Page 38 of The Bastard's Lily
I nod solemnly. “Yes, sir. Understood.”
He narrows his eyes. Then softens. His little arms uncross, and he steps forward to hug my leg. “You can go,” he mumbles. “Just bring her back.”
I put a hand on his head. “Always, buddy.”
Calla’s eyes are glassy now. She presses a kiss to his temple, lingers, then straightens. Grimm gives me a nod from the kitchen, already prepping popcorn and a movie like it’s a mission briefing. I scoop up the helmet I brought and gesture to the door.
“Ready, Calli?”
She hesitates for half a breath, glancing back at her son one more time.
He waves a tiny hand. “Godaaaaatealready.”
That does it. She laughs, grabs her jacket, and steps out into the warm summer dusk with me—like she’s finally ready. And I swear the whole world slows down.
Theenginerumblesbeneathme, low and steady like a second heartbeat. Rook sits in front of me, leather cut stretched across broad shoulders, one boot planted to steady the bike as he glances back. That crooked grin hits me like a punch to the lungs.
“Gonna sit back there like a polite little lady all night?” he drawls. “Or are you gonna wrap those arms around me like you used to?”
My face flushes so fast I swear it makes my ears ring. He doesn’t rush me. Just keeps looking over his shoulder, one brow cocked, waiting like he already knows what I’ll choose. And of course I do. Iwantto. So I scoot forward slowly, thighs pressing against the sides of his, fingers trembling slightly as I slide my arms around his waist.
God, he’s warm. Solid. The scent of him—leather, smoke,something darker—wraps around me, makes me dizzy in a way I haven’t felt in years.
“You good back there, Calla Lily?”
His voice is teasing, but there’s a rasp to it now. Like he feels it too. This heat that hums just under the skin. The ache that’s been building from the moment he walked into my living room.
I clear my throat. “I’m good.”
Lie. I’mwired. One spark and I’ll combust. Rook shifts slightly, adjusting the grip on the throttle, and I swear his breath catches when my chest presses into his back. Neither of us moves for a second too long. Like we both know this is a line, and once we cross it, we’re not coming back untouched. His hand tightens on the clutch.
“Hold on, pretty girl,” he murmurs, low enough that I feel it more than I hear it. “I don’t plan on goin’ slow.”
And then we’re off. Down the driveway, into the night—me, clinging to the boy I never stopped loving, heart pounding like a war drum in my chest.
The engine rumbles as we pull into a cracked parking lot beside a small brick building. Red lanterns hang crookedly over the awning, and a faded sign readsXiao’s Dumpling House.
“I’ve never been here,” I say over the noise, a little breathless as I unclip the helmet.
Rook glances back, smirking. “I know. Figured that was a crime, so I fixed it.”
Before I can ask what he means, the front door bursts open and a tiny older woman comes hustling out, apron flapping, her white bun pinned tight to the top of her head.
“Ahhh, Wilder boy!” she cackles. “You didn’t say you were bringing your lady. I would’ve added more dessert!”
My eyebrows shoot up as she crosses the lot with surprising speed, carryingnot a takeout bag, but a massive insulated basket with a floral scarf tied around the handle.
“I—what is this?” I blink, looking between her and Rook.
“She packed us dinner,” he says casually, hopping off the bike to grab the basket from her hands. “Said if I was taking a good girl into the woods, I better feed her right first.”
“Oh my God,” I whisper.
Auntie squints up at me, then grins. “Youarea good girl, aren’t you?” She doesn’t wait for my answer. “Don’t let him get you all flustered out there. He’s rough around the edges but soft inside. Like a steamed bun.”
Rook groans. “Okay, Auntie.”
She pats his chest like she’s known him since he was born—and she probably has. Then she turns to me with a wink. “Be careful on that bike, sweet girl. Hold on tight. Maybe don’t let go.”
