Page 26 of Charging Dodge

That’s all I need to hear. That’s the final piece of the puzzle I need to lose control. I let go of every restraint I’ve spent my life cultivating. I follow her over the brink, and for a moment, the world is just the two of us. Just the heartbeat, the breath, the fire, and the absolute certainty that we’re bound together.

Afterward, the silence in the room returns, but it is different now. It is heavy with the aftermath of what we’ve done. We lie tangled together, our bodies slick with sweat, our breathing ragged. The dim light has shifted. It is later, closer to the time when I have to leave.

I don’t pull away. I can’t—not yet. I tuck her head under my chin, my arms wrapped securely around her, holding her as if I can fuse her into my own skin. I can feel the steady beat of her heart slowing down, syncing up with my own. It’s a grounding rhythm, the only thing keeping me from drifting away into the dark thoughts that want to take root in my mind.

“I have to go,” I whisper into her hair, and the words feel like a betrayal because I don’t want to go. I want to stay here in this room with her, far away from the violence and the guns and the men who want to tear our lives apart.

“I know,” she surmises, shifting slightly. She doesn’t try to hold me back. She doesn’t beg. She has a strength in her that I didn’t fully understand before, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

Shoving back just enough to look at her, I notice how her hair is a mess, her skin is flushed, and she looks like she has been through a war. But she’s whole. She is mine now and nobody can or will take her away from me.

“When I come back,” I say, my voice steady, “everything changes. No more hiding. No more pretending. You’re mine, and I’m yours, and the rest of the world can go to hell if they don’t like it.”

She smiles, a slow, tired, satisfied expression that settles deep in my bones. “You better come back then.”

“I am coming back,” I promise as I press a kiss to her forehead, then her eyes, then her lips. Every touch is a brand. I’m trying to imprint myself on her, so that even when I’m gone, I’m still here.

Rolling out of bed, the cool air of the room hitting my sweat-dampened skin, causes me to shiver. The transition is brutal. One moment I’m a man who’s found his center, and the next, I’m the president of the Saint’s Outaws, the man who has to lead his men into a potential trap. I stand up and start to dress, the weight of my clothes feels like an imposition as I slip them on. I wish, more than anything, that I could stay naked between the sheets with the woman who’s trying to own me.

She watches me from the bed. She doesn’t look away, her eyes are tracking my every move, every shift in my posture. She’s not the woman she was an hour ago.

I strap on my holster, the weight of the gun against my hip a stark reminder of the reality I’m walking into. I’m preparing for war. I’m preparing for the end.

Stepping back to the bedside, a final look steals my attention. Memorizing the way she lies there tangled in the sheets after we’ve fucked feels like a necessity. She looks small and fragile, but I know the truth behind the illusion. She’s the toughest woman I’ve ever encountered.

“Stay here,” I order, but my voice is soft. “Hulk’s on the porch. If you hear anything suspicious, if you think you see anything, you grab the kids and bring them back in here.”

“I know and I will,” she says. “Dodge?”

“Yeah?”

She clears her throat before telling me, “Be careful.”

Nodding my head, I make a promise I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep. “I will.”

I turn and walk to the door, pausing with my hand on the knob, looking back. She’s still watching me. She’s waiting. I take one last look at the room and I harden my heart. I don’t have room for fear. I don’t have room for hesitation. I have a job to do where failure isn’t an option.

Leaving the room, the latch clicks with the bite of a gunshot. Silence grips the house while the hallway drags on for miles as I traipse down it. Every step past the den and kitchen serves as a reminder of the family I’m fighting to protect. Crossing onto the porch, the night air slams into me, jarring and sudden.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Dodge

Hulk’s standing at the edge of the porch, his silhouette dark against the moonlit yard. He doesn’t turn, but he acknowledges me with a nod. “All clear, Pres.”

“Keep it that way,” I order as I continue walking down the walkway to the gravel parking lot in front of my mom’s house.

I nod to Rebel, Ozzie, Cobra, and Speed. They're by the bikes, armed and waiting, engines ready to rev at my command. Their shoulders are hunched, muscles bunched like coiled wire. Cobra slides a spare magazine toward me, his jaw locked tight, while Rebel checks his own piece. We don't need words. We've ridden into the fire together plenty of times, but tonight it hits different. It isn't just about club business or territory. It's about who waits inside that house and the promise I made to her. I swing my leg over the saddle and signal for them to roll out.

The ride is quick, we’re all prepared for any outcome. As we approach the building, it catches my attention at how the darkness clings to the warehouse walls like tarnished oil. Parked in the brush, the bike disappears into the night, leaving me to move with the silence of a predator. Steel feels cold and heavy in my grip as the safety clicks off. My blood sings with the hunt. Every sense is dialed up, tracking the perimeter for traps while the scent of rusted metal fills the air.

A pair of silhouettes break through the shadows, their hushed tones lost in the murky air. These are the rats trying to crawl between me and the future I want with Adalynn. I move like a shadow in the night, closing the gap before they even sense my presence. My fist connects with the first prick’s temple, a dull thud that sends him crashing down like a sack of rocks. The other one panics, fingers fumbling for his piece, but I drive my boot into his sternum before he can even think about drawing.

His breath hitches, a ragged and wet sound, as I jam the steel of my piece hard against his cheekbone. “Don't you damn well move,” I snarl, the barrel biting into his temple with enough force to bruise. “Unless you want to be the first prick to see exactly how little I value your pathetic life.”

Panic flares in his eyes, wide and wild. He knows who I am. He knows that today isn't about negotiation, it’s about elimination.

“Where's Vance?” The question leaves my lips like a death sentence.