Page 13 of Taken By the Outlaw

He's right, and we both know it. I've never been able to lie effectively—not to my mother, not to my teachers, certainly not to law enforcement. I would try to keep his secret, but if directly confronted...

"So I'm just supposed to stay here indefinitely? What about my life? My job? My family?"

"All taken care of." He steps closer again, one hand coming up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, the gesture achingly intimate after everything we've shared. "You'll want for nothing while you're here."

Except freedom. Except normalcy. Except a life that makes sense.

But even as I think it, I wonder if I could go back to that life now, after experiencing Clark. After feeling, for the first time, what it's like to be truly wanted, truly seen. After having passion instead of just responsibility.

"I need to think," I say, pulling away from his touch. "I need space."

He nods, surprising me with his easy acquiescence. "Your original room is still available, if you prefer. Or you can stay in mine."

The choice hangs between us, weighted with significance. Return to the cell, assert my status as prisoner? Or accept his bed, acknowledge whatever this is growing between us?

"My room," I say finally. "Please."

Something like disappointment flashes across his face, but he nods again. "As you wish. You're not locked in, Emilia. You can move freely within the compound. Just don't try to leave."

"Or what?" I challenge, finding a spark of defiance I didn't know I possessed.

His smile is cold, warning. "Or I'll have to show you why they call me The Wolf."

I shiver involuntarily, remembering the tattoo I traced last night, the power coiled in his muscles, the barely leashed violence I sense beneath his control.

"I understand," I say quietly.

"Good." He gestures to the coffee pot. "Help yourself. I have business to attend to. I'll see you tonight."

Not a question. An expectation.

He leaves me standing in the kitchen, conflicted emotions warring within me. I'm angry—at him for his betrayal, at myself for my weakness. I'm afraid—of him, of this situation, of my own confusing feelings. But most disturbing of all, I'm already anticipating tonight, already wondering if he'll touch me again, if he'll make me feel that strange, wild freedom I found in his arms.

I pour myself coffee with shaking hands, trying to think clearly. I need to focus on escape, on getting back to my family, my responsibilities. Not on the way Clark looked at me just now, like I'm something precious he's determined to keep. Not on the heat that flared between us, as potent in the light of day as it was in the darkness.

But as I wander the compound, coffee growing cold in my hands, I find myself looking for him. Drawn to him despite everything, like a moth to flame, knowing I'll be burned but unable to resist the heat.

The compound is bigger than I realized—a sprawling building that must have been a warehouse once, now converted into the MC's headquarters. There's the main room I glimpsed when I first arrived, a kitchen, several hallways leading to private rooms. I find a library of sorts—a small room with shelves of books, worn leather chairs, a single window looking out onto the fenced yard. I run my fingers along the spines, finding an eclectic mix—motorcycle manuals, business manuals, business books, and surprisingly, a shelf of classics—Dickens, Austen, Hemingway. I pull one down, inhaling the familiar scent of old paper. Books, at least, are something I understand.

I settle into one of the chairs, opening to the first page, but the words blur before my eyes. All I can think about is Clark—his hands, his mouth, the way he looked at me this morning like I belong to him. The way part of me wanted to belong to him.

What's happening to me? I've spent my entire life being sensible, responsible, the one who takes care of others. Now I'm caught in something I don't understand, torn between fear and desire, between the safety of my old life and the dangerous allure of this new one.

I close the book, restless. I need to see him again. Need to understand what this is between us. Need to know if what I felt last night was real or just a product of fear and manipulation.

I wander the compound searching for him, drawn by a pull I can't explain or resist. When I finally spot him through a doorway, talking with his men, my heart leaps traitorously in my chest. He looks up, as if sensing my presence, those ice-blue eyes finding mine immediately.

A jolt of recognition passes between us, an awareness that transcends our brief acquaintance. Something electric and undeniable.

I back away, suddenly afraid—not of him, but of myself. Of how much I want to go to him, to feel his arms around me again, to lose myself in his dangerous world.

The consequences of one night stretch before me, endless and terrifying. I've given more than my body to Clark—I've given him power over me, a hold I'm not sure I want to break.

And the most frightening part is how much I'm already craving more.

six

Clark

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