Page 50 of Peak’s Code

He stared at the water-stained ceiling and tried to understand how his life had changed so completely in less than two days. He’d gone to the clubhouse determined to refuse Captain’s demand that he become the Grave Prowlers’ hacker. That had been his biggest problem, but it was a manageable one, at least.

Now, his clubhouse had been attacked by private military contractors. Someone was using the club’s docks to traffic women. A man called Director was controlling an operation big enough to bury federal investigations. There was probably a traitor inside the Grave Prowlers. And Maeve Carter was asleep with her head resting against his chest.

Peak looked down at her. Her dark hair was spread across his shoulder and the pillow, tangled from the night before. One hand rested over his heart as if she needed proof that he was still there. The blanket had slipped low enough to reveal the pale skin of her shoulder, but he kept his eyes on her face. She looked different in sleep—younger, softer even.

The sharp lines of worry had disappeared from around her mouth. Her brow was smooth instead of creased with whatever calculation her mind was working through. Since meeting her, he had watched her assess every room, every person, and every possible exit. Even while eating dinner, she had sat where she could see the door. Even while arguing with him, she had listened for vehicles outside. Even while smiling, part of her had remained ready to run. But not now. Now she was simply sleeping, trusting him enough to close her eyes. That realization settled heavily in his chest.

Peak had spent most of his life avoiding responsibilities he hadn’t chosen. He’d refused the government because he didn’t want someone else deciding how his skills should be used. He’d refused Captain because he didn’t want the club pulling him into every dirty fight that came near Maryland. He’d even refused his grandfather’s plans because the old man had tried to map out Peak’s entire life before he was old enough to know what he wanted. Maeve was different. Nobody had ordered him to care about her. Captain had told him to keep her alive, but that wasn’t why Peak had brought her to the motel. It wasn’t why he’d sat beside her in the dark or listened while she talked about Wren. It sure as hell wasn’t why he had touched her the way he had. That had been his choice—every part of it. And now, lying beside her in the weak gray light of morning, he realized the choice had changed something inside him.

He wasn’t sure when it happened. Maybe it had been the first time she held his gaze in that interrogation room and refused to be intimidated. Maybe it was when she admitted she had deliberately allowed the club to capture her because it was the only way to make them listen. Maybe it was watching her throw herself into danger for a sister she hadn’t seen in eighteen months. Or maybe it had been something quieter—her laugh, her hand in his, or the way she looked at him when he told her Wren would never stop believing Maeve was coming. Whatever it was, Peak had crossed a line. Maeve wasn’t just a problem he intended to solve anymore. She was his, and the thought hit him so hard that his entire body went still.

She wasn’t his in the way some men claimed women as property. She was his to protect, his to stand beside, his to argue with when she tried to sacrifice herself for everyone else, his to find when she inevitably ran headfirst into danger, and his to bring home. The possessiveness should have alarmed him, but it didn’t. What alarmed him was how natural it felt.

Maeve shifted against him and released a small sigh. Peak held his breath, worried he disturbed her. Instead of waking, she moved closer, her knee sliding over his thigh as her fingers curled slightly against his chest. A smile tugged at his mouth. The woman stole blankets, pillows, and apparently half the mattress, but he didn’t mind.

He brushed a loose strand of hair away from her cheek, letting the back of his fingers linger for a second longer than necessary. Maeve’s eyelids fluttered, and Peak pulled his hand back. But it was too late; he had already woken her.

“You’re staring at me,” she mumbled. Her eyes remained closed.

Peak smiled. “You’re awake.”

“I wasn’t until someone started touching my face,” she grumbled.

“I was moving your hair out of your eyes,” he insisted.

“Without permission,” she said.

“You’re sleeping on my arm,” he said. “That’s different.”

“How is it different?” she asked.

“Because I’m not invading your space; you’re invading mine,” he said. She opened one eye and looked at him, and even half asleep, she managed to look suspicious.

Peak grinned. “Morning.”

Maeve groaned and closed her eyes again. “No.”

“No?”

“It can’t be morning yet,” she insisted.

“I hate to tell you this, but it is,” he said.

“I don’t accept that.”

“You planning to argue with the sun?”

“If necessary,” she mumbled.

“Ahh—there’s the difficult woman I found in the clubhouse.”

He laughed quietly, and Maeve opened both eyes. “You didn’t find me there. You dragged me into that clubhouse.”

“I personally didn’t drag you anywhere.”

“Your prospects did,” she said.

“Then your complaint should be directed to them,” he teased.