Page 11 of Her Outlaw Biker
She stares at the bowl, then at me. “So what now?”
I lower into the seat across from her, folding my hands. “Now, you tell me everything you know. Every name. Every lie they fed you. And I’ll decide whether we’re running, hiding, or burning the whole damn thing down.”
She stares at me like she’s not sure whether to kiss me or shoot me.
I wouldn’t mind either outcome.
Long as she stays.
She eats in slow, quiet bites, the spoon trembling slightly in her hand. I let her finish half the bowl before I speak again.
“Names,” I say softly.
She sets the spoon down, green eyes flicking up to meet mine. “You’re not gonna like ’em.”
“Didn’t expect I would.”
She blows out a breath. “Rigs Cross…and Cutter, his vice. He gave me your location.”
My jaw clenches at that. “Rigs. That bastard.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know who else to turn to,” she says, voice low. “Rigs said I just had to set up a meeting with you and they’d wipe the slate clean. But he lied, didn’t he?”
I don’t answer. She already knows.
Instead, I ask, “And you didn’t think to question why a bunch of patch-wearing assholes needed you to reach out to a man like me?”
“I did,” she says. “I questioned everything. But I couldn’t—” Her voice catches. “I couldn’t let my dad rot while I did nothing.”
There’s something about that. That desperate kind of loyalty. The kind you bleed for, even if it’s killing you. I know it too well.
I nod once, slowly. “They used you.”
She closes her eyes. “Yeah.”
I want to be pissed. I am pissed. But not at her. I’m pissedforher.
Still, she’s not innocent. Not entirely.
“You’re still in on this, Clover,” I say, voice low. “Whether you knew the plan or not. You walked through my door carrying a target on your back, and maybe one on mine.”
She flinches, but doesn’t break eye contact. “Then why haven’t you thrown me out?”
I don’t have an answer I like. So I don’t give her one.
Instead, I stand. I pace. I try to stay in control. But it’s hard when she’s looking at me like that—like she wants to run, but some part of her wants to be caught.
The light above us buzzes faintly, its hum cutting through the silence.
“Why are you really here?” I ask, my voice rougher now. “And don’t give me that line about your dad. That might’ve been thereason you left Rust Creek, but it’s not why you stayed. Not after everything.”
She stands, slow and careful, like I’m a wolf she doesn’t want to startle. “I don’t know,” she whispers. “I just…I feel like I’m supposed to be here.”
I freeze.
That’s a dangerous thing to say to a man like me. Because I’ve spent years believing I was better off alone. But the way she’s looking at me now, her wild golden hair framing her face like liquid fire, lips parted, chest rising and falling like she’s fighting to stay steady…it makes me forget that solitude ever kept me safe.
I step toward her. Just once.
