Page 46 of Property of Quake

“I know you believe that,” Carrie says. “And honestly, I’m having a hard time imagining who it could be.” I open my mouth to argue, but Carrie holds up a hand. “We can speculate all we want, but until Melissa is ready to talk, there’s not much we can do other than make sure she’s safe and that we’re here for her whenever she decides to open up.”

“Like you were when we called last night?” I snap.

Carries eyes cut to mine. “I suggest you remember that I could easily remove her, place her somewhere else. An MC clubhouse isn’t exactly at the top of the list of places a judge would be happy to sign off on.”

“You can’t do that,” Whitney protests.

“I can,” Carrie states and sighs. “But I’m not. Melissa feels safe here, and for now, that’s good enough for me.”

Good enough?

“Look, I really need to get going. I’ll check back in a few days. Maybe she’ll be ready to talk then.”

“I won’t.”

We all whirl around to see Melissa standing a few feet away from us.

“I won’t talk,” she adds quietly. “He said if I did that no one would believe me anyway.”

14

WHITNEY

Iwake to the unfamiliar sound of a dog snoring.

For several seconds, I simply lie here and stare at the ceiling. It’s been a few days since we arrived at the clubhouse, a few nights of sleeping in Quake’s bed, and I’m becoming entirely too used to it.

Turning my head, I find Melissa and Stella curled together beneath the blankets. The little girl has one arm wrapped around the dog's neck while Stella sleeps on her back with all four paws pointed toward the ceiling.

It's ridiculous and adorable.

A smile tugs at my mouth before I can stop it, and it fades just as quickly. Melissa might be sleeping more peacefully, but she’s still scared. Ever since her meeting with Carrie, she’s grown quiet, quieter than normal, and spends most of her time with Stella in the suite where her interactions with anyone other than Quake or me are limited.

Careful not to wake either of them, I slide from the bed and quietly cross the suite. The smell of coffee perks me up a little, and I spot Quake at the table with a mug in one hand and a laptop open in front of him. He doesn’t notice me right away, so I take a moment to simply stand there and watch him.

His brow is furrowed, and his jaw is tense. Whatever has his attention isn’t pleasant. As though sensing me, he glances up, and his expression softens. The transformation is so immediate that it nearly takes my breath away.

"Morning,” he says.

"Good morning."

"They still asleep?" I nod, and a smile tugs at his lips. "Good."

I force myself to look away before I get lost staring at him again. That particular habit is becoming a problem, a giant biker-sized problem that started in my dreams and now invades my prayers and every waking moment.

“Is there any coffee left?” I ask after taking a deep breath.

“Yep. Want me to get it for you?”

I shake my head. “I’ll get it.”

Going to the cabinet, I grab a mug and pour myself some. The action feels routine, normal, and the warmth that settles in my bones at the domesticity of it all catches me off guard.

I’m comfortable here. Things are easy, too easy. I’ve known this man for such a short time, yet everything I do with him, around him, feels natural, like it’s simply… right.

I don’t understand the feeling, and part of me isn’t sure that I want to. The rest of me, though, never wants the feeling to go away.

The thought has my heart racing, blood rushing in my ears. Quake stares at me as if trying to decipher what I’m thinking, and just as he opens his mouth to speak, his cell pings. He lifts it and groans.