Page 28 of My Protective Biker

"It is." He's watching me. "You ready for that?"

I think about it. About what it means to be publicly claimed by him, to be officially part of this world. About the danger and the violence and the illegality.

About the fact that my hands were steady last night and I handled it and I'm stronger than I thought.

"Yeah," I tell him. "I'm ready."

We lie there a while longer, wrapped around each other in the wrecked bed. Eventually we get up and stumble to the shower together, washing the evidence off our skin.

He's gentle when he soaps my body and I'm careful around his bandaging.

When we're dressed it's almost noon and my stomach growls loudly.

"When did you last eat?" he asks.

I have to think about it. "Dinner. At your house. Which was yesterday."

"Come on."

We end up in his kitchen making scrambled eggs and toast. I butter the bread while he scrambles the eggs and we move around each other easily, like we've been sharing this space for years instead of hours.

We sit down to eat and the normalcy of it is almost jarring after everything that's happened.

"I need to go to the clinic," I tell him. "Check on Hamlet and handle the messages that came in overnight."

"I'll come with you."

Chapter 8 — Roan

We pull into the clubhouse lot at six and I count bikes before I turn off the engine. Fifteen, maybe sixteen. Good turnout for Wednesday church. The building sits low and solid against the evening sky, windows lit and bikes lined up like they've been here forever.

Carina is quiet beside me, looking at the clubhouse through the windshield. Her hands are folded in her lap and she's not fidgeting but I can read the tension in her shoulders.

"You can change your mind," I tell her. "Right now. We turn around and no one says anything."

She looks at me. "Do you want to turn around?"

"No."

"Then neither do I." She takes a breath. "I'm just processing what this means. Walking in there with you claiming me publicly."

"It means you're mine. It means the club protects you the same way they protect Zoe. It means anyone who comes at you answers to all of us."

"I know." She reaches for the door handle. "Let's go."

We get out and I come around to her side, put my hand on her lower back as we walk toward the entrance. The contact is deliberate. Anyone who sees us will read it exactly the way it's meant to be read.

Inside, the noise hits first.

Brothers gathered near the bar, music playing low, the specific energy of Wednesday night before church. The volume drops slightly when we walk in. Eyes track us, assess Carina, calculate what her presence here means.

Zoe sees us first and crosses the room fast. She hugs me softly because of my shoulder, then steps back and looks between me and Carina. I watch understanding settle across her face.

"You're together," she says.

"Yeah."

"Good." She turns to Carina. "I'm really glad you're here."