Page 18 of Bram

I let that settle between us. “You’re not fine, Bram. You’re a man.”

“I don’t need your pity, Julie. I’m here to make sure you’re safe.”

“For fuck’s sake.” I rested my hands on my hips. “I can take care of myself.

He watched me. I could feel the pull of it, the way he was waiting for me to cave, to say something that gave him an opening. I didn’t. I’d been trained by better men and worse ones. I stood my ground, moving my hand to the frame, one bare foot blocking the inside threshold.

“Situation’s handled,” I said. “If another Scorpion comes for my mom, I’ll handle that, too. You don’t have to worry about me.”

He took a breath, shallow, and let it out like he was about to say something honest. He didn’t. Instead, he said, “Is your mother here?”

I shook my head. “She left early this morning. Her hands hurt, but she cleaned the whole kitchen before she left.”

“I bet she did.” He looked at me for a long time, a little longer than you’re supposed to. “You should go stay with her, for a while. It’s going to get ugly.”

I held his stare. “I can handle ugly. I’ve prosecuted ugly, remember?”

He didn’t argue. “I know.” Then he said something I wasn’t prepared for. “Why are they targeting you and your mother? What’s the play here?”

I shrugged and lied, sort of. “They just want the city.”

He wasn’t buying it but said, “Makes sense. But they know the Jackson Brothers MC is coming after them. Seems like they’d be more concerned with us.”

He glanced at my robe, at the coffee mug just visible through the crack behind me. “You look tired,” he said.

“You look worse,” I said.

He smiled again, wider this time. “True.”

Neither of us moved.

“Go home, Bram,” I said. “Sleep it off. Whatever this is, it’s not going to end today.”

He nodded. “Not yet. But I got a gut feeling this is something.”

I knew what he meant, but now wasn’t the time or place.

Or was it?

I didn’t step back. Not until I felt the sting in my fingers where they pressed the doorframe. Then, just as slow, I took my hand away and let the door swing open, just wide enough for him to step in.

He did.

The door hadn’t even finished closing before I turned, and he was already there, hand at my jaw, his thumb rough against the hinge of my cheek. There was nothing delicate in it—nothing at all. I grabbed the front of his cut and yanked him in, and the first kiss landed like a punch: teeth, tongue, the back of my head against the drywall, the edge of the jamb digging in above my spine. His mouth tasted like blood and whiskey, and the pressure of it made my knees lock. I dragged him closer, until his body covered mine, and for a second, I just let myself exist under that weight.

He took two stumbling steps forward, and my feet gave. I caught myself on his shoulder, and the pain in his side must’ve been nuclear, but he didn’t show it. I twisted my fingers under the hem of his cut, yanked the lapels until he nearly lost balance. I walked him backward, out of the foyer and into the living room, the silk of my robe sticking to my thighs, sweat already running at the hairline.

“Fuck, I need you,” he said, words I’d never heard before. Yeah, men wanted to fuck me, but I’d never heard a man say he needed me.

“Don’t stop, Bram,” I said, knowing it should stop. That I should send him on his way. He was too old for me. Biker trash. Dangerous. He checked every box about a man women should avoid, yet here I was.

“Let it happen, baby,” he whispered, his lips gently tugging on my ear.

“Dammit,” I whimpered.

I pressed my hands flat against his chest, felt the slow, hard drum of his heart, and for a second, I thought I might break it, right there through the ribs.

He hit the edge of the sofa and steadied, then pressed forward until my shins hit the frame. I let go of his jacket and reached for his belt. He caught my wrists in a not-very-gentle way. His eyes were an inch from mine, and for a second, I thought he might actually say something, ruin it with a line or an apology. He didn’t.