Page 14 of Vargan

"How's the bike coming?" I ask, trying to sound casual as I move around the kitchen.

"Progressing," he says, watching me work. "But there's more damage than I thought. Silas had to order a few parts. I might have to stick around longer than planned." He pauses. "He offered up his couch, if that's better for your brother."

My heart jumps a little at the thought of Vargan leaving, which is ridiculous. Of course he's leaving. That was the deal from the start. But the idea of him going to Silas's feels wrong somehow.

I stop stirring the gravy and turn to face him. "Are you suggesting that because of what Willie said? Because he tends to exaggerate when it comes to Royce." I straighten my spine, chin lifting slightly. "I've been fighting Victor Hargrove off for years. I can keep doing it without your help."

His eyes narrow slightly. "It didn't look that way two nights ago."

His words hit a nerve. "Royce was never going to hurt me," I say, the lie bitter on my tongue. "He was putting on a show for Victor. And you played right into his hands."

"You believe that?"

I avert my eyes, unable to maintain the lie under that intense amber gaze. "Look, weren't you in a big hurry to get somewhere? Mexico, right? What about that patch on your jacket? Those Ironborn people—don't they need you back?"

Vargan crosses to the sink, turning on the water to wash his hands. His back is to me when he answers, "I am. Ironborn MC. But at the moment, I can't return."

"What about your family?" I'm pushing, I know, but suddenly I need to understand this man—this orc—who's disrupted my carefully balanced life.

"Either stuck on the other side of the Rift, or killed when they crossed." His voice is flat, emotionless, but I can hear the pain beneath it. "Humans can't be trusted. That's why I don't trust that Royce won't hurt you for siding with me."

The raw honesty in his words makes me pause. I think about what Willie said, about Royce's threats. I remember the pain of Royce's fingers digging into my arms the last time I refused him, the terror when Victor suggested Royce "convince me" to sell. Maybe having Vargan stick around a little longer wouldn't be the worst thing.

"Silas's place is too small for both of you," I say finally. "I've got a perfectly good king-size bed upstairs in my parents' old room. Might still be a tight fit for you, but it's better than a couch."

He turns, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Don't get any ideas," I add quickly. "You don't trust humans, and I'm not getting tangled up with another bad guy—especially not one running from the law. There's no way in hell anything is going to happen between us anyway."

A slow smirk spreads across his face. "Didn't say a word."

"You didn't have to." I turn back to the stove, hoping he doesn't notice the flush creeping up my neck. "Dinner's in twenty. Go clean up."

As he leaves the kitchen, I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. What am I doing? Inviting a fugitive orc to stay in my house, in my parents' bed, with my teenage brother under the same roof? An orc who admitted to killing a man, even if it was self-defense.

But when I think about the alternative—Vargan leaving, Royce returning with a vengeance, the endless struggle of fighting alone—I know I've made the right choice. For now.

The sound of the shower starts upstairs, and I try not to think about the massive green-skinned man standing under the water in my bathroom. Try not to imagine the intricate tattoos that cover his torso, what they might mean, how they follow the contours of muscles that—

No. Stop it, Savvy. This is business. Protection. Nothing more.

I slam the spoon down harder than necessary, splashing gravy onto the stovetop. This is exactly why I don't let people in anymore. The minute I do, I start hoping. And hope is the one thing I can't afford.

I've spent three years holding Victor at bay, keeping my brother safe, my father's legacy intact. I'm not about to risk it all because I've got some weird attraction to an orc who'll be gone as soon as his bike is fixed.

Because that's the truth—Vargan is leaving. He has to. He's got the Mexican border to cross, a life to save, and I've got a diner to run and a brother to raise. Our worlds were never meant to collide.

And when he does leave, I'll still be here, fighting the same battles I've always fought.

Alone.

Chapter Five

Vargan

The bed in Savvy's parents' room isn't long enough for me—few human beds are—but it's a vast improvement over the couch. I spent most of the night with my feet hanging over the edge, listening to the old farmhouse settle around me, trying not to think about the woman sleeping just down the hall.

Morning came too quickly, and I've been working on the bike since dawn. Now it's afternoon, and I'm stuck. The damage to the frame is worse than I initially thought; Silas had to order a part that won't arrive until tomorrow. Until then, I'm at a standstill.

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