Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 50311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 252(@200wpm)___ 201(@250wpm)___ 168(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 252(@200wpm)___ 201(@250wpm)___ 168(@300wpm)
Just whispers, “You came back or am I dreaming?”
And I whisper back, “Always coming home to you, baby.”
Cambria’s back is warm against my chest. I pull the blanket higher around us, tucking it beneath her chin like she’s something precious that needs guarding. My fingers rest lightly on the dip of her waist, memorizing the shape of her.
She turns in my arms, slow and unhurried, like she knows I’ll always be here.
Our eyes meet in the hush of the room, dim but golden from the lamp on the nightstand. Her gaze flicks to my mouth, then back to my eyes, and I swear the whole world narrows to this—the air between us, electric and soft all at once.
“I can hear your heart,” she whispers.
“It’s loud,” I murmur, brushing her hair behind her ear. “You do that to me.”
She leans in and kisses me, slow and full and deep. Not like a first kiss—more like a question she already knows the answer to. Her lips move against mine like she’s waited years for this moment and doesn’t want to rush a single second of it.
My hand cups the side of her face, thumb tracing her cheekbone. She exhales into me, her fingers tangling in the back of my shirt, tugging me closer until there’s no space left between us. My leg hooks around hers instinctively, anchoring her to me like I’m scared she’ll disappear.
The kiss deepens—messy now, hungry in the way of people who have too many feelings and no idea how to say them. Her hand slips under my shirt, splayed across my ribs, skin to skin. I breathe her name like a prayer.
“Cambria…”
She presses her forehead to mine. “You feel like home.”
I don’t know how to say what that does to me. So I just kiss her again. Kiss her like she’s already mine, like I’ve been carrying this ache for her in my chest forever and finally, finally get to let it out. My hands map the curve of her spine, the slope of her back, every inch sacred.
She kisses me with passion as our bodies rock against one another and my hands roam. She’s in my sweatshirt and her panties. I find the edge and cup her ass giving it a squeeze as she presses in closer to me. Hitching her leg around my waist, I tease the inside of her things with my fingers as we continue to kiss. She rocks to me and I let my fingers slide between her pussy lips.
In moments, she is pressing into my digits in a rhythm, saturating my fingers in her desire before her body tenses, locks up, and then she shatters, breaking our kiss to cry out my name as she comes.
It is beautiful.
Her breath hitches as I press a kiss to the corner of her mouth, then her jaw, then the hollow of her throat. She’s trembling, and not from fear. I hold her tighter, like I can calm the storm I put there.
We stay like that, tangled and quiet, her breath against my collarbone, my heart still racing beneath her palm. Nothing has ever felt more real than this.
We don’t go further. We don’t need to.
The next morning, I’m called to sermon. That’s what we call our closed-door meetings—brothers only, no bullshit, no guests. It’s where decisions get made, problems get solved, and punishments get handed out. It’s also where legacies rise or fall.
I walk in and take my seat on the right-hand side of the long table. Axel is already there, arms crossed, his jaw set like he slept in concrete. Rex sits at the head, calm as always, fingers steepled in front of him. The rest of the table fills in. Toon gives me a nod. Bishop keeps his eyes on the floor.
Rex gets straight to it.
“You got hit.”
I nod. “Three riders. No colors. No callouts. They came for the trailer.”
Axel snorts. “And you let ‘em get close enough to bang on the damn thing?”
I don’t rise to it. “I ended it. One down, two fled. No damage to the shipment. No loss of life on our side.”
“You sure it wasn’t a setup?” Mack asks.
“Could’ve been. Rizzo was clean on paper, but the vibe was off.”
Rex leans forward. “We pulled background on the contacts this morning. Rizzo used to run with a smaller outfit—Steel Vultures. Folded three years ago. Most of them ended up under the banner of the Saints.”
I feel my jaw tighten. “So we’re in bed with a ghost crew.”
“Not anymore,” Rex says. “We’re cutting ties. Good call bringing it home fast. That run could’ve gone sideways. You held it.”
My doubts and insecurities don’t allow me to accept his compliment.
Rex gives me a look reading me—short, firm, but something like pride hidden in the crease of his eyes. “You earned a seat at the table.”