Chapter 5 CH5

The motorcycle club's compound sprawled across three acres on the outskirts of town.

By the time Ryder pulled up to the gate, my whole body was trembling—from adrenaline, from fear, from the feeling of being pressed against him for the past twenty minutes.

"You're shaking." His voice was low, meant only for me.

"I'm fine." But as I tried to swing my leg off the bike, my knees buckled.

The world tilted. I braced for impact with the gravel, but it never came.

Instead, strong arms caught me, pulling me against a solid chest. I found myself cradled in Ryder's embrace, one of his hands spanning my waist while the other supported my shoulders. Our faces were inches apart.

"I've got you." His breath ghosted across my lips. "I've got you, darlin'."

Time seemed to freeze. The security lights caught the silver in his eyes, turning them to liquid mercury. This close, I could see a small scar above his left eyebrow, the faint stubble along his jaw, the way his pupils dilated as they dropped to my parted lips.

No one had ever looked at me the way he was looking at me now—like I was something precious instead of something to be owned.

"Ryder..." My voice was barely a whisper.

His hand moved from my waist to my face, thumb ghosting over my unbruised cheek. The calluses on his fingers should have frightened me—they spoke of violence, of power. But his touch was impossibly gentle, like he thought I might shatter.

Maybe I would.

He leaned closer, and my heart forgot how to beat. The scent of leather and midnight and freedom surrounded me. My hands fisted in his cut, pulling him nearer without conscious thought.

Our lips were a breath apart when—

"Jesus Christ." A woman's voice shattered the moment. "Get her inside before she falls down."

Reality crashed back. I was still injured, still running, still in danger. And Ryder... Ryder was still a stranger who'd risked everything to save me.

He set me carefully on my feet, but his hand lingered at my lower back.

"Tessa, this is Doc," he said, voice rougher than before. "She patches us up when things get messy."

Doc's knowing look shifted between us. Forty-something with silver-streaked hair and sleeve tattoos, she radiated no-nonsense efficiency. "Things look plenty messy already. Come on, honey. Let's get you cleaned up."

I hesitated, looking up at Ryder. The memory of his almost-kiss burned on my lips.

"I've got to make some calls," he said softly. "Doc will take care of you. You're safe here."

Safe. The word felt different now, wrapped in the lingering warmth of his touch.

The clubhouse interior was all dark wood and worn leather. Doc led me to what looked like a medical office, but I was only half-aware of my surroundings. My skin still tingled where Ryder had touched me.

"Clothes off," Doc ordered, pulling on latex gloves. Then, more gently: "And honey? Whatever's going on between you and our VP? Be careful."

I felt heat flood my cheeks. "There's nothing—"

"I've been around this life a long time." She helped me onto the examination table. "I know what it looks like when a man's making a claim. Even if he doesn't know it yet himself."

A claim. The word should have terrified me after Marcus. Instead, it sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with fear.

The examination was thorough but gentle. Doc cleaned the glass cuts, documented the bruises, and wrapped my ribs. But I barely felt any of it.

All I could think about was storm-gray eyes and gentle hands and the way Ryder had looked at me like I was something worth saving.

For the first time in three years, the

butterflies in my stomach had nothing to do with terror.

They felt like beginning.