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“I’ll fucking kill him,” he growls.

“I was supposed to be his. To belong to him.”

I almost regret the words the second they slip free. Especially when he goes eerily still.

“What?”

My eyes slide down to his chest. And then I tell him about my dad and the night Demon grabbed me from my home.

“I didn’t even know how long he’d kept me. Not until Tank told me the date. Two weeks. I was imprisoned for two weeks.”

Judge opens his mouth, but I don’t get to hear what he’s about to say because Ghost calls him over.

“We’ll finish this later.”

It’s a promise. One I don’t think I could deny him if I wanted to.

CHAPTER 6

JUDGE

“Prez—”

“Not now.” I wave Ghost off. “I’m busy.”

His expression is almost comical. Hell, I’m shocked myself. I’ve never brushed off club business for a woman, but today, the only thing on my mind is Kaylie.

A few days have passed since she told me what Demon had planned for her, and tensions with the Grave Saints have only continued to escalate. Their clubhouse might be two hours away, but some of their members have been spotted around Salvation.

That’s Ruin’s problem for the next few hours. I chose him as my Sergeant-at-Arms for a reason.

I take the stairs two at a time, stopping outside Kaylie’s room. Tank glances at me but keeps his mouth shut.

My fingers drift to the healing cut on my neck, and a smile tugs at my lips. My Little Mouse has gotten under my skin in a way no other woman has.

I lift my fist to knock, then lower it.

Fuck it.

I deserve a little happiness.

I cut Tank a look. “You’re relieved of your duties for a few hours.”

“Yes, sir.” He ducks away as I open the door and step inside.

Kaylie glances up from where she sits in a chair. There’s something in her hands that looks suspiciously like one of our cuts.

I frown, and her eyes flare just before she starts rambling. “It belongs to one of your guys. One of the patches came loose. I offered to stitch it back on for him.”

My brows furrow. “You sew?”

She lifts a shoulder, relief flooding her expression. “Enough to know how to fix this. Though I’d love to learn more.”

My Little Mouse, the one strong enough to escape a dangerous club, the one willing to wield a knife against me, has an interest in sewing. I don’t know why, but the thought of her being so domestic does something to me.

I close the distance between us and drop down to sit near her feet.

She goes impossibly still when I slip a hand behind her ankle and tug her foot toward me. I pretend I’m inspecting the healing cuts and scrapes on her sole, then gently work my thumb along her arch and into the ball of her foot.