Page 22 of Taken By the Outlaw

"No more running," I promise softly. "I meant what I said."

He studies my face, searching for deception, for uncertainty. Finding none, he pulls me down for a kiss that starts gentle but quickly turns hungry. When he finally lets me up for air, we're both breathing hard.

"I have to check in with the crew," he says reluctantly. "After last night's excitement with the Vipers, we need to tighten security."

I nod, trying not to show my disappointment. I'd happily spend the day in this bed, learning more about his body, about the pleasure he can give and take.

"You're free to move around the compound," he tells me, sitting up and pulling on his jeans. "But don't go outside. Not alone. Not after yesterday." He pauses, looking at me seriously. "I'm trusting you, Emilia. Don't make me regret it."

"I won't," I say, meaning it. After my terrifying encounter with the Vipers, I have no desire to leave the safety of Clark's protection.

He dresses quickly, efficiently, transforming before my eyes from the man who held me so tenderly to the leader who commands respect and fear. Only the lingering heat in his gaze when he looks at me betrays the connection between the two personas.

"I'll find you later," he promises, and the words send a delicious shiver through me.

After he leaves, I dress in clothes he's provided—jeans that fit better than my own, a soft t-shirt, a cardigan in deep blue that brings out the gold in my hazel eyes. I brush my hair, noting the marks on my neck from his mouth, evidence of his possession that I should find objectionable but instead find thrilling.

I leave his room—our room?—and make my way to the kitchen. Two of Clark's men are there, Dex and the one called Cruz. They fall silent when I enter, eyeing me with a mixture of curiosity and wariness.

"Morning," I say, forcing myself to sound casual as I head for the coffee pot.

They exchange glances. "Morning," Cruz finally responds. "Sleep well?"

There's an undercurrent to the question, a knowing that makes my cheeks heat. They must have heard us last night, must know exactly what happened after Clark brought me back.

"Yes, thank you," I reply, focusing on pouring coffee rather than meeting their eyes.

"Boss said you're to be given whatever you need," Dex tells me, his tone carefully neutral. "And that you're free to go anywhere inside."

I nod, surprised by how different their treatment feels today. Not hostile, not even particularly unfriendly. Just cautious, as if they're adjusting to my new status in their world.

"Thank you," I say again, then, gathering my courage: "Is there anything I can do to help? Around here, I mean. I'm not used to just...sitting around."

Another exchanged glance. "Boss didn't say anything about you working," Cruz says.

"I know. I'd just like to be useful." I take a sip of coffee, gathering my thoughts. "I organized books for a living. I'm good at creating order, at cataloging things."

Dex snorts. "You offering to organize our weapons cache, librarian?"

I smile despite myself. "I was thinking more along the lines of the club's records. I noticed the office is a bit...chaotic."

"That's one word for it," Cruz mutters, then shrugs. "Talk to the boss. If he's okay with it, we're not going to stop you."

Their acceptance—grudging though it may be—feels like a victory. I'm no longer just a prisoner to be guarded. I'm someone connected to their leader, someone with a place, however tentative, in their world.

I spend the morning exploring parts of the compound I haven't seen before—the garage filled with motorcycles in various states of repair, a small gym where a couple of members are working out, the surprisingly well-stocked library I discovered yesterday. I borrow a book and settle in one of the leather chairs, but find myself reading the same paragraph over and over, unable to focus.

My mind keeps drifting to Clark. To his hands on my body, his mouth on mine, the way he filled me so completely I felt remade. To the possessive growl of "mine" that should offend my independent spirit but instead makes something hot and needy curl in my stomach. To the tenderness that followed the passion, the way he held me as I fell asleep, as if afraid I might disappear.

I've never felt like this before—consumed, possessed, desired. The boys I dated in high school were fumbling and unsure, their interest in me superficial at best. Clark's desire runs deeper, darker, more absolute. He doesn't just want my body; he wants all of me. My submission. My trust. My heart.

And I'm giving it to him, piece by piece. Despite every rational argument against it. Despite the life waiting for me outside these walls—a life of responsibility and routine, of caring for my family, of quiet days among my beloved books.

I miss my mother. Miss my sister. Worry about how they're managing without me. But the thought of leaving Clark, of returning to the person I was before him, creates an ache in my chest I can't ignore. I've changed, been changed by his touch, his possession, his protection. The librarian who witnessed a heist less than a week ago feels like a stranger now—a girl who never knew passion, who accepted limitation as safety, who built her identity around responsibility rather than desire.

"Deep thoughts?"

I startle, looking up to find Clark leaning against the doorframe, watching me with that intense focus that makes me feel like the only person in the world.

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