Page 18 of Falling for the Biker
“What’s going to happen now?” Dreading the answer, I squeeze his fingers for any kind of reassurance.
“Footage will probably be scrubbed. His death will be written off as a suicide as long as everything runs smoothly.” Looking down at me, he curses softly when he notices how damp I’ve become.
Taking off his vest, he wraps it around my shoulders, and I’m engulfed in his warmth and scent. He doesn’t mind the rain and isn’t bothered even as we approach his bike.
I’m not sure I want to risk getting on that thing in this state. I tell him that, too, and despite the exhaustion on his face, he cracks a smile that sends butterflies tumbling around my stomach.
“Do you trust me?” The question weighs down between us, but the answer comes instantly.
“With my life.” Obviously.
His smile grows. “Then hop on. Let’s get you home.”
Home.
8
Diesel
Ruby doesn’t want to go to her apartment. I just have to mention it, and the little color she’d regained drains from her face. Her problem might be solved, but that place is a tomb now, haunted by everything that’s happened.
She shakes her head, a quick, frantic motion, and that’s all the answer I need.
So I take her to the only other place that’s mine. The only place that feels right.Myhome.
The ride toCrossroads Inkis silent, but it’s a different kind of quiet than before. It’s not tense; it’s heavy. She holds onto me tighter than ever, but now it feels less like a grip for safety and more like she needs proof that she’s not alone in all of this madness.
Once we’re inside, the familiar scent of leather and ink does little to ease the tension clinging to my muscles.
I lead her upstairs, my hand on the small of her back. I need the contact as much as she does.
In the soft light of my home, the air is much warmer. Hardly does anything to my prickling skin as I finally turn to her.
She’s standing there, still in her damp work clothes, looking small and lost amidst my things. But her spine is straight. She’s holding it together with a strength that fucking humbles me.
After what she’s been through, she should be crumpling to the floor. Fuck, the first time I took a man’s life, I sobbed like a baby.
I cradle her face in my hands, my thumbs stroking over the apples of her cheeks. I need her to look at me, to show me there isn’t any malice or fear in them.
Our kiss was one thing, but emotions were all over the place. Right now, I need to face her while our surroundings are calm.
Her eyes are the shade of honey in this lighting, churning with everything that’s happened—the fear, the shock, the relief. But she’s forcing it all down, locking it behind a dam of sheer will. She’s trying to be strong for me, and the thought cracks something open in my chest.
“Ruby,” I say, my voice low. “Look at me. What do you need? Just tell me. Anything.”
She swallows hard, her gaze flickering over to my poorly bandaged arm before settling back on my eyes. The dam holds, but I can see the pressure behind it.
“A shower,” she whispers, her voice thin. “I just… I need to feel clean. Maybe a few minutes to think. I’m… not sure. This is a first for me.”
I nod, understanding that better than she knows. I want to wash the memory of that bastard’s hands off her, too. I find her a soft, worn t-shirt and a pair of my sweatpants. They’ll swallow her whole, but the idea of her wrapped in my clothes, smelling like me, helps ease this tightness that has my lungs in a grip.
My fingers brush against hers as I hand her the clothes. She already knows where to find the bathroom well enough.
The second the door clicks shut, the silence in the room becomes a living thing. I stand there, rooted to the spot, listening to the rush of water through the pipes. It’s a normal sound, a domestic sound, but it does nothing to calm the riot in my head.
Then I hear it. Faint, but unmistakable over the spray of the water.
A sniffle. Then another, choked and quiet.
