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He drove a lovely Harley-Davidson with a customized purple paint job. While Carrie would never consider herself an expert when it came to bikers and biker culture, she knew a little. One thing had been made incredibly clear to her since her introduction to one-percenters—their bike was the priority. In order of importance, their focus was their club, then their motorcycle. Everything else was inconsequential.

Was he really considering leaving his bike behind? For her?

“I’ll pick it up tomorrow,” he said dismissively. “Give me your keys. We need to get you home.”

10

Kid

Who the fuck was that guy? How dare he put his hands on Carrie. That was the last time that moron would do that. Kid’s brothers would make sure the dickhead wouldn’t be touching much of anything again. Kevlar and Frog had jumped in the moment Kid threw the first punch.

They didn’t ask questions. They saw what went down and backed Kid up. Patching into a club like the Royal Bastards meant always supporting your brother—no matter what.

Anyone who had eyeballs inside the Knucklehead saw where Carrie sat and who she stuck by. While they might not have been familiar with the ins and outs of how she was connected, all that mattered was that she was with Kid and his brothers. No one should’ve bothered her.

Fucking drunk assholes.

Once Kid had collected her keys and Kelsey got Carrie settled in the passenger seat, Kid started the car. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Breathing heavily, but better than before, she glanced in his direction. “For what?”

“That shouldn’t have happened,” he said as he put the car in reverse and backed out of the spot. “You’re under my protection—the Royal Bastards protection. People should know better.”

“Not your fault,” she said. “I over—”

“Yes, it was. And no, you didn’t.” Kid cut her off emphatically. He wasn’t about to let her blame herself. “Tonight was a big night for you. I should’ve done a better job.”

“You can’t control everything.”

Quickly, he peered in her direction before returning his attention to the road. That comment didn’t feel as though it was solely meant for him.

“I wanted to return to the real world,” she said with a sigh and relaxed into the passenger seat. With her attention out the window, she fiddled with the hem of her shirt. “I can’t keep hiding in my apartment. Life is passing me by. I’m only twenty-four. I deserve to live without fear.”

If he had a heart, it would ache at her words. Raising one of his hands, Kid brought it toward her leg. It hovered over her thigh, but he thought better than to touch her. She’d just had a massive freakout. He couldn’t make it worse. So, he brought it back to the wheel.

“I agree,” he said. “I need you to be aware, as long as I’m around, walking this Earth, no one will ever lay hands on you without your permission again.”

Himself included.

He couldn’t count the occasions he’d almost brushed hair out of her face or wanted to hug her while she cried. He held back. While he would’ve intended the actions to be comforting, he doubted they would have the desired effect.

Carrie’s pain from what she’d experienced at the hands of the shittiest bikers on the planet was written on her face. Not all the time. Some days more than others. Though she never looked as good as she had over the last few days.

Then he ruined it.

He never should’ve brought her to the Knucklehead.

Warmth grazed his thigh. Confused, he peered down to see long, thin fingers adorned with acrylic tips resting there. Blinking, he glanced in her direction briefly.

His cock sprang to attention immediately.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

“What happened then and what occurred tonight, none of it was your fault. You can’t be everywhere. You aren’t my shadow. I’m a grown-ass woman. I should be past this by now.”

He shook his head. “People heal at their own—”

“I want to be better.”