Page 71 of Sins of the Hidden

She glanced at my motorcycle, uncertainty crossing her features. "On your motorcycle?"

I nodded.

"I've never been on the back of one before."

I stepped closer, tucking hair behind her ear. "I won't let you get hurt." I'd slaughter heaven itself if it reached for her.

Her teeth caught her bottom lip. She twisted her fingers in her shirt hem—something I'd noticed her do since the first day I watched her. I took her hand, deciding for her.

Those jade eyes pinned me where I stood. She could control me with a look, and she didn't even know it.

I mounted the bike, worn leather handlebars familiar beneath my grip. Solid. Predictable. Unlike the emotions churning inside me.

"How do I get on without falling?"

I dismounted in one fluid motion, my hold spanning her ribcage as I lifted her. The pressure against her delicate bones, so fragile that I could crush them with minimal force. Her little scream—soft, startled—made something shift inside me as I placed her on the back of my bike like she weighed nothing.

The helmet I'd bought for her slid over her head. I secured the strap beneath her chin before lowering the visor.

I swung my leg over the bike and settled onto the seat in front of her. She wrapped her arms around my waist, clutching my cut. Her body pressed against my back. I wanted her closer.

"Don't let go." Her nod against my back was all I needed. The engine roared to life beneath us. We glided through streets blurring into nameless colors, her tension gradually loosening its grip on her muscles as minutes passed.

When we hit the winding roads beyond the city limits, I pushed harder, testing her response. Her shriek and tightening arms answered me. I accelerated again, and Oakley's laughter burst from her throat—like church bells in a town I'd never been allowed to enter. The sound wrapped around my spine, more potent than the rush of watching life drain from enemy eyes.

I raced down abandoned roads, her excited shouts rippling behind me. No destination guided us, just the need to feel herarms locked around me, holding me like I mattered. Like I wasn't something to be feared but something worth keeping.

She held on. Her body molded against mine like I was the only thing keeping her from being gutted and left to bleed out. My grip on the throttle tightened, hunger for her nearness driving me faster. If she slipped away, if she loosened her hold for even a moment, the world would steal her from me. I'd raze cities to ash before I let that happen.

Moonlight painted the road silver as we left civilization behind. The world looked different with her arms around me—sharper, more vivid. Colors deeper. Sounds clearer. The wind carried scents I'd never noticed—pine, distant water, the lingering warmth of sun-baked earth. The stars above us seemed closer, as if reaching down to touch us.

The faster I pushed, the tighter she held. When we hit a sharp curve, her shout turned into laughter—raw and unrestrained, rising like it couldn't be helped.

That sound cracked something open—and it didn't just bleed, it gushed. Like it had been trapped for years behind barbed wire and finally tore its way free. Something light that made my chest ache. It wasn't meant for someone like me. That kind of feeling—it's for boys who grew up in safe homes, not for the men who kill just to feel alive.

But she gave it to me. She gave it to me like I hadn't done everything wrong.

She leaned back slightly, tilting her face to the stars. Panic shot through me—colder than knives. The thought of her slipping away turned my blood to glass. But then she tightened her arms again, cheek pressing to my back. The world righted itself.

I'd never heard her laugh with me before. Not during the bakery. Only silence and her music.

I turned to glimpse her through the visor—then her gasp cut through the night. She clung to my jacket, trembling against my ribs. Fear replaced joy in an instant.

"V! Look at the road!"

I swerved onto the shoulder, killing the engine. My focus had slipped—unforgivable. I twisted to face her, working at the helmet strap, impatient to see her face. When I removed it, she was breathtaking. Cheeks flushed pink, jade eyes luminous under the rising moon, hair tousled from the helmet.

A drug I'd kill for and die chasing—withdrawal already ripping me open at just the thought of losing her.

In that moment, I knew—my heart had been silent because nothing before her had ever felt like a reason to live.

Not for the first time with her, my hands—steady when slitting throats, calm when breaking bones—trembled without my permission. I tried to hide it, curling my fingers into fists, but the tremor traveled up my arms.

I searched for meaning in memories of my brothers with their women. Grim and Sarge with Nyla and Joslyn. Prez looking at Victoria when he thought no one noticed.

Was this what I felt with Oakley? The racing pulse, the constant need to be near her, the way she existed in my thoughts from waking until sleep claimed me? The realization crashed over me like a wave—she was home. Not the clubhouse. Not revenge. Not violence. Just her.

"My heart is pounding." I seized her hand, crushed it against the drumbeat beneath my ribs. "Do you feel it?" I wanted to hold this wild ebb and flow in my hands—proof I wasn't hollow. That something inside me had survivedherlove.

---