Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 68716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
“Looks better on you anyway.”
My pulse kicks, sharp and heavy.
For a man who claims he doesn’t do romance… he really doesn’t know the effect he has.
He reaches for my bag before I can stop him.
“Come on,” he murmurs. “Let’s get you inside.”
I follow him toward the clubhouse entrance, nervous energy buzzing through me. The noise of the compound fades behind us. His hand stays on the strap of my bag, the other hovering near my back like instinct he’s trying not to act on.
Inside, the hallways are quieter than I expected. Not sterile—just solid. Purposeful. The kind of place built around loyalty and rules I don’t know.
“You good?” he asks gruffly, glancing over.
“I think so.”
“You sure?” he presses.
I nod. “I just… don’t know where I fit here.”
That makes him stop walking.
He turns fully toward me, blocking the narrow hallway with his body, towering over me in that way that should intimidate but doesn’t. Not with him.
“You’re with me,” he says simply. “That’s where you fit. That’s all you need to know.”
Warmth floods through me so quickly I nearly sway.
He seems to notice, because his voice softens when he speaks again.
“I’m not mad you came,” he says. “Just surprised.”
“I was surprised too,” I admit. “I drove halfway before I talked myself out of turning around.”
“What made you keep going?”
“You,” I whisper, before I can stop myself.
Something in his eyes catches fire.
He clears his throat, visibly trying to dial it back. “Alright then. Let’s take a breath before the guys see me looking like I got hit by a truck.”
I laugh shakily.
He reaches out—slowly, like he’s giving me a chance to pull away—and tucks a piece of hair behind my ear.
“Welcome to Salemburg, Holley.”
My heart stutters.
His thumb brushes my cheekbone.
“I’m glad you’re here.”
A beat.
“More than I should be.”
I swallow hard. “Can we start small? Just today?”
His mouth curves—not a smirk this time, not cocky. Something gentler. Warmer.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Just today.”
But the look he gives me says he’s not fooling either of us.
Today is only the beginning.
Sixteen
Stud
The thing about having a woman like Holley in my world is this:
Everyone sees it.
They don’t say anything at first—not while she stands beside me in the compound’s hallway, bag slung over one shoulder, my hoodie swallowing her frame. But they see it. And I feel it. The shift in the air. The undercurrent. The Hellions don’t miss much, and they watch me with a kind of wary curiosity usually reserved for threats or miracles.
I’m not sure which category she falls into yet.
Holley stiffens beside me, the buzz of the clubhouse loud around us—voices, laughter, the clank of tools from the garage, country music spilling from a back room. It’s organized chaos. My chaos. And now she’s standing in the middle of it, small and quiet and trying not to look overwhelmed.
She’s not scared, though. That’s the part that gets me. She’s alert, cautious, but not shrinking.
“Relax,” I murmur low, brushing my knuckles against her lower back as I step past her. “No one here bites.”
“Except you?” she whispers back.
That earns a smirk. “Only on request.”
Her breath catches—barely, but I feel it like a spark down my spine.
Before I can say something stupid, we hit the main room.
A few heads turn.
Then a few more.
Conversations pause mid-sentence.
The brothers all know me. They know my patterns. They know the women who come through sometimes—casual, uncomplicated, in and out like weather fronts. But this? Me walking in with Holley pressed close to my side, guiding her through the clubhouse like she belongs there?
That’s new.
Really new.
“Stud,” a voice calls from the pool table. “You got a shadow today?”
I shoot a look toward the speaker—Grinder, la man with quick hands and quicker opinions. He lifts his beer in greeting, smirking. Holley’s cheeks flush.
“Ignore him,” I mutter. “He was born running his mouth.”
“Everyone’s staring,” she says under her breath.
“That’s ‘cause you walked in with me.”
“Is that bad?”
“No,” I say. “It’s just unusual.”
Because I don’t bring women here. Not really. Not like this. Not for more than an hour or two, definitely not for a full damn day or however long she’s going to stay. And never in a way that lets them see me past the surface.
But Holley’s already seen too much of me for that to matter.
I draw her further into the room, and the guys start approaching—slow, respectful, the way you walk up to something you’re not sure is fragile or dangerous.
Country Boy is the first to reach us. Broad shoulders, easy grin, hair pulled back in a low tie.
“Stud,” he says, nodding. “You bring a guest?”
“Holley,” I say, keeping a steady hand on her back. “Meet Country Boy. One of the best idiots I know.”
“Bold talk from the retired Prez,” Country Boy shoots back. But his smile softens when he turns to her. “Good to meet you, Holley.”
“Hi,” she says, offering a small wave.