"Quinn."
She stopped but didn't turn around.
Then she walked out without another word, the door slamming behind her hard enough to rattle the neon beer signs.
"Holy shit," Tank breathed. "The sexual tension between you two could power the whole town."
"You're done for, brother," Phoenix added, signaling Buck for another round. "Completely, utterly done for."
He was right. I was absolutely wrecked. Because Quinn Jenkins had me thinking about things I'd never wanted before. Wondering about more than the next club run or the next easy conquest. Imagining what it would be like to wake up to that fire every morning, to earn those rare smiles she saved for when no one was watching.
I handed my cue to Tank. "I'm out."
"Where you going? It's barely ten."
"To work off some frustration."
"There's rooms upstairs if you need to jerk?—"
I flipped Phoenix off as I headed for the door, their laughter following me out into the cool Montana night.
The ride back to the clubhouse did nothing to clear my head. If anything, the vibration of the bike between my legs conjured images of Quinn—pressed against my back, arms wrapped tight around me, trusting me with her safety even though I was everything her father had taught her to fear.
The clubhouse sat dark except for security lights, most of the brothers either home or still at Buck's. Good. I didn't need an audience for this.
I headed straight for the makeshift gym in the back room, stripping off my cut and shirt as I went. The heavy bag hung there like an old friend, worn leather marked with years of frustration and rage.
The first punch landed solid. Real. Physical pain I could control when everything else in my life was spinning toward a collision I couldn't avoid.
By the tenth punch, my knuckles screamed.
By the thirtieth, blood spotted the leather.
I kept going, each impact sending shock waves up my arms, grounding me in the physical when my mind wanted to spiral into fantasies about a woman I had no business wanting.
"You trying to kill it or fuck it?"
Viper's voice made me pause mid-swing. Our president leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, reading me like I had my thoughts tattooed on my forehead. Tara had softened some of his edges, but Viper still saw everything.
"Working out."
"Right. This have anything to do with the sheriff's daughter doing 'routine checks' at Buck's three times this week?"
Another punch split the skin on my middle knuckle. "News travels fast."
"Small town." He moved into the room, grabbing the bag to hold it steady. "You know this can't happen, right? Bill Jenkins would lose his shit. Could cause real problems for the club. We finally got things settled after the Harrison situation."
"I know."
"But you don't care."
Blood now speckled the worn leather. "I care. Can't seem to stop."
"Yeah, I know that feeling." His mouth quirked up, remembering how he'd practically moved into Tara's place within a week of meeting her. "Sometimes the worst ideas make the most sense."
"She hates me." The words came out between punches.
"No, she doesn't."
