Page 38
“No.”
He laughs softly. “I figured.”
Silence settles between us, warm and easy. His knee nudges mine under the counter. It’s nothing. It’s everything. I almost reach for his hand, just to feel him anchor me.
Then the sound comes. Engines.
My body moves before my mind can catch up. Every muscle goes rigid, instincts screaming for cover. Motorcycles roar up the long gravel drive, one after another, until the quiet morning disappears beneath the thunder of exhaust. Walker grins. Actually grins.
“They’re here.”
He heads for the porch, moving faster than he should, and I follow a few cautious steps behind.
More than a dozen motorcycles fill the yard. Leather cuts, Sons Of Sin patches, and tattooed arms. Big men climbing off bikes like they own the earth beneath their boots.
My pulse spikes. Not from fear of them, but because they’re Walker’s family. I’ve never seen one before. My family was built on fear, not love. These men laugh before their engines even die.
The first one to reach Walker punches him square in the shoulder. “You stubborn motherfucker.”
Walker winces. “Good to see you too.”
Another brother immediately checks the bandages beneath his shirt while someone else pulls him into a crushing hug. “You know phones exist?”
“I’ve heard rumors.”
“You disappear for months and expect us not to lose our fucking minds?”
Walker flips them off, and several of them laugh. One kisses the side of his head before shoving him away again. The affection is loud. Messy. Unfiltered. Nobody hides how relieved they are that he’s alive.
A tall man with silver threaded through dark hair finally steps forward. His cut carries one word: President. He studies Walker from head to toe before shaking his head. “Jesus fucking Christ. You look like shit.”
“You should see the other guy.”
“I’d rather see your dumb ass answer your fucking phone.”
Walker doesn’t argue. He knows he’s earned it. Another man joins them. He is lean and blond with a restless energy radiating from every movement. Vice President is stitched across his cut.
He eyes Walker’s bandages. “Who sewed you up?”
Walker jerks his thumb toward me. “Poppy’s guy.”
Every conversation dies. Every head swings my way. For a second, I know exactly what prey feels like.
Walker doesn’t hesitate. He reaches back and takes my hand. His fingers lace through mine without asking. “This isn’t Samuel’s daughter.” His grip tightens. “This is Poppy.”
Just Poppy. For the first time, my name feels like it belongs to someone worth saving. My name has never sounded so ... gentle. Their president studies me for several long seconds. “You saved him?”
“I stabbed him first.” No point lying. A few eyebrows rise. “I also saved his life.”
Silence stretches outside the farmhouse, thick and heavy.
“I panicked.” My voice stays steady even though my heart doesn’t. “I spent my entire life believing in Samuel. His truths. His lies. By the time I realized what I’d done...” I look at Walker. “It was already too late.”
Walker’s thumb drags slowly across my knuckles. A silent promise. I’m here. I’m not letting go.
One of the brothers folds his tattooed arms. “So why should we trust you?”
Because I love him. The words burn, raw and dangerous, but I won’t let them slip out here, not before I give them to him first.
