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)
Her words change something inside me. The softness fades.
It has to.
And then one night, everything changes.
We’re at the clubhouse late. A birthday party for one of the brothers—Hawk, I think. The music’s louder than usual. Shots are flowing. Girls are dancing. A fight breaks out near the pool table, but it dies fast, fists cooled by respect and too much beer.
I’m in the corner when Axel approaches. Little Foot’s older brother.
The one who voted no. Yes, Drew has shared his past with me. How much earning his place means and why. An anger builds inside me to the man I don’t even know. The one who almost kept him from ever getting patched.
He’s taller than I expected. Broader. And there’s something in his eyes that makes my skin prickle.
“You’re the wife,” he says.
I nod, trying not to let my voice shake. “Cambria.”
He looks me up and down. “You know this ain’t a game, right?”
“I’m not playing a game.”
“You better not be. Because if you break his focus? If you drag him back down?”
His eyes lock with mine, cold and hard. “I’ll end it.”
I don’t flinch. I take a step forward. “You can try.”
His expression doesn’t change, but I see it in his eyes. A flicker of respect, maybe even appreciation.
Taking the win, I walk away without looking back.
Little Foot finds me on the back steps ten minutes later. “You okay?”
“Your brother’s intense.”
He snorts. “He threaten you?”
I nod. “A little.” He drapes his arm over my shoulders pulling me close. “He likes to try to rattle people. See if he can shake them.”
“Not shaken.” I smile.
“What’d you say?”
“I told him to try me.”
Little Foot grins. “That’s my girl.” And for the first time, I believe it. Not because I said the right thing. But because I said it like I meant it. Because I did. Because I feel it. I feel like I belong to him.
To this world?
It’s mine now. He’s mine.
And I’m not giving it up without a fight.
The next morning, I wake up before dawn.
The air in the trailer is still and warm, the soft hum of the fridge the only sound. Little Foot is asleep, one arm tossed over his face, lips slightly parted. He looks younger when he sleeps. Softer. Like the weight of the club, his name, his bloodline—all of it disappears in the quiet hours before the world wakes up.
I slide out of bed carefully and step outside barefoot. The grass is wet with dew. The sky is still dark, but the edge of it is starting to bleed color—deep purples and pinks fading into the soft orange of another day.
I sit on the back steps with a cup of coffee, knees drawn to my chest. I’m beginning to like the stuff, especially strong.
This is the kind of peace I used to think was only for other people. The kind with silence and coffee and sunrises that don’t come with a hangover. The kind where no one is waiting to hurt you when you go back inside.
I sip slowly and let myself believe—for just a moment—that this life is mine now. That I can hold onto it.
Drew comes out and joins me. “Whatcha thinkin’, babe?”
“Do you think I’ll ever be accepted as your wife?”
“This life doesn’t hand out acceptance. You take it. You live it until they have no choice but to respect you.”
I nod. “That’s the plan.”
“You’re gonna be okay, Cambria,” he says. “Just keep your head up and your mouth sharp.”
I smile. “I think I can do that.”
He pulls me into a hug, warm and familiar.
“Good,” he says against my temple. “’Cause today we go into town together.”
I blink. “Why?” A little nervous to let the outside world invade the security I have found here.
“You’re my wife,” he says with a grin. “Time to start meeting the rest of the world.”
I laugh before I can stop myself—half at the insanity of all of this, half at the way it warms something deep in my chest. His voice is rough with sleep, still thick from the night. Like it hasn’t shaken off the dreams yet.
We’re sitting on the back steps, the sky barely awake. Pale gold bleeding into soft blue, the kind of morning that feels like a secret. The world is still holding its breath, and for once, I don’t mind being awake for it.
“You know, I’m not your wife,” I murmur, pulling my knees up to my chest, chin resting on them. “Yet.”
He shrugs, leaning back on his hands, stretching long and slow like a cat. “Technicalities.”
Little Foot looks at me like I already belong to him—like the fact hasn’t caught up to me yet, but he’s willing to wait. Or maybe not even wait. Just be next to me. With me. In whatever this is turning into.
There’s a coffee mug between us. Mine, half-drunk and not quite sweet enough. He doesn’t even like coffee, but he keeps it stocked for me, and I won’t dare tell him it’s not my favorite thing. It means so much that he even has this level of consideration for me. That’s the kind of thing he does. Quiet care. No performance. No angles.