The words send heat rushing through me. I swallow hard. My thoughts tumble wild and flirty despite everything.
Yes please control things. Starting with my heartbeat which is currently doing cartwheels.
What is wrong with me?
Oh, this is going to be lovely.
4
Kraken
The office air sits thick with old gun oil, stale whiskey, and the faint vanilla sweetness that clings to Tia November like she carried it straight from some soft civilian life into my world of blood and leather. I stand behind the desk with my arms crossed tight over my chest. The worn fabric of my cut creaks with every breath. Gunny keeps talking but my focus stays locked on her. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other. Her mismatched socks are ridiculous. One has pineapples. The other has dancing tacos.
She looks up through long lashes and offers a small awkward smile that makes something tight coil in my gut. Her ankle hurts. I can tell by the way she winces each time she stands on it. I try to focus on that fact instead of imagining wrapping my hands around that ankle and pulling her closer. She belongs to Gunny’s bloodline. She stands in the middle of my war. Wanting her goes against every rule I live by.
Gunny finishes explaining the watchers. The strange cars. The messages. His voice sounds raw from too many sleepless nights.I hear the fear underneath his words. Men like him don’t beg unless the threat runs deeper than pride. My eyes stay on Tia. She bites her lower lip and traces one finger along the cartoon kraken on her backpack. The innocent motion sends heat rushing through my veins. I clench my jaw hard enough to feel the muscle jump. She’s fucking off limits. She has to be.
“It’s really no big deal at all. I’m sure my father is just being a nervous Nellie. He’s always been a Captain Catastrophe of sorts.”
Her voice carries a soft lilt that curls around my spine. Playful. Cute in a way that doesn’t belong in this clubhouse. I imagine pinning her against the wall and tasting that smile until she forgets every word except my name. The thought burns hot. I shove it down deep. She’s Gunny’s daughter. She’s a complication wrapped in danger. My club bleeds from the missing shipment and the body under the bridge. I can’t afford distraction. Especially not the kind that comes with soft skin and dancing taco socks.
Gunny watches me close. His jaw stays tight. “She’s all I have left, Kraken.”
“I know what she is,” I answer. My voice comes out rougher than I intend. “She stays under my roof. My rules. My protection.”
Tia shifts again. Her injured ankle makes her wince. The small sound hits me harder than it should. I move without thinking. My hand wraps around her elbow. Her skin feels warm and smooth under my rough palm. Electricity shoots up my arm. She smells so fucking good. Like sun warmed skin and faint coconut from whatever lotion she uses. I want to pull her against my chest and bury my face in her hair. Instead I guide her toward the door with careful pressure.
“Come on,” I ground out. “We get that ankle looked at.”
She limps beside me. Her shoes slap softly against the floor. Every brother in the main room turns to watch us pass. Their stares burn heavy. I meet each one with a look that promises pain if they step wrong. Tia stays close. Her shoulder brushes my arm. The contact sends another wave of heat through me. I grit my teeth. She’s not mine to want. She’s cargo. Pure and simple. Valuable cargo in the middle of a war I didn’t ask for.
The infirmary room sits at the end of the hall. The air inside carries antiseptic and the faint copper of old blood. I lift her onto the metal table without asking. She lets out a small surprised squeak that goes straight to my cock. I ignore it. I kneel in front of her and look at her ankle. I grab an ace bandage from the drawer. My hands stay steady even though her bare leg, inches from my face, makes my blood run hot.
“You don’t have to do this,” she says softly. “I can probably manage. I once bandaged my own elbow after falling off a kitchen chair while trying to reach the good cereal on the top shelf. True story.”
Her words tumble out fast and quirky. I glance up. Her eyes sparkle with nervous humor. A small dimple appears on her left cheek when she smiles. Fuck. She looks adorable and vulnerable and far too tempting on that cold table. I want to spread her thighs and taste the skin above her injured ankle. I want to hear what other ridiculous stories spill from her mouth while I make her moan. I force my attention back to the task at hand.
“Hold still,” I mutter. My voice sounds gravelly.
“Sorry. I’m usually much more coordinated. Except when nervous. Or excited. Or existing in general. You know. Normal human things.”
She giggles. The sound rolls light through the room and wraps around my chest. I wrap the bandage around her ankle. My fingers brush her skin more than necessary. She smells so fucking good. Clean and sweet against the harsh antiseptic-smell of the room. I finish the bandage and stand. She looks up at me from the table. Her lips part slightly. Heat flares in her eyes for a second before she blinks it away.
I step back fast. Distance. I need distance. “You stay inside the compound until I say otherwise. No wandering. No windows without permission. You breathe when I tell you to breathe.”
Her eyebrows lift. “That sounds very controlling. In a hot way. Wait. Did I say that out loud? I definitely said that out loud. Ignore me. I blame the blood loss. And the fact that you look like you could snap a man in half but also have really nice forearms. Sorry. I’ll stop talking now.”
She presses her lips together like she’s physically holding back more words. The effort makes her even cuter. I turn away before I do something stupid like kiss that nervous smile off her face. Gunny waits outside the door. His eyes narrow when he sees how close I stand to his daughter. Good. He should worry. I don’t trust myself right now either.
We move her into a room at the back of the clubhouse. I set her backpack on the bed. She sits on the edge of the mattress and swings her legs. The movement makes her shirt ride up slightly. A strip of soft skin shows above her jeans. My hands itch to touch it. I shove them into my pockets.
“Get some rest,” I order. “We talk more in the morning.”
She nods. Her fingers twist in the blanket. “Thank you. For not throwing me out. Or laughing at my socks.”
I almost smile. The urge shocks me. I turn and leave before she sees it. The door shuts behind me with a solid click. I lean against the wall in the hallway. My heart pounds heavy. The scent of her still clings to my hands. I want to go back in there. I want to crowd her against that bed and show her exactly how possessive I can get. Instead I walk away. Hard. Angry at myself for the weakness.
The main room still buzzes with tension. Mace waits near the bar. Ghost stands silent by the pool table. I join them. The whiskey tastes sharp on my tongue when I take a glass. It burns down my throat but does nothing to erase the memory of her.
