Page 9 of Her Broken Biker
I hold on to Ace, and some quiet, shaken part of me believes he will not let me fall.
Chapter 2
Ace
SheholdsonlikeI’m the only thing keeping her from falling off the edge of the world.
Maybe I am.
Her arms lock around my waist, trembling at first, then tighter when the bike takes the first hard curve. Her cheek presses between my shoulder blades, right against my cut, right over the patch that tells every bastard in these mountains exactly who I am.
Damned Saints MC.
My family.
My warning.
Reina breathes against my back, and every one of those breaths hits harder than the bullet in my shoulder.
That should be what I’m thinking about.
The blood soaking my shirt. The burn digging deep every time I lean into a curve. The two men I left breathing in the dirt because I need information more than corpses. The third man still inside the cabin.
Instead, all I feel is her.
Soft body pressed tight to mine.
Fingers clutching my shirt.
Breath hitching every time the road dips or the trees close in.
There’s blood on her. Blood on me. Gravel dust sharp in my throat and cold air cutting through every breath.
And I still notice her.
The warmth of her against my back.
The small grip of her hands at my stomach.
The way she holds on like I’m safe.
I tighten my grip on the throttle.
She shouldn’t trust me.
She’s young. Too young for the damage in her eyes. Early twenties. Fifteen years younger than me, at least. Soft in ways this world likes to bruise. Curvy in a way that makes my hands remember they were hands before they were weapons.
I got her out.
That’s where this ends.
That’s where it has to end.
And when she looked at me in that clearing, wide hazel eyes blown dark with terror, blood on her scrubs, freckles standing out against pale skin, something inside me moved.
Locked on.
Claimed without permission.
