Page 25 of Her Outlaw Biker
I grunt and keep working, my pulse racing like it’s trying to punch through my skin. “I swear, if you weren’t half-dead right now—”
“I’d still be falling harder for you,” he says smoothly.
I roll my eyes, cheeks flushing. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Damn right.”
The bike roars back to life with a guttural growl. I wipe my hands on my jeans, heart pounding.
“I’ll drive,” I say, already swinging one leg over.
He lifts a brow, amused. “You sure?”
“Get on the damn bike, Ghost.”
He grins. “Yes, ma’am.”
The ride is long and winding, the stars twinkling above us. I drive until we’re out of the desert, moving north, surroundedby trees. I follow Ghost’s directions, and eventually, the asphalt gives way to gravel, then dirt. The wind bites at my cheeks, but I don’t care.
I just want to keep him safe.
We finally pull up to a small, weathered cabin tucked between tall pines. The porch light flickers as I kill the engine. Silence swells around us, deep, and still.
Ghost swings off the bike, stretching with a groan.
“What is this place?” I ask, glancing around.
“Called in a favor from an old friend,” he says, grabbing the duffel from the back. “It’s off-grid. We can lie low here for a while. No one’s gonna find us.”
I look around. There’s nothing but trees and the sound of our breathing. For the first time in a while, I feel the smallest hint of relief.
Inside, the cabin smells like cedar and dust. It’s small, just one room and a bathroom, but it’s dry and safe and warm, and that’s more than enough.
“Sit,” I say, pointing to the wooden chair by the fireplace. “Now.”
Ghost doesn’t argue. He shrugs out of his jacket and drops into the chair with a grunt, muscles stiff, blood still trailing slowly down the side of his face.
I grab the first aid kit from the bag and kneel in front of him, unscrewing the cap on a bottle of antiseptic.
“Hold still,” I murmur.
He flinches slightly as I dab the cut on his temple.
“You should see the other guys,” he mutters, smirking.
I roll my eyes but smile anyway. “Of course you’d say that.”
“I’m serious. You should. One of them won’t be sitting right for a week.”
I huff out a breath that’s half a laugh, half a sob. “You’re impossible.”
He lifts his eyes to mine, softer now. “Hey. I told you…I’m fine.”
“I know.” I press gauze against the wound. “But I needed to see it for myself.”
His hand settles gently on my knee. “Clover…”
I know he was trying to lighten the moment, keep it from weighing too heavy. And I’m grateful, so damn grateful for the way he always carries the hardest parts so I don’t have to.
