Page 14 of Psycho

Then a crinkly noise caught my attention. I glanced up to see Arrow opening a bag of pretzel sticks and holding it out in my direction.

“You’re not supposed to bite your nails,” he said. “Remember?”

“Old habits die hard.”

With a grateful look, I accepted the bag, savoring the crisp snap as I bit into a pretzel stick. A satisfying diversion and alternative to my nail biting.

Arrow stifled a yawn, scrubbing a hand over his face.

Observing him from a distance during these past few years, it seemed as if he was doing a thousand times better than me. He had a place to live, a club that welcomed him, a job he enjoyed.

Now that I had a chance to get a closer look at him, I noticed the dark circles hollowing his eyes, the strain in his face, and the faint tremor in his hands.

“Insomnia?” I asked.

He sighed.

“Yeah. And don’t change the subject. We’re talking about you.”

I wrinkled my nose.

“I hate talking about myself. You know that.”

“Too bad. Why are you snitching for my club, Bobbie?”

I plucked a few pretzels out of the bag, breaking them into little pieces over and over.

“Because I…wanted to protect you.”

Arrow frowned, brows lowered, muscle twitching in his clenched jaw.

“I don’t need your protection. I need you alive.”

“Not to play devil’s advocate or anything, but it looks like you’re doing just fine here. You don’t need me at all.”

I turned away to dump the pretzel bits into the sink, brushing my hands clean. Arrow didn’t say anything for nearly a full minute. When I turned back to face him, he gripped the counter behind him until his knuckles turned white.

As if he was physically holding himself back.

After a moment, he released a breath and shook his head.

“There are so many things wrong with that statement, I don’t even know where to begin.”

My heart fluttered against my ribs at his words, but I quickly reined in my reaction.

“We haven’t seen each other in years and the first thing you want to do is argue?”

“No,” Arrow said.

The hoarseness of that single syllable lingered in the air. His chest heaved with each breath, and his gaze swept over me again with unfiltered, raw desire.

I was supposed to keep my distance. I was supposed to stay away.

Instead, I stepped closer. Damn this man and whatever magnetic pull he had over me.

Reaching out, I traced the patches on his chest, along with the frayed stitches, and the well-worn cracks in his leather vest.

The Reckless Order MC.