Page 10 of Wilder’s Mistake

“Club hears it from the front gate before it hears it from you?”

Wilder doesn’t slow. “I found out around the same time she did.”

The bearded man laughs. “I don’t think I want to know.” The other turns back to the engine, clearly unimpressed.

Wilder reaches my car.

Here, he wears his cut over a black T-shirt with a ROAD CAPTAIN patch on the front. The band from the chapel remains on his left hand.

He closes my car door for me. “Morning.”

“You could have warned them.”

“And you could have called.”

“You’d have met me outside.”

“Yeah.”

“I wanted to see it properly before I decided whether I wanted to come in.”

His attention sharpens. He closes his hand around mine and draws me away from the car.

The yard smells of fuel, hot metal and damp woods. Wilder greets one brother with a touch to the shoulder and tells a prospect to replace a worn tire on a waiting bike while walking me toward the clubhouse. Nobody questions him. Men older than he is listen and move.

A pair of motorcycles rolls through the gate behind us. Wilder steps aside without looking, placing me on the protected side of his body as the riders pass. It is a small movement, automatic enough that he probably doesn’t even know he did it. One of the riders touches two fingers to his brow. Wilder answers with a nod and keeps walking.

At Nora’s wedding, he was the dangerous man in a suit. Here, I see the responsibility threaded through it. His attention never settles in one place. Gate. Garage. Men. Me. He carries the whole compound at once, and everybody around him trusts that he will notice what they miss. Somehow, his competence and authority affect me in a way I didn’t expect.

The common room has a long bar, scarred tables and the Kingdom Come insignia painted across the far wall. Old photographs line one side. The place is rough, but clean and watchful.

“We can talk here,” I say.

“Not here.”

“Why not?”

“Because half the club is pretending not to listen.”

I glance around the room and see how unsubtle some of the guys are. “Fair.”

Wilder leads me down a corridor to his room. A wide bed fills most of it. Boots sit beside a narrow dresser. A map of southern Missouri covers one wall, marked with black pins and inked routes. His gun belt lies on a chair within reach of the bed.

He closes the door behind us and his gaze drops to my hand. “Thought that might be gone.”

“I didn’t have time,” I lie.

“Takes about three seconds.”

“I had a difficult morning.”

“Thinking about last night?”

The memory returns in a rush. His mouth. His hand at my ass. The hard length of him between my thighs. “Among other things.”

He steps closer. “How many of them involved me?”

“Most,” I admit.