Page 51 of Stitch & Steel
Bella didn’t know it yet—but this trip sealed it.
I’d danced with death and turned down every dirty temptation it threw my way.
Because there was only one woman who made me feel alive.
And hell if I wasn’t ready to start building the kind of life that didn’t end in war.
By nightfall, the air reeked of diesel, gunpowder, and too much testosterone.
We were riding dead-eyed and half-dead when we rolled up to theIron Kingscharter outside El Paso. Good brothers. Neutral ground. They offered us bunk space, beer, and backup if we needed it.
Their clubhouse was a converted warehouse with a bar along one wall and pool tables scattered like an afterthought. Loud music pounded through rusted speakers, and every woman in a fifty-mile radius with a taste for danger was already half-naked and circling the room like sharks in spiked heels.
I peeled off my kutte, tossed it over the back of a chair, and dropped onto the couch like every bone in my body had finally given out.
It wasn't just physical. Yeah, my ribs ached, my shoulder was bruised, and my knuckles were split from a fight I didn’t even remember starting. But thebone-deepexhaustion came from the weight in my chest. From carrying the image ofherwith me through every explosion, every shout, every near miss.
Bella.
Goddamn Bella Grace, with her sarcastic mouth and that flannel shirt she wore like armor. I could still taste the salt of her skin. Still hear her sigh when I’d pushed into her slow and deep, her body welcoming me like we were made to fit. I hadn’t just had her.
I’d claimed her.
And now my soul was hungrier than my stomach for the only woman who ever made me feel clean.
A blonde in daisy dukes straddled the table near me, winking. “You want a lap dance, handsome? Or you just here to watch?”
I barely looked at her. “Neither.”
She pouted. “I do more than dance, y’know.”
“I don’t pay for anything that doesn’t come with a soul,” I muttered, dragging a hand down my face.
The truth was, they could’ve stripped down to nothing, done body shots off each other, and begged for me by name… and I’d still say no.
Because none of them smelled like citrus and chalkboard dust. None of them had dirt under their nails from tending a tomato vine. None of them had challenged me without saying a damn word, just bybeing.
None of them were Bella.
Bear flopped down beside me with a loud exhale, sipping something darker than sin from a chipped mug. “You good?”
“Still breathing.”
He gave me a look. “That girl’s got you twisted.”
“Yeah.” I nodded, unapologetic. “She does.”
“You think she’s waiting for you?”
I didn't even hesitate. “She is. And I’m coming back better than I left.”
He grunted, then clinked his cup to my beer bottle. “Respect.”
Around us, music boomed. Girls giggled. Shots were lined up. A couple of guys stumbled toward the back room with groupies on each arm like kings of a makeshift kingdom.
But me?
I was dead sober on the thought of one woman in a small cabin, up in the Appalachian pines, probably curled up under a quilt with that damn dog curled at her feet.
