Page 6 of Her Savior Biker
“Bathroom’s through there,” I manage, nodding toward the back corner. “Towels are clean. Water gets hot if you give it a minute.”
Shannon nods, still holding the kid. “Thank you.”
“Kitchen’s stocked with basics. Canned soup, sandwich stuff, whatever you need. Help yourself.”
“We’re fine.”
“No, you’re not.” The words come out harder than I intended, and she flinches. I force my voice level. “When’s the last time either of you had a hot meal?”
She lifts her chin, and I catch a glimpse of the fire that’s been keeping her going. “We’ll manage.”
“I’m sure you will. But you don’t have to. Not tonight.”
For a moment, something flickers across her face—hope, maybe, or just bone-deep exhaustion. Then the walls go back up, and she’s all business again.
“Where should we…?” She gestures around the space.
“Bed’s yours. I’ll take the couch.” The bed’s a queen, plenty big enough for her and the kid. The couch isn’t much, but I’ve slept in worse places. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”
She nods, then carries the kid toward the bathroom. She moves carefully as she goes, like everything hurts but she’s not about to admit it. The kid hasn’t said a word since we got here, just watches everything with those too-old eyes.
Someone’s hunting them. Someone with enough reach to make a woman this careful, this scared. Someone who thinks he’s got a claim on what isn’t his.
I don’t know the details yet, but I will. Shannon’s going to tell me everything, even if I have to drag it out of her one word at atime. Because whatever bastard put those bruises on her face is going to answer for it.
And if he shows up looking for what he thinks is his, he’s going to find out exactly why they call me Savior.
It’s past midnight when I hear her moving around in the kitchen.
I’ve been lying on the couch for hours, staring at the ceiling and listening to the sounds of the safehouse settling. The kid’s been asleep since his head hit the pillow, but Shannon’s been restless. Tossing, turning, getting up to check the locks every hour like clockwork.
I get it. When you’re running, sleep feels like surrender.
I pad to the kitchen in bare feet. She’s standing at the counter with her back to me. She’s changed into an oversized t-shirt that hangs to her thighs, and her braids are loose around her shoulders. In the dim light filtering through the window, she looks younger. Vulnerable in a way that makes something protective flare in my chest.
“Can’t sleep?”
She jumps, spinning around with her hand pressed to her heart. “Jesus. You move like a ghost.”
“Occupational hazard.” I lean against the doorframe, keeping my distance. She’s skittish enough without me crowding her. “You hungry? I could heat up some soup.”
“I’m fine.”
“Right. That’s why you’re standing in a dark kitchen at midnight looking like you’re about to jump out of your skin.”
Her mouth twitches—almost a smile. “I’m not used to… this.”
“What? Indoor plumbing?”
“Kindness from strangers.”
The simple honesty in those words hits harder than it should. I move to the stove, pulling down a can of soup and a pot. “You want to tell me what you’re running from?”
Silence stretches between us while I work. Shannon stays by the counter, arms wrapped around herself like armor. When the soup starts to simmer, she finally speaks.
“It wasn’t an accident.” Her voice is so quiet I almost miss it. “Aiden’s arm. It wasn’t an accident.”
I keep stirring, keeping my movements calm and steady. “I know.”
