Page 46 of Contracted to the Bikers

“But you’re not.”

She tilts her head slightly. “I understand you.”

I don’t know how to process that. No one sees the whole picture and stays anyway. Sloane truly sees me, knows me, warts and all, and still she wants to stay. My thumb brushes against her knuckles.

“You’re going to bury him,” I say. Knowing without doubt that Briggs is no match for the strong, incredible woman before me.

She agrees without hesitation; she knows her worth, knows what she can achieve. “Yes.”

“And you’re going to do it clean.” I know the answer before she replies, but part of me wonders how she can stick to her morals when fighting a completely immoral opponent. Briggs has proved he’s not above fighting dirty, yet Sloane refuses to stoop to his level.

“Yes.”

I nod. I believe her. I admire her. She’s so much stronger than I am. Sloane being here isn’t just about protection anymore. It isn’t just a deal. We’ve moved beyond that into uncharted territory. I look at her, strong, beautiful, intelligent, a woman of moral integrity who stands in front of me like she’s not afraid of anything.

Somewhere between her walking into this room and standing here now, I’ve realized something. This feeling I’ve been holding tight for a long time finally settles, and I can finally see the truth I’ve known all along. I’m in love with Sloane Mercer.

And I know I’m not letting her go. Not now. Not ever.

Chapter 19

Boone

I know something’s wrong before they even speak from the way they walk into the room. Rook strides in first, as always, shoulders tight, jaw locked. Cruz is just behind him, not joking, not smirking, which is how I know this isn’t small. Sloane comes last, that’s what really sets off my alarm bells. She doesn’t hang back anymore, not unless it’s something big.

“What is it?” I ask.

No one answers right away—guilt radiating from them. Then Sloane steps forward. “We need to tell you something.”

My stomach tightens, my mind immediately goes to Jessy, but that can’t be right. Sloane wouldn’t be this calm. I nod once. “Then tell me.”

Rook exhales, slow and controlled. “Briggs made me an offer,” he says.

That’s not what I expected. I blink. “For what?”

I know when Rook is feeling guilty, when he knows he’s in the wrong, he’s deliberately vague. “The land.”

I frown slightly. “When?”

Rook’s eyes meet mine. He can’t hide the truth any longer, ripping it like a Band-Aid. “Eight months ago.”

Eight months is a long time to be learning about this now. “And?” I ask, my mouth chewing over the word slowly.

He doesn’t answer. Cruz does. “We didn’t tell you.”

I stop moving, spine straightening. I want to say, “No shit.” Instead, I repeat his words slowly, “Didn’t tell me,” I mutter, shaking my head and resuming polishing my bike, buying myself time to try to cool the rage that’s threatening to explode.

“No,” Rook says.

I turn to look between them, then at Sloane, wondering how she fits into this. She doesn’t look away. Of course, she doesn’t. The pity I see in her eyes sharpens my anger toward Rook and Cruz.

“Explain,” I say sharply.

Rook straightens slightly, unused to being the one getting a dressing down. He can dish out judgment, but he hates being the one in the wrong. “The club was in debt,” he says. “The offer would’ve cleared it.”

I refuse to let him skirt around the issue, to hide behind excuses. “And?”

“I considered it,” he finally admits, the admission heavy.