Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 46098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
She caught my wrist. “What are you doing?”
“Tucking you in,” I said, because that’s what it was, even if the words sounded wrong in my mouth.
The corner of her lips flickered, a surprised quirk that made the injuries on her face look less angry. “That’s…new.”
“What is?”
“A man who looks like you using the phrase ‘tucking you in.’”
I raised a brow. “A man who looks like me?”
One corner of her mouth lifted. “You know what I mean. Hot, tattoos, leather. All scary badass biker.”
It was obvious the second she realized she’d called me hot because her cheeks turned bright red. Fucking adorable. But I let her off the hook, knowing she needed to rest. Plus, teasing her about it might make it even more difficult not to kiss her.
“Can’t say I’ve used it before,” I replied, instead. Then I shrugged one shoulder. “Can use a different phrase if it makes you feel better.”
“It…um…doesn’t make me feel worse,” she whispered, letting go of my wrist.
I smoothed the covers over her, careful around her ribs where Cage had said she’d be tender, and then I took a step back before I could do something impulsive like press my mouth to the spot where her pulse beat in her throat.
“Where’s my bag?” she asked again, less demanding this time.
“In a safe.” I dragged my hand over the back of my neck, feeling the grit of the track lingering. “What’s your name?”
She hesitated.
“Your real one,” I added, so she couldn’t twist my meaning. “The one you answer to when you’re not running.”
Her gaze dropped to my cut, where my road name was stitched in white. “So, Axle, huh?”
I didn’t like the way that name sounded on her tongue any more than I had before. “Mason,” I told her again. I’d shocked the hell outta myself when I’d corrected her earlier. We didn’t let anyone but family—or our old lady—call us by our given names. But for some reason, I’d wanted to hear her say it. “Mason Novak. My brothers call me Axle. As I said before, to you, I’m Mason.”
Conflict showed on her face, and for a moment, I thought my honesty might have earned me hers. Then she shook her head. “I can’t tell you mine.”
“You can,” I growled. “You won’t.”
“You don’t understand the danger I’m bringing to your door,” she whispered.
“We’ve had worse at the door.”
“Not like this. You have to let me go.”
I leaned in, braced my palm on the headboard above her shoulder, and caged her in without touching her like I wanted to. Her breath caught, but she didn’t flinch. “Not fucking happening.” My voice was quiet and lethal. “You crashed into my life. Now I’m in it.”
Something flickered through her eyes—fear, yes, but not of me. Relief, maybe, the fragile kind that she couldn’t trust yet. She fought it down, that stubborn mouth of hers flattening. “Mason.”
How she said it—soft, unfamiliar on her tongue—warmed my chest in a way that felt brand new.
“You’re not going anywhere,” I repeated, gentler now but no less sure. “Not until I know what the fuck is going on. You’re being hunted, angel. You’ll stay here. Protected. Guarded.”
“By who?”
“By me. You’re under my protection now.”
Her throat worked. She glanced at the ceiling like it was easier than looking at me. “I won’t be the reason someone gets hurt.”
“You won’t be,” I said. “But if someone tries to hurt you, I’ll be the reason they bleed.”
The soft rhythm of boots and the low-aired murmur of men who know how to talk without being heard came from the hall. I grabbed a burner phone from the dresser, put my number in it, then dropped it on the nightstand in reach, before moving to the door. “Call or text me if you need anything. Now sleep.”
She spoke just as my hand found the handle.
“Mason?”
I looked back. “Yeah?”
“If I tell you my name tomorrow, will you…will you still mean it?”
I stared at her for a moment. “I don’t say things I don’t mean. ”
Then I turned to leave, easing the door shut behind me.
Kane was already outside the door, leaning against the wall with arms crossed and a look that said he’d been listening for longer than he let on.
He didn’t move when I stepped out, but his green eyes cut over me, catching every line and all my tension. His cut sat easy across his shoulders, his ink dark under the hall light. If a hurricane learned to walk, it would look like him.
Not many dared to fuck with Kane. Those who did quickly learned why he had a reputation for being merciless to anyone who crossed him. He was a brilliant businessman, and he’d built a racing empire that had made him a fucking billionaire. He was also a world-class driver. A legend. His sharp reflexes, calm dominance, and the way he operated with brutal precision made him lethal in every aspect of his life—the boardroom, the track, and the president of the Redline Kings.