuating his strong profile. The President's badge peeks from behind his forearm, stitching bright against the black leather.

Unlike Digger, he wears his existence like a right to arms—a symbol of safety for the scared and vulnerable.

Like me.

I glance down at my phone on the seat beside Digger's foot and check the time. Connor is two minutes late, but that's nothing unusual. He works on his father's timeline; for all I know, he's distracting Terry from knowing where he goes.

His duty to his father says he should show up here and drag me back to the man by my hair. Yet his misplaced love for me means he’d risk his father’s ire for an hour of my time.

We plan to capitalize on that—despite how my fucking heart hammers.

Six deep, fortifying breaths are all I manage before the imposing grill of his truck finally bumps into view. Tyke nods at the prospect operating the gate, and the young guy opens it wide to welcome our guest. Connor drives past the Reaper president, swinging the vehicle around to park between us, blocking where I sit with Digger from Tyke's view.Great.The pissing match has started already.

His door opens, and the slap of his boots on the yard echoes off the vast walls of the clubhouse and garaging. He rounds the truck's hood; it's impossible to tell whether he acknowledged Tyke first, but my guess is no.

As if Connor would pass up another opportunity to snub the guy on his turf.

"Are we playing with the whole litter or just your favorite puppies?” he asks, nodding toward Tyke as the Reaper President advances on our position.

“Hi, Connor,” I drawl. “Great to see you again so soon.”

He smirks at my sass.

Digger’s arm slips away, and I shift forward to let him off the table behind me. He unfolds his tall frame to his full height and steps up to Terry’s son, lazy yet controlled. “We got an issue to sort out before you get your time with Rae.”

Connor’s gaze shifts from Digger to me. “What issue?”

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