Psycho

a childhood sweethearts, small town, MC, steamy short romance

Audrey Bell

Copyright © 2026 by Audrey Bell

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

The author expressly prohibits any entity from using this publication for training AI technologies.

No part of this book was generated using AI (artificial intelligence). The writing is the product of the author’s hard work and dedication to learning and practicing the craft.

Contents

Reader's Note

1. Psycho

2. Bobbie

3. Psycho

4. Bobbie

5. Psycho

6. Bobbie

7. Psycho

8. Bobbie

9. Psycho

Epilogue

The Reckless Order MC Series

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Books by Audrey Bell

About the Author

Reader's Note

This book contains the following topics that may be sensitive for some readers. Please take care of your mental health!

Depictions of mental illness

Guns

Themes of violence

Mentions of past childhood neglect and abandonment

Use of birth control

Alcohol and discussions of alcoholism

Home invasion

Chapter one

Psycho

Cool air brushed the back of my neck as I ducked under the hood of the minivan. Autumn had swept through town in a cascade of red, orange, and gold. Jack-o’-lanterns grinned from porches and windows. The crisp scent of impending snowfall lingered on the wind that gusted down from the mountain tops.

But the changing seasons didn’t slow the steady stream of clients filing in and out of Steele Repair Auto Shop all morning.

I liked the work, staying busy. I could lose myself in a machine for hours, piecing it together like a puzzle—gears and pistons, hydraulics and valves.

And it was a welcome distraction from the insomnia that plagued me. For three nights straight, I hadn’t slept a wink. Flashbacks kept me wide awake, ruminating in circles. Sleeping pills were useless—they just made me groggy on top of the agitation that I already experienced.

My vision blurred. A tremor seized my hands, and I curled my fingers into fists.

Too much caffeine again. Pumping it into my system so I wasn’t catatonic during my shift at the garage.

I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose, fighting to regain focus.

“Uncle Psycho!”

I froze, listening. When I reached this level of sleep deprivation, it wasn’t unusual to start hallucinating weird shit that wasn’t even real.

Scrubbing the back of my neck, I returned my attention to the engine in front of me. The metal was solid beneath my palms, grounding me in the present moment.

When I was a kid, I watched my old man lose his mind to schizophrenia and alcoholism—a potent combination further aggravated by the stress of having a small child. He refused to get the help he needed, too wrapped up in his pride to bother with medication or treatment.

Then my mother ran away with another man.

And something in my father just…snapped.

His paranoia went off the deep end. His drinking made everything worse. Eventually, Child Protective Services took me away, placing me in the foster care system. And I never saw my father again.

But I lived the rest of my life with the fear lurking in the back of my mind…what if I turned out to be just like him one day?

“Uncle Psycho!”

I startled and banged my head against the hood of the van. Those voices were definitely real, I was sure of it now. Rubbing my throbbing skull, I carefully eased away from the car and glanced up.

Parked at the garage’s curb was Bruiser with The Reckless Order’s cage—a battered black utility van. She wasn’t pretty, but she was functional, reliable, and she got us where we needed to go.

Hades emerged from the passenger side and hauled the sliding door open. His kids tumbled out in a whirlwind of energy, making a beeline straight for me.

Mia was ten years old, and she looked like her mama, Jenny, with the same bright hazel eyes, chocolate brown hair, and a kind heart.

Casey was five years old, a carbon copy of his daddy, Hades, with tightly coiled jet black curls, and a firecracker attitude that would probably get him in trouble one day.

“Hey, little monsters,” I said, as they bounced around me like jumping beans. 

“Do you have any candy for us, Uncle Psycho?” Casey asked, clinging to my leg. 

“Uncle Bruiser said that carrot sticks taste better than candy,” Mia said. “But I don’t think he’s telling the truth.”

I snorted a laugh.

“You’re right. Uncle Bruiser is a rotten liar. Maybe we should teach him a lesson. What do you think?”

Mia and Casey snickered, their eyes glittering with mischief.

My heart squeezed to see these kids so happy, loved, and protected. Thank God their childhood was nothing like mine.

“I’ll make you a deal.” Crouching down to their level, I pulled a dirty rag from my back pocket. Then I scrubbed at their little fingers until they were covered with black grease. “Go play tag with Uncle Bruiser. For every handprint you leave on him, I’ll buy you a big, fat gumball from the gumball machine in the garage’s front office. How does that sound?”

Mia and Casey whooped with delight and ran off.

A moment later, Bruiser gave a shout of indignation.

When we needed an Enforcer for The Reckless Order, it was a no-brainer and the easiest unanimous decision we ever made to vote Bruiser into the position. With his history as a former Navy SEAL, he was a machine of brute strength and tactical intelligence. Pissing him off was a bad idea and no one made that mistake twice.

But he would lay down his life to protect his club and the people he cared about.

And he was the biggest pushover when it came to kids.

Bruiser dodged left and right as Mia and Casey chased him, their grubby little mitts reaching out. He caught Casey by the scruff of his shirt, lifting him off the ground until Casey’s legs were swinging. Then he placed a massive paw on top of Mia’s head, holding her at bay.

“You bastard,” he bellowed at me. “This was your idea.”

I cackled and waved.

Bruiser and I butted heads every now and then, pestering the shit out of each other. But when I was a young Prospect in need of a sponsor, he put his neck on the line to vouch for me. He might be an insensitive ass most of the time, but I owed my cut and my patches to his support. I wouldn’t be a member of The Reckless Order without his help.

Hades shook his head as he joined me.

“I hope you enjoy looking over your shoulder, because he’s going to kick your ass for that.”

I shrugged.

“Worth it. Those kids are having the time of their lives.”

Hades nodded, watching Mia and Casey with pride in his eyes. A bittersweet pang twisted in my chest. My father never looked at me like that. I hoped those kids realized how lucky they were.

I cleared my throat, pushing down memories of the past.

“So, I’m almost done fixing up Jenny’s van,” I said. “Her radiator was leaking like a sieve. And…I found this on the front seat.”

I held up a napkin scrawled with writing in black marker, turning it toward Hades. He frowned and grabbed it.

“Some fucker gave my Jenny his name and number?”

“You had to know she wasn’t going to stay single forever,” I pointed out.

Hades crumpled the napkin and flicked a scathing glance in my direction. He shoved it in the pocket of his cut with a growl.

Despite signing divorce papers over seven years ago, Hades couldn’t accept the separation. He didn’t even look at other women, let alone start dating again, because he still called his ex-wife my Jenny.

Their relationship gave me fucking whiplash—hot and cold, up and down, fighting like cats and dogs, then making out like teenagers.

“She didn’t tell me about this,” Hades grumbled.

“Probably because you’d make the son of a bitch mysteriously disappear,” I countered. “A decade later, his bones would be discovered, scattered across the mountainside as coyote chew toys.”

He huffed.

“If that’s what it takes to protect my wife.”

“Ex-wife,” I reminded him.

Hades waved me off, dismissing the correction.

“You wouldn’t understand what I have with my Jenny. The last woman you dated, she mentioned marriage once, and you ran for the goddamn hills.”

I shook my head, turning to the tools on my workbench.

“Hell will freeze over before I ever get married.”

“Obviously.”

“Just the thought of it makes me claustrophobic,” I added.

“I can tell,” Hades said with a smirk.

But when I ducked under the minivan’s hood to get back to work, I paused and scrubbed away the grease on my palm to find the small scar there, faded to a silvery shine with age.

Don’t make a promise you have no intention of keeping, Arrow. I’ve had enough of that to last a lifetime. You’re not allowed to break my heart, just like everyone else did.

I closed my eyes at the echo of those words.

Roberta “Bobbie” McGrath was my first crush, my first kiss, my first everything. She kept me sane in the foster care system. We were just two fucked up kids who were too damaged to get adopted. 

So, we made a pact. We swore that if no one wanted us by the time we were thirty, we would marry each other. And it wasn’t some cutesy pinkie promise either. We sealed that shit in blood.

I had no idea where Bobbie was these days, and my thirtieth birthday passed a few years ago now.

But I still kept my promise to her. I had no intention—and no desire—to marry anyone else.

Just her. Only her.

My phone rang, jolting me out of my thoughts. For the second time, I startled, bumping my head on the minivan’s hood.

“Motherfu—” I broke off, rubbing my head.

When I straightened up, I caught Hades pressing his lips together, trying to hide his amusement and failing miserably.

“Shut up,” I muttered. 

“I didn’t say anything,” Hades protested.

“No, you’re just laughing your ass off,” I said, digging my phone out of my pocket. “What do you want?” I barked.

“Whoa,” came Pretty Boy’s reply over the phone. “Sounds like someone is in a bitchy mood.”

I sighed and my shoulders sagged. 

“Sorry, Prez. Didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“Well, I’m not going to make that bitchy mood any better. I’ve got bad news.”

I grimaced and leaned back against the minivan, bracing myself.

“I’m listening. What kind of shitshow are we looking at?”

“Moses ‘Cyclone’ Huxley, Road Captain of The Filthy Rebels MC. Do you remember him?”

I breathed a faint laugh.

“How could I forget? He stuck a knife between my ribs and put me in the ER, losing blood like a leaky faucet.”

The tension between The Reckless Order and The Filthy Rebels had been simmering to a boiling point well before I came along. A few years ago, they tried to steal our territory, and we barely managed to hold them off.

As a brand new Prospect, with my patches freshly stitched onto my cut, I crossed paths with Huxley at a Fourth of July biker rally. It was supposed to be neutral territory. Everyone was welcome, regardless of feuds, turf wars, and old grudges. No fighting allowed—just booze, bikes, and good food.

Huxley didn’t get that memo. He was a drunk bully who wanted a fight. And I was a scrawny twenty-something newbie, who looked like an easy target in comparison.

He accused me of putting my hands on his Old Lady. Which wasn’t true, since I never went anywhere near her.

But the damage was done. Messing around with a biker’s woman was a serious claim, and no one took it lightly. 

Before I had a chance to defend myself, Huxley had me pinned to the dirt, trying to puncture my lung with that damn knife.

He ended up in prison, charged with attempted manslaughter.

“Why are you bringing up that asshole’s name, Prez?” I asked, my gut sinking with dread.

Pretty Boy gave an apologetic pause.

“He broke out of jail last night.”

I closed my eyes with a groan.

“And it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that revenge will be at the top of his list.”

“Exactly. You’ve got a target on your back, my friend.”

I balled up my rag and tossed it on my workbench. This was not what I wanted to hear after three days of no sleep. With Huxley on the loose, I wouldn’t be resting easy any time soon.

“It looks like The Filthy Rebels will be darkening our doorstep again,” Pretty Boy added. “And this time, they’re coming after you.”

The breath punched out of me.

Shit.

Chapter two

Bobbie

I rubbed the scar in my palm out of habit, left there by the marriage pact I swore to Arrow all those years ago. A childish, foolish promise, sealed in blood. As if that was supposed to mean something. As if that would make it impossible to break.

I lingered on the other side of the street, watching the hustle and bustle of Steele Repair Auto Shop where Arrow worked.

Psycho, I corrected myself. He’s known as Psycho now.

Did he choose that nickname for himself? Was it some tongue-in-cheek irony to take the sting out of the struggles he’d endured with his mental health?

Or did his friends call him that? The crazy one. The lunatic. The psycho.

Arrow closed the hood of the minivan he was working on, gathering his tools from his workbench and piling them into his toolbox.

He looked good. Really good.

Taller than I remembered. With broad shoulders, narrow hips, and a scruffy five o’clock shadow that darkened his jawline. Back when we were kids, he used to keep his hair cut short in a bristly buzzcut. But now it was long enough that I could run my fingers through it, silky black strands like ink.

As Arrow reached to retrieve a wrench, his henley rode up a few inches, exposing a swath of tattoo at his side.

He used to be a quiet, introspective boy, prone to long bouts of silences when he was caught up in his own thoughts.

The man I saw before me was…different. Effortlessly masculine, confident. And hot. I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

I chewed my thumbnail, hugging my knees to my chest. Guilt gnawed at my gut for avoiding him.

It’s not stalking, I reasoned. I’m simply observing. From a distance. In secret.

Over the years, I had accumulated a variety of diagnoses from a smorgasbord of specialists—bipolar disorder, borderline personality disorder, anxiety, depression, attachment trauma.

The end result was the same: I ruined everything I touched.

Holding down a career was suffocating. Dating felt like navigating a mine field. One wrong step and the relationship exploded.

I didn’t just burn bridges. I obliterated them like an atomic bomb, with nothing but a nuclear wasteland left in my wake.

That’s how I ended up in this little town to begin with. I lost everything in Nashville, Tennessee—my boyfriend, my job, my apartment. And the stress triggered a manic episode. I had to get the hell out of that city. I had to move. I had to just…go away.

Deep down, I wanted to escape myself and my dysfunctional brain most of all. But I couldn’t. So, I did what I always do.

I ran.

A few days later, I stumbled into Juniper Creek, Colorado. While I wolfed down a burger and fries at The Huckleberry Diner—my first real meal since hitting the road that didn’t come from a vending machine—I spotted Arrow.

At first, I didn’t recognize him. We weren’t kids anymore, and he had changed so much since the last time we saw each other.

He traipsed into the diner with a group of bikers, all wearing the same black leather vest. Across the back was a patch that declared his loyalty to The Reckless Order MC. 

They called him friend. They called him brother.

This is exactly what Arrow and I had spent hours fantasizing about while we were in foster care, back in Utah. Finding a place to belong, having a home of our own.

It looked like he managed to pull that off.

Meanwhile, I was still drifting around like a tumbleweed.

I could have walked right up to Arrow at that moment and greeted him. But then one of his biker buddies cracked a joke, and he laughed. 

Arrow rarely laughed when we were in foster care. He might manage a small smile, or a little chuckle. But he never laughed like that, from deep in his belly, with his head thrown back.

I couldn’t bring myself to barge into his life. I couldn’t dump the wreckage of my past—our past—in his lap again.

Fifteen minutes later, I had slipped out the diner’s back door, and I was on the road, with my thumb out, attempting to wave down a ride as cars whizzed by.

Then I stopped.

From my vantage point on the sloping road, I had a clear overlook of Juniper Creek. Hedged by mountains like a stone wall of protection. There was nothing special about it—a perfectly ordinary, sleepy town in the countryside.

To my eyes though…it was the sweetest slice of heaven. Because this was Arrow’s home. And he was happy.

I should have left that day.

Instead, I was still here, and Arrow had no idea.

I just wanted to be close to him in the safest possible way. Without hurting him. Because I always hurt the people I cared about in the end. Even if I didn’t mean to.

Reluctantly, I tore my gaze away from Arrow, heading through town on foot.

When I became a snitch for The Reckless Order, it had been a stupid mistake. Especially since it increased the chances of crossing Arrow’s path at any time.

But I didn’t try to get out of it either. 

Dropping the name of a biker into casual conversation around here turned out to be a powerful tool to have. All I had to do was mention Hillbilly, or Psycho, or Ironside, and suddenly, people were willing to tell me anything I wanted to know.

These men held a certain level of power in this town, and I had to admit, it was a little intoxicating.

A gust of autumn wind made me shiver in my jacket. Winter in Juniper Creek could be brutal, and I wasn’t looking forward to it. The snow was magical and breathtaking, but the temperatures could drop well below zero. I’d endured many bitterly cold nights, huddled in the back of the ancient Range Rover I bought two years ago.

Up ahead, I spotted the Juniper Creek Fire Department—a large, old-fashioned building, with a rust-red brick facade, and the foundation date etched into a cornerstone, 1901. The bay doors were open, with firefighters milling around, washing the trucks.

That’s what they were supposed to be doing anyway.

Instead, they were dousing each other with the hoses, or pelting each other with soapy sponges.

I waited on the corner, out of sight, until Chief Barrett Kent came striding into view.

“Quit messing around and get back to work,” he barked. “I want to see these trucks polished to a shine within the hour.”

The firefighters returned to their task, while Barrett surveyed them for a minute or two. Then he came striding toward me, taking my elbow and leading me around the corner.

“You’re kind of a hardass,” I said with amusement.

He huffed.

“I’m the Chief. That’s part of my job description. Now, what did I tell you about snooping around?”

I sighed and fiddled with the sleeves of my jacket, tugging them down over my hands.

“I’m being careful.”

“That’s not the point, Bobbie.”

He grumbled and flicked a white envelope from his back pocket, holding it out to me. When I reached for it, he snatched it away.

“You should leave Huxley to the police. Do you have some connection to him? Are you worried he might come after you?”

I shook my head, my gaze locked on that envelope in his hand.

During my first winter in Juniper Creek, I didn’t have my car yet, and the local homeless shelter was full. So, I slept where I could—on park benches, in an abandoned campground, squatting in empty houses. Barrett found me huddled in a ratty sleeping bag under a bridge, half frozen. He brought me back to the fire station, getting me warm again with cups of hot cocoa.

Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t dream of dragging Barrett into this. I owed him too much already after everything he’d done for me. 

But he had ties I could use, and information I needed.

“No, not me,” I replied. “A friend.”

When I found out that Arrow was a member of The Reckless Order MC, I went digging for every morsel of news that I could get my hands on, everything I had missed after we lost touch years ago.

That’s how I found out the history between Huxley and Arrow. And now that Huxley had escaped prison, there was no way I would sit around, twiddling my thumbs, when he had Arrow in his crosshairs.

Barrett pressed his lips together with disapproval, tapping the envelope against his palm. I raised my eyebrows, waiting.

“The fire station is hiring,” he said. “We’re looking for an office assistant. Someone who can keep everything organized. It would put cash in your pocket and a roof over your head.”

“Thanks, but I already have a job.”

Barrett shot me a withering look. He clearly didn’t buy that. 

But it wasn’t a lie. I worked odd jobs here and there. Mostly part-time gigs that were willing to pay me under the table. And since they were temporary, I didn't have to stick around for long. It was easier that way—less pressure and fewer expectations.

“I appreciate the offer,” I added. “It’s just…I feel like a wild animal when I’m chained to a desk. It doesn’t take long before I lose my shit eventually.”

Barrett breathed a faint laugh and nodded.

“Fair enough. I don’t blame you. Paperwork is the bane of my existence. I miss the simpler days when I was just a smoke eater, instead of Chief.”

At last, he handed over the envelope. I opened it to find three grainy pictures of Huxley, caught on a local gas station’s security camera. Accompanying the pictures was a list of credit card transactions, under a fake name. 

Private information like this was hard to come by. Barrett really went the extra mile for me.

“I have a daughter about your age, you know.”

I glanced up. He had mentioned his daughter a few times in the past. Bubbly, charming Ruby, the town’s sweetheart. Everyone loved her.

“She would get mixed up with the wrong guys sometimes,” Barrett went on. “Guys who didn’t realize how precious she was.”

My throat grew tight and I looked away. 

When I was eight years old, my parents gave me up for adoption. They had five other kids to care for, well-behaved, healthy, and accomplished.

But I was the problem child that nobody wanted in the first place. And with my laundry list of behavioral issues, my mother made it very clear what she thought of me.

You’re just too difficult, Roberta. I can’t deal with you.

I closed my eyes at the memory. Those were the last words she said to me before I was surrendered to foster care.

My father remained silent. I couldn’t tell if that was better or worse. He didn’t push me away, but he didn’t fight for me either. There was…nothing. 

He certainly didn’t talk about me the way Barrett talked about his daughter.

“What are you getting at, Chief?” I prompted. 

He crossed his arms.

“You’re keeping tabs on a fugitive for this friend, Bobbie. A violent fugitive.”

I took a breath to argue, but he plowed on, driving his point home like a kick to the chest.

“Does he even know you’re doing this in the first place?”

I bristled and stuffed the envelope into my jacket pocket.

“I have to go.”

Barrett caught my elbow lightly. 

“Don’t do that,” he said, quiet but firm. “Don’t go running off. I didn’t mean to hit a nerve.”

I rocked back on my heels. I liked Barrett. There was something comforting and soothing about his presence. He could be tough and stern at times, but he was patient, too. And in a way…I guess he felt like a father figure to me.

But he had a steady life—a good life. 

He had a respectable career with the fire department, working his way up from cadet to chief. He was on amiable terms with his ex-wife after their divorce, and he had a beautiful, successful daughter. He even had grandkids, for Christ’s sake.

He didn’t know what it was like to watch your life fall apart, over and over, because your own brain didn’t work right.

Arrow was the only friend I had in this world. And I would do everything in my power to protect him. That included protecting him from me. I had to keep my distance, for Arrow’s sake.

“I’m just worried about him,” I muttered. 

Barrett’s gaze softened.

“I’ll let you know if I hear any further developments. In the meantime, why don’t you come inside? I can make hot cocoa.”

I managed a small smile of gratitude.

“Believe me, that’s very tempting. But I really do need to go.”

Barrett nodded and released my elbow.

“Watch your back out there, Bobbie. And I hope your friend is worth it.”

He is, I thought. He’s worth everything and more.

Chapter three

Psycho

“Go home, Psycho,” Pretty Boy said. “Get some rest.”

I drained the bitter dregs of my coffee—my third cup in the past hour. After my shift at the garage was over, all I wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep for hours.

But Huxley and The Filthy Rebels probably wanted my head on a spike. And home…well, home would be too quiet. Too lonely.

The clubhouse was a welcome distraction, with bikers coming and going around the clock. A pleasant hum of conversation filled the air, punctuated by laughter, and the clink of whiskey glasses and beer bottles. The main room buzzed with activity, and it kept me grounded in the here and now, instead of drifting off into the flashbacks and dissociation of my mind.

“I’m fine,” I said, setting my empty mug on the bar. 

Pretty Boy frowned.

“You’re chugging coffee at eight o’clock at night, but you can barely keep your eyes open.”

I shrugged.

“It’s been a long day.”

He surveyed me for a moment with an assessing look. Then he propped his elbows on the bar and leaned in, lowering his voice.

"Is there something we need to talk about?"

I fiddled with my mug, turning it around and around. For the most part, I knew it wasn't my fault that I had post traumatic stress disorder. And I knew I wasn't to blame for the struggles that came with it.

But I still didn't like talking about it.

After riding with these men and living alongside them for eight years, I trusted them with my life. They didn't care about my past as long as I showed up to watch a brother's back when he called for help.

They knew…a few things about the state of my mental health.

They knew about my brief stay in a psychiatric hospital in my early twenties, where I ran into Bobbie again after leaving foster care. 

They knew about my nightmares, when I was asleep in a back room of the clubhouse and it took four men to wake me up while I fought against them like a rabid dog.

Sometimes, it seemed as if I walked a thin line between sanity and madness and it was difficult putting that into words.

"I'm just battling some personal demons, Prez."

Pretty Boy’s eyes narrowed with a skeptical look. He rapped his knuckles against the bar.

“Well, Hillbilly’s snitch reached out. She has some information we can use on Huxley’s whereabouts and we’re meeting within the hour.”

A jolt shot up my spine and I rose to my feet.

“I’m coming with you.”

Pretty Boy gave a lazy flick of his wrist.

“Sit your ass down. You’re staying here.”

“But this is my fight—”

“This is our fight, not yours.” He bumped his fist against the patches on my chest. “As a member of this club, a threat to you is a threat to all of us. You aren't going anywhere until you sort out your shit and get your head on straight anyway. It's nothing personal," he added apologetically.

I clamped my mouth shut, seething. Arguing with the President would only dig my grave deeper. He gave an order, and I was expected to follow it. End of story.

“Bruiser can babysit you,” Pretty Boy added with a smirk.

I groaned.

“Come on. Don’t do that to me.”

Bruiser spoke up from a table in the corner, with a club bunny snuggled under his arm.

“You sent those grimy little gremlins after me earlier. And now it's my turn to get you back. Pick your poison—old-school swirly? Or a classic wedgie?”

“You’re a goddamn child,” I said.

He chuckled.

Resentment burned in the back of my throat as I watched Pretty Boy leave. I should be going with him. I hated just waiting around, doing nothing.

A few years ago, The Filthy Rebels had planned a grab for our territory. Hillbilly’s snitch warned us in advance, giving us a chance to prepare, so we weren’t caught off guard and blindsided. 

I didn’t know her name, or what she looked like. She maintained minimal contact with the club, and for a while, she didn’t speak to anyone else except Hillbilly.

But if she had information, I wanted to hear it first hand.

I scrubbed at a pockmark in the bar’s countertop with my thumb as an idea began to take shape. Bruiser whispered something in the club bunny’s ear. She giggled, sneaking her hand up his shirt.

He wasn’t paying any attention to me.

Holding my breath, I slid behind the bar, moving toward the kitchen, where I could easily slip into the alley, undetected.

Bruiser didn’t glance in my direction. Not even once.

A motorcycle roared outside, signaling Pretty Boy's departure. If I intended to follow him, I had to move. Now.

Just as I reached for the kitchen door—so close to freedom—a giant hand grabbed the back of my neck.

“How stupid do you think I am?” Bruiser growled.

I snorted.

“You don’t want me to answer that.”

“Very funny, smartass.”

I shrugged off his grip and turned to face him.

“What would you do if you were in my shoes?”

Bruiser grunted and crossed his arms.

“If I was in your shoes, the bastard who stabbed me would be dead. You were too soft on him.”

I spread my hands with exasperation.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better? Pointing out the mistake I made years ago?”

“Nope,” Bruiser said flatly. “But I don’t really give a fuck about your feelings. You should have figured that out by now.”

I sighed and rubbed my forehead. My temples were still throbbing with exhaustion. I closed my eyes, willing myself to think clearly.

“Well?” Bruiser prompted. “Are we going or not?”

I opened my eyes, blinking at him with confusion.

“You just said—”

“Prez gave an order,” Bruiser said. “And I’m the Enforcer. It’s my job to make sure people do what he says.”

“But…?” I prompted.

He shrugged his massive shoulders.

“But I like the thought of holding this over your head. And Pretty Boy wants someone watching your tail morning, noon, and night. So, I can’t let you ride off alone.”

“Ah. I should have known there was a catch in the fine print somewhere.”

It wasn’t an ideal arrangement, but beggars can’t be choosers. Meanwhile, I was wasting time standing here chit-chatting.

“Okay,” I relented. “Let’s go.”

Two minutes later, Bruiser and I were on the road, following the red glow of Pretty Boy’s taillight in the dark. At the outskirts of town, he turned onto a gravel road that disappeared into the mountains. I shut off my headlight, so I wouldn’t give away my position. Bruiser did the same.

In the distance, just above the treeline, I spotted the looming silhouette of the old water tower. Retired from use over fifty years ago, it was abandoned now, and nothing more than a rusty hunk of junk, overgrown with weeds, and smothered in grasping vines. 

Isolated in the forest, it was the ideal place for a private meeting. There would be no one to interrupt. And it would be damn difficult to follow Pretty Boy up there without getting spotted.

Bruiser and I parked our bikes in the trees, hiding them from view of the road. We continued on foot, with only the half moon’s light to guide us. 

Then Bruiser shouldered me into the underbrush and pointed in the distance.

The glare of Pretty’s Boy headlight cut a blinding swath through the trees, rendering the trunks pale and ghostly. He knocked three times on one of the water tower’s deteriorating legs with a hollow, metallic ringing that echoed in the woods.

After a few minutes passed, a woman emerged, with striking red hair the color of a wildfire, and familiar honey-brown eyes that I haven’t seen in years.

Recognition slammed into me.

“Bobbie,” I rasped.

My mind whirled with a thousand questions. What was she doing in Juniper Creek? Why was she mixed up in club business? Did Pretty Boy put her up to this? 

Bobbie lingered at the forest’s edge, like a rabbit or a deer ready to bolt at the first sign of danger. She was practically drowning in layers of baggy clothes that hid her frame. Taking a few steps forward, she passed a white envelope to Pretty Boy.

“Huxley was spotted at a gas station in town,” she said. “And he’s using an alias. So he’s still lurking around.”

My heart lurched at the sound of her voice. I used to spend hours just listening to her talk about everything that crossed her mind while she distracted me from my nightmares and my insomnia. She would curl up beside me in bed, intertwining our fingers together, and the soft warmth of her presence never failed to soothe the noise in my mind. 

“Has he contacted his club?” Pretty Boy asked.

Bobbie shrugged.

“I don’t know. But I can’t give you boys all the answers. If The Filthy Rebels find out that I’m helping you, it’s my neck on the chopping block.”

“We can protect you,” Pretty Boy offered.

Bobbie glanced away and fiddled with her jacket sleeves, tugging them down over her hands. Before she could respond, a wolf howled in the distance. She flinched, skittish.

I hated seeing her spooked. I hated that she was involved in any of this. She could get hurt. And if The Filthy Rebels found out that she was the one feeding intel to us, they would hunt her down to shut her up.

Bobbie took a step back, retreating toward the trees.

I couldn’t let her slip through my fingers—not again. Without thinking, I barged through the underbrush. Bruiser swore, but I dodged out of reach when he tried to grab me.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he hissed.

Ignoring him, I stepped out of the forest. Pretty Boy growled at the sight of me. Bobbie’s eyes widened and she went white as a sheet.

“Hi, Bobbie,” I said. 

She swayed forward on her toes, muscles braced to bolt. Her gaze flicked to Pretty Boy.

“I thought I was crystal clear. You were supposed to come alone.”

“That was the plan,” Pretty Boy said through his teeth. He moved toward me with a threatening glare. I screwed up—big time—and he was going to rip me a new one.

But I skirted around him, keeping my gaze locked on Bobbie. I didn’t want to risk looking away, even for a moment. She might vanish, like a ghost, and I’d never see her again.

“How long have you been in town?” I asked.

Bobbie shifted from foot to foot restlessly, plucking at the frayed cuff of her denim jacket. It was huge on her—probably a men’s size—with a rainbow of haphazard patches in the worn-out elbows.

“A while,” she hedged.

That wasn’t a definitive answer, and her caginess suggested she wanted to escape this conversation as quickly as possible. 

“Bobbie,” I said softly. “It’s me. Arrow.”

She chewed her thumbnail.

“I know,” she whispered.

This was…confusing. And not the way she usually greeted me. She used to run into my arms, popping up on her toes to kiss my cheek while she chirped, there you are, my future husband, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.

But this was lukewarm at best.

Maybe Bobbie had moved on. Maybe she was in love with someone else. 

I held out my hand as an invitation. Bobbie glanced at my upturned palm and gingerly traced the scar there. Her touch felt like butterfly wings. 

Then her fingers strayed higher, to my wrist, grazing the cuff of tattoo ink. A lock of red hair brushed her cheek, and I resisted the urge to tuck it behind her ear. Or to thread my fingers into her hair, pulling her close.

Our breath frosted in the air, but the desire that vibrated between us was as hot as a fiery coal.

“What the hell are you doing here, Bobbie?” I said softly, my voice edged with concern.

The corner of her mouth twitched with a wry smile that didn’t meet her eyes.

“Hiding,” she said.

The pang of that one word made it hard to breathe.

“Hiding? From what?”

“Everything,” she replied. “Look, it’s a long story, and I’m getting cold—”

“Then come home with me,” I cut in. “Spend the night. We can talk. We can catch up. We can…”

I trailed off, floundering in my desperation to prevent her from running away again. Hell, I’d give her the moon if that’s what it took to convince her to stay.

“If I spend the night,” Bobbie said. “We would not be talking and you know it.”

I could practically feel Pretty Boy’s gaze drilling holes in my back, watching. Lowering my voice, I stepped closer to Bobbie, eliminating what little distance there was between us.

“Why do you think I made the offer?”

Bobbie’s throat worked as she swallowed. After what felt like a lifetime of deliberation, she fully placed her palm in mine, and I took her hand, lacing our fingers together. 

Chapter four

Bobbie

This was a colossal mistake.

Seeing Arrow up close had obliterated my self control and destroyed my defenses. I should have known better. His presence had a way of making me soft and vulnerable.

It was wonderful to finally let my guard down around someone, to feel completely and utterly safe in their presence.

And at the same time, it scared the shit out of me.

Arrow would always be my Achilles’ heel. The chink in my armor.

After a brief—and somewhat heated—exchange with Pretty Boy, Arrow parted ways with him. Then we agreed that I would follow him in my Range Rover to his place.

“It’s not a five-star hotel experience,” he said, unlocking the front door of his home. “But there’s central heating and running water.”

If only he knew how luxurious that sounded to me. Living out of my car, I had learned the art of taking the world’s fastest sponge bath in record time during the winter months.

Arrow turned on the lights, illuminating a spacious interior, with a loft and golden oak floors. An earthy scent filled my lungs when I breathed in.

The first floor had been split into two sections. 

One side was dedicated to the living room, with a flat screen television mounted on the wall, and some mismatched furniture that looked like Arrow had simply grabbed whatever he could get his hands on when it came to a couch or an armchair, as long as it was functional.

The other half of the room served as the kitchen. A rustic wooden counter top stretched the length of one wall, flanked by a refrigerator and a stove. The sturdy kitchen table was covered in tools and greasy machine parts.

“Ignore the mess,” Arrow said, clearing the table as quickly as he could. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

“What is all this?” I asked, examining a chunk of metal that I couldn’t identify.

“Lawn mower engine. It’s been giving me fits for months, and I should just replace the damn thing but…”

He trailed off with a shrug, dumping everything in a box and shoving it into a corner with his foot.

“But you won’t give up on it,” I said.

Just like you never gave up on me.

Arrow dragged his gaze up to meet mine, leaning back on the counter as he crossed his arms.

“I’m too stubborn for that.”

I gave a thoughtful hum, leaning back against the table. Only a few feet of space separated us, but there was an undeniable tension lingering there. Crackling with electricity. 

“I see some things never change,” I said. “In the group home, you would take apart the kitchen appliances when you couldn’t sleep. The poor toaster never quite worked right again.”

He huffed with dry amusement.

“That thing didn't work right to begin with. It’s a miracle we didn’t electrocute ourselves when we made toast every morning.”

His gaze slowly swept over me from head to toe, until heat flushed up my neck at his scrutiny. My skin felt too-tight, my stomach twisting in knots.

“Well, you must be doing well for yourself if you can afford a place like this,” I said, gesturing to my surroundings.

He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug.

“It used to be an old barn actually. Infested with mice. And it reeked of pig shit. The farmer just wanted someone to take it off his hands, and he sold it to me for pennies on the dollar.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“So, you literally live in a barn?”

Arrow rolled his eyes and the faint hint of a smile flickered across his lips.

“Yeah, yeah, crack all the jokes you want. I guarantee I’ve heard them before. Many times over.”

I exhaled a soft laugh, smoothing my hand over the table’s surface. There was so much room to move and breathe here. It looked nothing like a barn. Arrow had completely transformed it into something better. Something beautiful.

“Did you fix it up yourself?” I asked.

He shook his head.

“I had help from my club. It took all summer, but we stripped it down to bare bones. Then we worked from there. By the time the snow started to fly, I was settled in.”

His club—his friends. They helped him to build a home.

I slid my hands into my jacket pockets, suddenly feeling like an intruder in Arrow’s life.

“What are you doing here, Bobbie?” he asked, quiet and low. 

“You invited me,” I pointed out.

He angled his head with a look that clearly indicated he didn’t appreciate my evasive response. I swallowed hard and glanced away. 

“How long have you been in Juniper Creek?” Arrow prompted. “What the hell are you doing feeding information to my club? And why the fuck are you mixed up with Huxley?”

“You don’t waste any time getting straight to business, do you?” I asked, trying to laugh off the seriousness of the moment.

But Arrow didn’t laugh. He regarded me with steady gray eyes, pinning me with a piercing stare.

“It just sort of…happened,” I admitted. “By accident. I was working at this hole-in-the-wall bar and I overheard a few things about The Filthy Rebels. I didn't think much about it. Bikers, alcohol, testosterone, and bars—a potent combo bound to stir up drama every time."

"And where did Hillbilly factor in?"

"He stopped by for a drink, asked a few questions. I happened to know more than I realized, and he was willing to pay me for the information I had. The rest is history."

Arrow remained silent, waiting for me to continue. I sighed, tugging at the cuffs of my sleeves.

“I blew up my life in Nashville, Tennessee,” I said. “I ran away, like I always do. And I stumbled into town. Then I saw you.”

A gleam of interest sparked in Arrow’s eyes, but still, he said nothing. 

“You were thriving,” I said. “And I…wasn’t. I thought maybe you wouldn’t want the past to come knocking at your door again.”

“Bobbie,” Arrow chided gently.

Worry nagged at the back of my mind that I was ruining everything again. My brain itched. I tried to chew my thumbnail, but it was already down to a stub. 

Then a crinkly noise caught my attention. I glanced up to see Arrow opening a bag of pretzel sticks and holding it out in my direction.

“You’re not supposed to bite your nails,” he said. “Remember?”

“Old habits die hard.”

With a grateful look, I accepted the bag, savoring the crisp snap as I bit into a pretzel stick. A satisfying diversion and alternative to my nail biting.

Arrow stifled a yawn, scrubbing a hand over his face. 

Observing him from a distance during these past few years, it seemed as if he was doing a thousand times better than me. He had a place to live, a club that welcomed him, a job he enjoyed. 

Now that I had a chance to get a closer look at him, I noticed the dark circles hollowing his eyes, the strain in his face, and the faint tremor in his hands.

“Insomnia?” I asked.

He sighed.

“Yeah. And don’t change the subject. We’re talking about you.”

I wrinkled my nose.

“I hate talking about myself. You know that.”

“Too bad. Why are you snitching for my club, Bobbie?”

I plucked a few pretzels out of the bag, breaking them into little pieces over and over.

“Because I…wanted to protect you.”

Arrow frowned, brows lowered, muscle twitching in his clenched jaw.

“I don’t need your protection. I need you alive.”

“Not to play devil’s advocate or anything, but it looks like you’re doing just fine here. You don’t need me at all.”

I turned away to dump the pretzel bits into the sink, brushing my hands clean. Arrow didn’t say anything for nearly a full minute. When I turned back to face him, he gripped the counter behind him until his knuckles turned white.

As if he was physically holding himself back.

After a moment, he released a breath and shook his head.

“There are so many things wrong with that statement, I don’t even know where to begin.”

My heart fluttered against my ribs at his words, but I quickly reined in my reaction.

“We haven’t seen each other in years and the first thing you want to do is argue?”

“No,” Arrow said.

The hoarseness of that single syllable lingered in the air. His chest heaved with each breath, and his gaze swept over me again with unfiltered, raw desire.

I was supposed to keep my distance. I was supposed to stay away.

Instead, I stepped closer. Damn this man and whatever magnetic pull he had over me.

Reaching out, I traced the patches on his chest, along with the frayed stitches, and the well-worn cracks in his leather vest.

The Reckless Order MC.

Psycho.

Instantly, Arrow brought his hand up, curling his fingers around my wrist. His skin was scorching hot, but his touch was gentle and light.

"Why do they call you that?" I whispered. "Psycho?"

He shrugged.

"It's just biker shit—like a code name."

"But it's not without meaning," I countered.

Arrow licked his lower lip, deliberating.

"Normally, your road name is given to you. But I chose mine, before anyone else could do it. And people think twice about messing with you when they assume you're batshit crazy."

"Do I have to call you that?" I asked.

Arrow smoothed his thumb over my knuckles and shook his head.

"Call me whatever you want."

I kept my gaze lowered, following the path of my fingers as I trailed along the collar of his shirt. Then I met the warm skin of his throat, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

God, I missed him. I missed him so much that my bones ached with it.

But kissing him would be a bad idea.

Hell, being under the same roof together was problematic enough.

I want to call you mine, I thought.

The response weighed heavy on my tongue, but I was too scared to say it. To voice my desire, when it would likely wreck the one and only friendship I still had.

Arrow settled his hand on my hip, pulling me closer until our bodies were flush together. I bit my lip to stifle a whine at the contact. I could feel him—all of him. Every ridge of muscle. The way his ribs expanded when he sucked in a sharp breath at my touch. 

“I made a promise to you,” Arrow murmured.

I scoffed and shook my head.

“That was a long time ago. We were kids—barely thirteen years old. And we didn’t even realize what we were doing.”

“I knew,” he replied, without hesitation. “I knew exactly what I was doing.”

Arrow brought his other hand up, cradling the back of my head in his palm. His lips brushed the corner of my mouth in an almost-kiss.

A sob lodged in my throat. Fuck, it felt so good just to be held. There was always some part of me that remained guarded when I dated anyone else. I hated that look on their face when my mental illness inevitably leaked out. When the understanding dawned on them that I wasn’t quite right in the head.

But Arrow had witnessed everything. My meltdowns. My lowest depression and my highest manic episodes. My mood swings, careening through one emotion after another.

And the way he looked at me never changed.

“Promises are made to be broken, Arrow,” I said, my voice cracking.

“Not this one,” he replied.

Closing my eyes, I swayed into him. Arrow dipped his head to kiss my neck, sending an electric surge of pleasure zinging through every nerve in my body. I whimpered, fisting my fingers into his shirt to steady myself.

He moved his hand from my hip, sliding down to cup my ass with a firm squeeze. I gasped, slotting his knee between my thighs, squirming and desperate for friction. 

“The last time we saw each other,” I said, fighting to focus through the haze of ecstasy clouding my senses. “We were in a psych ward. Do you really think we have what it takes to make a good marriage?”

Arrow lifted his head to look at me. His pupils were dark with arousal, and there was no mistaking the growing bulge in his jeans, pressed to my hip. He said nothing for a moment, tracing my waistband with his knuckles.

Then he unbuttoned my pants, holding my gaze as he slid his hand inside my underwear. A moan fell from my lips when his callused fingertips brushed my clit.

“I think our marriage would never be boring." 

The huskiness of Arrow’s voice sent a flood of throbbing heat between my thighs. I clutched his wrist, digging my nails into his skin as he moved lower, stroking my slit. With agonizing slowness, he sank into my pussy, knuckles deep.

Arrow gripped the back of my neck, preventing me from looking anywhere else except him. He pressed his fingers upward at just the right angle to steal my breath away and curl my toes.

“I may lose my mind someday,” he said. “But I’m not losing you, Bobbie. Not again. I’ve waited a long time for the privilege of calling you my wife. And if—when—we end up back in that damn psych ward, I want the paperwork to show that we belong to each other.”

The last shred of my resolve to stay out of Arrow’s life crumbled to dust. 

My family had abandoned me. My relationships never lasted longer than three months at the most. I couldn’t hold down a job.

But Arrow wanted me. Even after all these years. He wanted me with everything he had and more.

Chapter five

Psycho

Our mouths collided in a hungry kiss as we stumbled up the staircase to the loft. Bobbie stripped off my cut and my shirt, draping them over the railing. She smoothed her hands over my chest and traced every inch of tattoo ink she could reach. When her fingers found the old knife scar on my ribs, I shivered at the ticklish sensation.

“I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for you in the hospital,” Bobbie whispered.

"How did you know I was in the hospital?" I replied.

"I'm nosy, remember? Lurking and snooping around in the shadows. I wanted to know what you've been up to. I wanted to know…if you were happy."

Taking Bobbie's hand away from my scar, I placed her palm against my heart instead.

"And what did you find? Am I happy here?"

She nodded.

"I think so."

"Well, secondhand gossip can't always be trusted. So, let me give you a piece of information straight from the source. Yes, I'm happy here. But I'm always happier when I'm with you."

Bobbie's eyes softened and her cheeks went a little pink.

"And for the record, I'm glad you weren't there for the knife incident," I added. "I was in rough shape for a while. You didn't need to see me like that. Besides, it's in the past and I'm fine now."

Still, she looked doubtful.

I peeled her oversized denim jacket off, kissing her neck as I did so. Bobbie murmured a pleased sound, swaying closer. Eager to distract her, I slipped my fingers under the hem of her shirt.

Instead of touching her smooth skin, I found an additional shirt. And another. I grunted with frustration as I sorted through three more layers.

“How many clothes are you wearing?”

"I get cold easily." She paused then added with an edge of sarcasm, "And some of us don't have a cozy remodeled barn to live in."

It wasn’t that cold though—not yet anyway. There were a few hard frosts in the season so far, but nothing close to how frigid it would get in the dead of winter. Bobbie would be a block of ice by then.

I cradled her hips as she tugged off her myriad of clothing—two T-shirts, and a long-sleeved thermal. At last, she was left in just a snug white tank top. No bra. And her nipples were already pebbled. My mouth watered at the thought of tasting them.

But…dear God, she was rail thin.

I could count all of her ribs. She used to be so plump, with curves like heaven that filled my hands. Sure, the last time we saw each other, we were in our early twenties. That was a long time ago and bodies changed. 

It worried me though.

“Jesus Christ, Bobbie,” I exhaled, horrified.

Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and she crossed her arms protectively over herself.

“That’s not exactly the reaction a woman wants to hear when she gets naked.”

I sighed and combed my fingers into her hair—that glorious, vibrant red. She used to be dishwater blonde, until she turned fourteen and got her hands on a box of cheap dye from the bargain bin at the corner store. It turned her hair a brassy orange, but Bobbie was thrilled at the wild rebellion of it. 

Her hair color changed many times after that—lavender, hot pink, acid green. She never went with a natural shade, like brunette or black. 

Deep down, I suspected she used her eye-catching hair color choices as a warning sign that was impossible to miss. Like a beacon in the night. Or the brightly colored camouflage of a poisonous caterpillar.

Red was her favorite. Not a dusky auburn or a carrot top. This was chili pepper red, or the blaze of a cop car’s red flashing lights in the dark. This was a red that undeniably sent a message: danger, do not approach.

Pulling Bobbie close, I kissed her, sweeping my tongue between her lips until she melted against me.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” I replied, apologetically. “I was just…shocked. You weren't this thin before."

She shrugged, rubbing her arms.

“Maybe this is the way I am now. Maybe I’m not the person you used to know.”

A challenge—pushing me away.

Well, it wouldn’t work.

I took Bobbie’s arms, guiding them around my neck. Then I hooked my hands behind her knees and picked her up. She squeaked with surprise, locking her legs around my waist.

“In that case," I said. "I’ll get reacquainted with the body of my bride-to-be.”

Bobbie’s eyes sparkled with anticipation. She bit her lip, but she couldn’t hide the smile that spread across her face.

As I carried her into the loft, the light from downstairs provided a muted glow to illuminate my way. Since I didn’t spend much time in my bedroom thanks to my insomnia, it was sparsely furnished with the bare essentials and it didn’t have many homey touches. On nights when I inevitably crashed from exhaustion, I would often sleep in one of the spare rooms at the clubhouse.

I set Bobbie on the edge of the mattress, cupping her ankle to pull her boot off, then the other. She unbuckled her belt and raised her hips, shimmying out of her jeans until she was down to simple white cotton underwear.

“At least you don’t have on three pairs of pants,” I said.

Bobbie laughed, even though she couldn’t quite suppress a shiver at losing the heat of her layers.

“You’re lucky. I’m usually wearing long johns, and they’re definitely not sexy. That would kill the mood in a heartbeat.”

Concern tugged at the back of my mind as I catalogued everything I’d noticed about Bobbie so far.

Multiple layers of baggy clothes. Long johns. Skinny as a skeleton, like she was starving. Seeing her drive up to my house in that dump of a Range Rover, packed with stuff, so she was obviously living out of her car. 

Bobbie shivered again, and it dawned on me that I was still standing here, lost in thought, with her other boot held in my grip. Trying to figure out what she wasn’t telling me. If I pushed her too hard for answers, she might make a run for it.

I needed to choose what was more important right now.

Digging for information?

Or having the woman I loved safe in my bed for the first time in years?

I tossed Bobbie’s boot on the floor and lifted her up, getting her situated more fully in the center of my mattress like a queen, reclining against my pillows. I pulled the sheets over us, creating a cocoon of warmth.

Bobbie was merely a silhouette now, rendered in shadow from the dim light filtering through the sheets. 

But I could feel her—soft skin and ribs as bumpy as a washboard, her fingers idly combing through my hair.

I could smell her, too. The faint scent of bleach, accompanied by a generically clean scent, nondescript, like hotel bar soap.

And I could taste her.

Pushing Bobbie’s tank top up, I trailed kisses along her torso until I reached those tempting nipples and sucked one into my mouth. Bobbie gasped, wiggling beneath me.

I pinched her nipple between my teeth with just enough of a burn to draw a needy whine out of her. Kissing my way down her body, I tongued at the hollow of her hip, and left bruising love bites like violets on her inner thighs.

Sliding Bobbie’s panties off, I pushed her knees apart. The salty-sweet musk of her arousal filled my lungs, blurring the edges of my thoughts. I slicked my fingers with saliva and took my time circling and stroking her clit.

“Fuck, Arrow,” she pleaded in a strangled voice. “Don’t tease me.”

“That’s part of the fun, sweetheart.”

Bobbie growled. But she broke off with a gasp as I slid two fingers inside her. When I pressed upward, she bowed off the bed, and her walls clenched. I anchored my forearm across her hips, pinning her to the mattress.

Then I locked my mouth around her clit and sucked hard.

Every muscle in Bobbie’s body seized tight. I flicked my tongue back and forth over her clit, swirling and sucking in alternating turns, until her cream dripped down my fingers, pooling in my palm.

Her thighs trembled, bracketing my head. I rutted against the mattress, desperate to ease the painful ache in my rigid cock.

“Holy shit,” Bobbie rasped. “That feels so good—”

Scooping my hands under her ass, I angled her higher, so I could properly feast on the ripeness of her pussy. Bobbie’s shallow panting and breathless moans mingled with my obscene slurping noises.

She wavered so close to release without reaching the tipping point. I held back to keep her there, dripping and blushing and begging. Her body arched, riding my tongue.

“Oh, goddamn it, Arrow, just—just make me come already, for Christ’s sake,” Bobbie said through her teeth.

I grinned and gave a teasing lick to the tip of her torturously stiff clit.

“It’s my job to ensure that my future wife gets as many orgasms as possible. A serious task like that can’t be rushed, honey.”

Bobbie started to protest, but I ducked down between her thighs again. And I locked in, eating her out like I was trying to suck the very soul from her body.

The ecstasy that played across her face was mesmerizing—her eyes screwed shut, the tendons in her neck stretched taut, and her head thrown back with that neon red hair fanning across my pillow in a halo of fire.

Her orgasm flooded through her, twisting, contorting. She shouted my name loud enough to make it echo against the rafters. I smiled with satisfaction at that beautiful sound.

As Bobbie came down, shivering and twitching with fading aftershocks, I smoothed my tongue gently against her clit. She struggled to catch her breath, her skin flushed, bruised, and covered with a sheen of sweat.

“You never really talked much,” she said, her voice hoarse. “But you know how to use your tongue really, really well.”

I breathed a faint laugh, kissing the inside of her knee. All at once, my limbs felt like they were filled with molten lead. The fatigue I’d been holding off for the past few days seemed to be catching up to me. 

But my cock was still raging hard, and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to finally be inside Bobbie after all this time apart.

I climbed up the bed, freeing myself from the sheets for fresh air, feeling like I was moving through molasses. Flopping down beside Bobbie, I wearily unbuckled my belt, but I barely managed to get my jeans down to my knees. Pulling her back against me, I closed my eyes, breathing her in, pressing my lips to the nape of her neck.

I was utterly exhausted beyond words.

Bobbie hummed as she wiggled deeper into my arms, pressing her ass against my groin.

“You can’t fall asleep yet,” she said. “Not with that boner poking me.”

I huffed a laugh and grasped the base of my cock, rubbing the tip along her soaked pussy.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I’m just…”

“Tired,” Bobbie replied softly. “I know. I can tell.”

I mumbled incoherently, lulled closer to the precipice of unconsciousness now that she was safely in my arms. Bobbie took my cock herself, lining me up at her entrance. 

“Wait…condom…” I mumbled.

“It’s fine, I'm on birth control."

She pushed her hips back and the silky heat of her pussy enveloped my cock with delirious pleasure.

“Fuuuuuck,” I sighed.

Bobbie gave a satisfied hum, slowly working her hips in circles until we could both feel every inch.

“What’s keeping you awake this time?” she asked.

I gritted my teeth with controlled thrusts, driving deeper and deeper each time.

“Dad. It’s usually him. Sometimes Mom, too. Mostly Dad though.”

Bobbie made a noise of understanding. She took my arm and brought my hand up to her mouth, kissing it sweetly. She rocked back to meet my thrusts, squeezing her pussy extra tight.

“The worst nightmare that keeps me awake is the fire," I said.

I’d told Bobbie every sordid detail about that hellish memory many times before. 

After Mom left and married another man, my father went ballistic. He punched holes in the walls. He smashed every dish in the kitchen, leaving broken pieces scattered on the floor. 

Then he started drinking.

And he didn’t stop until he was passed out stone cold on the floor of the living room. He forgot that the stove was on, forgot the abandoned pot of pasta he’d been cooking.

It started to smoke, the acrid stench filling the air. Eventually, the fire alarm went off, and the high-pitched beeping was so shrill, so relentless, that I clamped my hands over my ears.

I was too young to understand what was going on—barely three years old. The stove burst into flame, blackening the walls, the ceiling.

But when I tried to wake my dad, he wouldn’t respond. A cold clutch of terror seized around my heart like a giant fist. The fire was getting bigger with every passing second, charring the kitchen, flames slithering into the living room.

My home was burning. My father was lying there like a dead man. And I felt sick to my stomach with the certainty that I would be burned alive, with no one to save me.

“You’re here, Arrow. You’re safe.”

Bobbie’s voice sent the shadows of that memory scattering to the recesses of my mind. I held her tighter, burying my face in her neck, and pumping my cock a little harder into the velvety grip of her pussy.

I cupped Bobbie’s cheek and turned her head, tangling our tongues together to match every stroke that I buried inside her. She kept gliding up and down on my length, so slick and hot and good.

“You’re here and you’re safe,” she repeated, over and over.

The low warmth of my orgasm curled around my spine, spreading, blooming. My senses were full of Bobbie—her taste lingering on my tongue, her scent in my lungs with every breath, and her body beneath my hands, her chilled skin pressed to mine.

“Come inside me,” Bobbie murmured. “I missed the way you filled me up like no one else could.”

Gripping her hip, I grunted as I pushed deep, grinding hard. Bobbie moaned and her walls fluttered around my cock.

“Fuck, yes, just like that.”

My orgasm slammed into me and burst like fireworks. I kept pumping with sloppy thrusts, driven by the pure instinct to stay inside her pussy as long as possible after being apart too long.

Eventually, my body sagged, and the lack of sleep dragged me under. I didn’t pull out—didn’t want to, didn’t have the energy. Not even for that.

I hooked an arm around Bobbie’s hips, holding her in place.

“Stay,” I croaked against her hair. “Please. Don’t leave. Don’t…don’t disappear on me again.”

A heartbeat of silence filled the room. I waited, expecting Bobbie to promise that she wasn’t going anywhere.

But she said nothing.

And the bliss of sleep closed over me at last.

Chapter six

Bobbie

Within minutes, Arrow’s breathing evened out to a steady rhythm. The tight embrace of his arms went slack as sleep took him under, and he slumped heavily against my back.

A small smile touched my lips and I soaked up as much of his sweltering body heat as I could.

During my four years in Juniper Creek, I didn’t date or hook up. I wanted to slip through the cracks intentionally, unattached and invisible. I told myself it was better that way, since I wasn't staying.

Inevitably, I would pack up and leave town. Just like I always did, searching for a home and a place to belong that I never found.

Deep down, I didn’t want to admit that I was scared—scared of ruining yet another relationship, scared to build friendships that fell apart, scared to let people see the real me. Maybe it was better that I remained alone, isolated, where I couldn’t hurt anyone. 

I was scared of being unwanted again, just like I’d been unwanted by my family.

But I had to admit…it felt so good to be held.

Bringing Arrow’s hand up to my mouth, I pressed my lips to his knuckles with a kiss. As much as I loved hearing him talk about keeping his promise to me, fulfilling our pact of marriage, the logistics of it were…complicated.

Arrow clearly put down roots here. He found his home where he belonged.

But I didn’t know how to live like that. And hell would have to freeze over before I ever asked Arrow to give up his happiness for my sake, just because I couldn’t stay in one place for long.

With a sigh, I carefully slid out of bed. A strangled noise lodged in my throat when his cock finally slipped out and I felt empty all over again. Arrow frowned, reaching for me in his sleep, but he didn’t wake.

My heart squeezed at the sight of his relaxed features, his rumpled hair spilling over his forehead. He looked so…peaceful. I smoothed my thumb along the familiar wrinkle of stress between his brows.

The day he turned eighteen and aged out of the foster care system, I thought my world was ending. I cried so hard that I nearly puked.

You’re going to forget all about me, I sobbed. Everyone else left me, and now you’re leaving me, too.

We stayed in touch for a while, calling each other nearly every day.

Two years later, it was my turn to leave foster care. But I didn’t pick up the phone when Arrow called to offer his congratulations. Because I couldn’t bear to hear how he had moved on without me.

Life had a funny way of making our paths cross again anyway. In our twenties, Arrow and I ended up in the same psychiatric hospital for a few weeks. 

I was riding the high of a manic episode. 

And Arrow was in the trenches of PTSD, hallucinating the flames of a fire that didn’t exist. His eyes were haunted with ghosts from his past. He couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, and he spent most days in a medicated haze to calm his restless agitation.

But when he was lucid, we would end up like this—skin to skin, chasing the euphoria of an orgasm that no pill could provide. 

I tiptoed to the adjoining bathroom to clean up, then raided his closet for a shirt, tugging it over my head. Closing my eyes, I bundled the fabric to my nose and breathed in Arrow’s scent—heady and masculine, with a hint of sharp black coffee, woodsy soap, and engine grease from the auto shop. 

After checking one last time to make sure Arrow was still asleep, I headed down to the kitchen, rummaging around for food. I was surprised to find the fridge was stacked with containers of leftover homemade dishes—lasagna, mac and cheese, barbecue ribs, and chunky beef stew. From what I remembered, Arrow didn’t like to cook, let alone this well. 

I grabbed a container of the barbecue and warmed it up in the microwave, wincing at the loud beep every time I pushed a button on the interface. As I started searching the drawers for silverware, movement through the kitchen window caught my attention.

My heart jolted. A hulking figure crouched in the dark—the unmistakable silhouette of a man. And he was huge. What the fuck was a man that size doing outside of Arrow’s house in the middle of the night? Were The Filthy Rebels making their move on Arrow?

I spotted a set of kitchen knives on the counter and grabbed the biggest one among them, gripping the handle tight. How the hell could I possibly defend myself against a man that big? And what if there were more of them that I couldn’t see…?

Then Arrow wrapped his hand around my wrist, gently prying the knife away from me. I hadn’t heard him descend the stairs or enter the kitchen. He was barefoot, wearing only his jeans, and no shirt. He must have woken up to come find me when he realized my side of the bed was empty.

“Take it easy,” he rasped, his voice gritty from sleep. 

“But there’s a man outside—”

Arrow waved off my protest, unconcerned despite my pounding heart. He moved to the back door of the kitchen and poked his head out.

“Bruiser, get your ass in here.”

A moment later, Bruiser’s bulky, muscled figure filled the doorway. I raised my eyebrows and tugged self-consciously at the hem of my borrowed shirt, wishing that I’d thought about grabbing a pair of pants, too.

“Coffee?” Arrow asked him.

Bruiser grunted in agreement, and his dark eyes briefly glanced over me before sliding away again.

“You blew our cover at the water tower,” he said.

“I know, but I had good reason,” Arrow countered as he filled the coffee pot with water at the sink. “I told Pretty Boy that I gave you the slip.”

Bruiser snorted.

“Yeah, he didn’t buy that. He chewed my damn ear off for letting you walk all over me. And now, you and I both will be scrubbing toilets at the clubhouse. For a month.”

The corner of Arrow’s mouth twitched with a faint smile as he started the coffee pot. It hissed and sputtered and gave off a plume of steam. A moment later, the microwave pinged and when I opened the door, the scent of sweetly smokey barbecue filled the air.

“Fuck, that smells like Ironside’s ribs,” Bruiser said, eyeing the container in my hands as I brought it to the table. “Slow-roasted over hickory, with that honey-bourbon glaze.”

“Would you…like some?” I offered.

He glanced up from the barbecue, looking over me again. Then he shook his head.

“From the looks of you, I'd say you need it more than I do. A stiff breeze could knock you over. And I’d better not touch it anyway. That damn barbecue makes me nap like a baby, and I’m on watch until sunrise.”

“On watch?” I asked, confused.

“Because of Huxley’s jailbreak,” Arrow put in. He retrieved a mug from the cabinet and poured the coffee. “In my club, we look out for each other. That means a protection detail. Whether I like it or not,” he added, passing the coffee to Bruiser.

I picked at the barbecue ribs, licking the sticky sauce off my fingers. No wonder Bruiser was practically drooling over it. The meat was so tender that it fell off the bone, and the sauce was rich and full of flavor.

Bruiser took a seat across from me, bracing his elbows on the table. 

“So, you’re Hillbilly’s snitch, huh? You’re not what I expected.”

I waved one of the ribs in the air.

“And what did you expect exactly?”

He shrugged.

“Someone who wasn’t wearing Psycho's shirt.”

I paused mid-chew. Arrow came up beside me and draped his arm across my shoulders.

“This is Bobbie,” he said, his voice loaded with meaning.

Understanding dawned on Bruiser’s face. He cast another assessing glance my way and made a noise I couldn’t interpret, sipping his coffee.

“You’re that crazy chick he couldn’t stop talking about when he got out of the loony bin,” Bruiser said.

Arrow growled, baring his teeth. I coughed a laugh and left the last two ribs in the container, sliding it down to Bruiser. He caught it with one hand, lifting his chin with a grateful nod.

“Well, you don’t sugar coat things, do you?” I said.

“I swear he was raised by fucking wolves,” Arrow grumbled.

He shot a menacing glare at Bruiser. But Bruiser didn’t seem to give a shit as he eagerly ripped the ribs apart and sucked the meat off the bones.

On one hand, Bruiser’s bluntness was refreshing. So many people treated me like glass when they discovered the truth about my mental health and my disorders. It was exhausting sometimes, and I didn’t want to be handled with kid gloves. I wanted to be normal, like everybody else.

On the other hand, I couldn’t deny there was a slight sting to the label. I wasn’t cute, or pretty, or the funny one. I was that crazy chick. And sure, I was used to the stigma that crazy carried by now.

But it left a sour taste in my mouth to realize that I was simply known as the crazy girlfriend.

As if he could read my thoughts, Arrow squeezed my shoulder and kissed my temple.

“Ignore him, okay?” he said. “Bruiser doesn’t know when to shut his big mouth. Did you get enough to eat? Are you still hungry?”

I contemplated the stack of containers in the fridge, but then I thought better of it. As tempting as it was to eat my fill, I didn’t want to take Arrow’s food.

“I’m fine,” I replied. “I was just looking for a little midnight snack.”

Arrow narrowed his eyes for a split second, skeptical of my response.

“I’ll warm up the beef stew and make you some toast to go along with it.”

Bruiser scoffed, smacking his lips.

“Are you sure you can manage that? I've seen you burn cereal before. You're a hazard in the kitchen."

Arrow flipped him off without even sparing a glance in his direction. I slid out of my chair and crossed to Arrow’s side, standing at the counter.

“Hey, it’s late,” I whispered. “And you’re exhausted. You shouldn’t be cooking for me. You should be going back to bed.”

“This isn’t my cooking,” Arrow replied. “I’m just warming it up. Ironside and Jenny are the ones who keep stuffing leftovers in my fridge. Most of it goes to waste, because I can’t finish it all. You’re actually the one doing me a favor here.”

My heart clenched to hear that these people took care of Arrow, cooking homemade meals for him, making sure that he never went hungry. That’s what a family was supposed to do for each other.

I watched him with a pang in my chest as Arrow turned on the stove, pouring the beef stew in a pot. Reaching out, I trailed my hand up his bicep, over his shoulder, and down his back, proving to myself that he wasn’t just a dream.

But he was warm to the touch, solid, real.

Arrow took my hand and kissed the scar on my palm, holding my gaze with his steady gray eyes.

When I took a breath to speak, the roar of motorcycles split the stillness of the night. A moment later came a barrage of gunfire.

Glass exploded around me in stinging shards.

“Get down!” Bruiser bellowed.

In a blur of movement, Arrow hooked an arm around me, crushing me against his chest, and we hit the floor. The weight of his body against my back knocked the breath out of my lungs.

Bruiser’s heavy footsteps thundered toward the kitchen door, followed by a quick pop-pop-pop of return fire.

There was blood on my hands, and I could taste the metallic tang of it on my tongue. Arrow clutched me so tightly that it was a miracle my ribs didn’t crack.

“We know you’re in there, Psycho,” a man’s voice called. “Come out and play. Payback is gonna be a fucking bitch.”

Chapter seven

Psycho

I recognized the sound of Huxley’s voice, taunting me. Bobbie trembled, probably scared out of her damn mind. Fuck, this was the last thing she needed right now.

The gunshots stopped, but the motorcycles continued to rev at a deafening level. I brushed Bobbie’s hair out of her face and rolled her over, making sure she wasn’t hurt. Blood stained her teeth and her hands were painted red.

Bile burned in the back of my throat and I could have sworn my heart stopped beating.

“Shit, honey, you’re bleeding—”

“I’m okay,” Bobbie said, fighting to catch her breath. “It’s just…it’s glass. I cut my hands on the glass when we hit the floor. And I…I must have bit my tongue. I’m not—I wasn’t—I haven’t been…shot.”

She was shaking so hard in shock that she could barely speak. I grabbed a dish towel and bunched it up, pressing it to her bloody hands. Cupping her face, I skimmed my thumb along her lower lip.

“Can you show me?” I prompted.

Bobbie blinked then smirked a little and stuck her tongue out at me.

“Classy,” I said dryly. 

To my relief, she had no other injuries. Just a bite to her tongue and a few minor cuts and scratches from the glass. God, I shuddered to think how much worse it could have been.

“Psycho,” Bruiser barked. “They’re coming in.”

Swearing under my breath, I tucked Bobbie into a sheltered corner of the kitchen, with her back against the cabinets. Digging my phone out of my pocket, I shoved it into her hands.

“Stay low. Call for backup, and tell them to haul ass.”

Bobbie nodded, wide-eyed. Despite her shock, she didn’t freak out. I was so fucking proud of her for keeping a cool head amid the crisis.

I risked a glance through the now-gaping kitchen window to see five or six Rebels milling around outside. That wasn’t even half of their club. But that still left us outnumbered.

A booming thud echoed against the front door as someone tried to break it down. My pistol was in a safe upstairs in my closet. With no time to retrieve it, I had to come up with another way to defend myself.

My gaze fell on the box of lawn mower engine parts, and I spotted a wrench poking out. I grabbed it like a club, satisfied at the weight of it in my grip.

Then the door splintered, the lock buckled, and Huxley barged into my home, carrying a pistol. Two Rebels flanked him. He bared his teeth with a wolfish grin.

“I wish you could see the look on your face right now.”

“Well, I wish that you’d been shivved in prison, to give you a little taste of your own medicine,” I bit back. “But I guess we can’t always get what we want, right?”

Huxley’s eyes darkened and his grin turned into a sneer.

“You mouthed off to me once before. Sounds like you didn’t learn your lesson. I’ll have to teach you again. And I’ll make sure it really sticks this time.”

I could hear a scuffle emanating from the direction of the kitchen door as Bruiser did his best to prevent the Rebels from swarming us. We couldn’t hold them off for long, but we just needed to distract them until The Reckless Order showed up.

“We have an agreement between our clubs,” I reminded him. “We’re on peaceful terms.”

Huxley shrugged.

“I heard about that. But I was in jail at the time, thanks to you. Since you put me there, we took a vote and we agreed that there are exceptions to every rule.” 

Huxley handed his pistol to one of the Rebels next to him, and pulled a knife from his boot, flipping it in the air and catching it with ease.

“My Old Lady left me when I was in prison. I lost my house. The only thing I have left to my name is my place among the Rebels as their Road Captain.”

I clucked my tongue.

“Aww. That’s sweet, saving your seat at the table like you’re besties back in middle school.”

Goading him wasn’t a bright idea, but I was tired and pissed off. If Huxley wanted a fight, to hell with it. I’d give him the fight of his fucking life.

A muscle twitched in Huxley’s jaw and his grip on the knife’s hilt tightened. I braced for impact.

His gaze flicked past my shoulder and a glimmer of recognition sparked in his gaze. He could easily see into the kitchen from the entry way.

"Is that your girlfriend?" Huxley pointed in Bobbie's direction. "I heard a redhead was sniffing around, asking questions about me."

"She's none of your business," I bit out.

Huxley laughed, low and dark.

"Give me a few minutes with her. I'll find out if she's your precious little rat."

"Put your hands on her and I'll rip you to fucking pieces," I said coolly.

He lunged, taking a wild swing at me, blade singing through the air. He aimed for my ribs again, jabbing and slashing. I was prepared this time and blocked the blow, ramming my wrench into his gut.

Huxley grunted from the force of the impact and doubled over. His eyes flashed with anger.

“I’m not some scrappy newbie anymore, too green around the gills,” I said. “If you want to win this time, you better work for it.”

Huxley spat on the ground between us, adjusting the knife in his hand. 

Just as he took a step toward me, the glare of flashing blue and white lights spilled through my broken windows.

“Cops,” one of the Rebels said. “Cyclone, we gotta go.”

Huxley seethed at being forced to back down. But if he didn’t go now, the cops would take him back to jail. He had to choose—killing me, or keeping his freedom.

In the end, he pointed at me with his knife.

“This isn’t over, asshole. I’ll be back and I’ll skewer you and your girlfriend like a piece of meat for ruining my life."

“Looking forward to it,” I replied in a bored voice.

Huxley huffed, turned on his heel, and bolted out the door. The roar of motorcycles filled the air. I watched as The Filthy Rebels dodged the line of police cars pulling into my driveway, and disappeared into the night.

Cops and bikers were usually like oil and water—we didn’t mix well. And since my home was the site of a shootout, that would give the police even more reason to scrutinize every damn thing I said or did.

I could take the heat. But Bobbie…

When I returned to the kitchen, she peered up at me from where she was huddled into a tight ball. My shirt swamped her thin figure. The urge to simply pull her into my arms and hold her overwhelmed me, but we couldn’t afford that luxury right now.

Someone cleared their throat. I turned to see a middle-aged police officer skirting around the ruins of my front door, dangling haphazardly on the hinges.

“Sheriff Todd Whitfield with the Juniper Creek Police Department,” he said, shaking my hand. “It looks like you were roughed up tonight.”

“Just some bad blood between clubs, Sheriff,” I replied.

He hummed in thought, with one hand resting casually on the butt of his pistol as he glanced around.

“Well, Hillbilly sends his regards. I really need to stop answering the damn phone when I see his number. But I owed him a favor, and now we’re finally even, so he can stop holding it over my head.”

I let out a breath of relief and sagged into a chair at the kitchen table. 

“Bobbie called for backup.”

Whitfield shook his head.

“She didn’t call us. She called your old President. Then he turned around and bullied me into doing his bidding, as if he’s the one bankrolling my paycheck.”

I chuckled, feeling a fresh wave of pride all over again. Bobbie called my club instead of the cops, giving us a chance to handle our business without having the police breathing down our necks. I kept forgetting how much she had learned about my life and my club while she was in town before reconnecting with me. 

Bruiser traipsed in through the kitchen door, with a black eye, busted knuckles, and wiping blood from his mouth.

“Those bastards really thought they could take me and win, since it was three to one. Until I started fucking swinging. Then they figured out real quick that they picked the wrong fight.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Whitfield said. “In fact, my incident report will say this was nothing but a false alarm, so it won’t even be on the books.”

I took a breath to speak, but he held up a hand to silence me.

“Next time I show up at your doorstep, I won’t be playing good cop. Hillbilly gave me the break in a case that I needed, and I was promoted to Sheriff because of it. The score is settled now. No more favors."

“If you’re looking for another lucky break,” I replied. “I can point you in the direction of an escaped fugitive.”

Whitfield arched an eyebrow with interest.

“You have my attention. Off the record, of course.”

After I explained the situation with Huxley, Whitfield started issuing a series of rapid-fire orders into the handheld radio clipped to his uniform. 

A moment later, the familiar rumble of motorcycles approached. Within less than a minute, my house was full of bikers as The Reckless Order streamed in my door, milling around.

I waded through the melee to Bobbie’s side and helped her up. Her hands weren’t bleeding anymore, but the cuts would need some TLC.

“Seven,” I called above the hum of voices clamoring over each other. “I need you to look after my girl for me. She’s hurt.”

It went so silent that I could have heard a pin drop. Everyone turned to look at us. Bobbie sucked in a sharp breath and stared at me.

“What is it?” I whispered. “What did I say?”

“You—you called me your girl,” Bobbie replied softly, her cheeks going pink. 

I slipped an arm around her waist, tucking her into my side. Her fingers grazed the scar on my ribs.

“Because it’s true,” I said.

Her throat worked as she swallowed hard. She ducked her head and pressed a kiss to my shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut. Then she gasped.

“Arrow, there’s a piece of glass stuck in your back.”

I twisted around, but it was nearly impossible to get a good look at the chunk of glass protruding from my shoulder blade. Now that the adrenaline was beginning to wear off, I could feel the sharp edges of it though, especially when I moved.

“Sit down,” Seven said, gesturing to the kitchen table. “Both of you. Don’t make things worse than they already are.”

I pulled Bobbie’s chair tight against mine, until our thighs were pressed together. I rested my palm on her bouncing knee as she tried not to squirm while Seven doused her cuts in alcohol and wrapped her hands with gauze.

Pretty Boy stepped in and took over.

“Tarzan and Trooper, check the perimeter of the house and make sure we don’t have any surprise visitors lurking around. Bruiser, you’re done for the night. Grab a beer and put some ice on your face before you swell up like a balloon. Viper, you’re on watch.”

Brass and Recoil began sweeping up the broken glass. Ironside retrieved a blanket from the back of the couch, and draped it around Bobbie’s shoulders. Hades examined the front door and removed it from the broken hinges.

When everyone was busy with their respective tasks, Pretty Boy propped a hand on the table and gestured to us.

“You two are staying at the clubhouse until Huxley is back in prison,” he said. 

I cast an apologetic glance at Bobbie. There would be no privacy, no peace and quiet at the clubhouse. And my brothers were about to pester her with all kinds of questions about our relationship.

Especially now that I had publicly staked my claim on her in front of them.

My girl.

I smiled to myself, smoothing my thumb over Bobbie’s knee. 

I liked the sound of that.

Chapter eight

Bobbie

The first blush of dawn began to color the sky when Arrow and I got settled at the clubhouse in one of the back rooms. It was furnished with the basic necessities—a bed, a nightstand, a closet, and a table in the corner, with an adjoining bathroom.

I crawled into bed immediately, fully clothed, and carefully rested my bandaged hands on my stomach. The cuts weren’t deep, but they did sting like hell. Seven gave me a few painkillers to take the edge off.

Arrow removed my boots, lining them up next to the bed.

“I could get used to this royalty treatment if you're not careful,” I murmured with fatigue.

He chuckled and kicked off his own boots before easing into bed beside me. 

“You’re sleeping in a spare room at a biker bar. I’d hardly consider that royalty treatment.”

I rolled over and wiggled closer to him, resting my head on Arrow’s shoulder.

“You know what I mean. Taking off my shoes, making sure I get enough to eat, giving me orgasms. You're treating me like a princess.”

I yawned and snuggled against him, draping my arm across his middle.

“It’s nice,” I added, slurring as I began to drift off.

Despite my exhaustion, I could feel the tension in Arrow’s body. He wouldn’t be going to sleep any time soon. Not after The Filthy Rebels and Huxley had shot up his home.

“Close your eyes, Arrow,” I said.

“I’m not tired,” he protested.

I scoffed.

“Liar.”

He laughed softly and gingerly kissed my hand.

The muted sounds of activity in the clubhouse created a comforting drone of background noise, signaling we weren’t alone here—the clatter of dishes, the clink of glass, the dull hum of voices.

“Why did you call Hillbilly?” Arrow asked after a while.

My eyelids were too heavy, and I didn’t have the strength to open them. But I managed a lazy shrug in response.

“Because he was my first contact with your club,” I said. “I know him better than anyone else. And besides, he’s retired. So, he’s guaranteed to be bored out of his damn mind and desperate for something to do.”

Arrow snorted with amusement.

“Well, it was good thinking. Things can get complicated when cops are involved. We prefer to handle club business on our own whenever we can. Keep it in the family, so to speak.”

I hummed.

“I’ve noticed.”

During my stay in Juniper Creek, it wasn’t hard to figure out why The Reckless Order and the cops didn’t get along. Many members had a criminal record, and a questionable history of skirting the rules to resolve their conflicts.

“I keep forgetting you’re nosy,” Arrow said. “How much dirt did you dig up on us anyway?”

I breathed a tired laugh.

“I learned enough to know that literally nothing will stop you from protecting each other. Fighting for each other. Not even the law.”

Arrow turned his head and brushed a kiss to my temple.

“Damn straight, baby. We would burn the world down to take care of our own if that’s what we have to do.”

I said nothing as the haze of sleep grew thicker, dragging me into unconsciousness. Arrow shifted, tucking the covers tighter around me.

“Have you been living out of your car, Bobbie?”

It took a few seconds for me to grasp the meaning of his words. I could barely think straight. And in the back of my mind, I knew he was probing for answers while my defenses were down. But I was too exhausted to care.

“I used to be on the streets,” I mumbled. “But my Rover is better.”

“Is that why you’re so thin?” Arrow asked. “Because you haven’t been getting enough to eat?”

I sighed. It was becoming harder to stay awake, to string together a coherent sentence.

“It’s just…difficult to know…where my next meal will come from. So, I gotta…make my food last.”

“Jesus, Bobbie,” Arrow croaked. “I never want you to feel like that again.”

The mattress dipped and he slipped out of bed, grabbing his boots and pulling them on. I sat up, blinking and groggy.

“Are you leaving?”

My heart gave a sickening jolt against my ribs. Maybe I had said too much. Maybe I shouldn’t have told him those things and now he had changed his mind and he didn’t want to marry me anymore.

Arrow brushed his knuckles against my cheek.

“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart,” he murmured soothingly. “I just thought you might like a big breakfast in bed.”

I paused as I processed his answer. After a few moments, I sank back against the pillows with relief.

“That does sound good.”

Arrow smiled softly and leaned over me, kissing my forehead.

“I’ll be back before you know it. Get some rest while you can.”

Forty-five minutes later, Arrow returned with breakfast that was fit for a small army—two cups of coffee, a giant stack of flapjacks swimming in syrup, crispy smokey bacon, creamy oatmeal with slices of juicy golden peaches, eggs sunny side up, and thick cuts of buttered toast. 

But I was in the middle of a manic episode and too restless to touch a single bite of it.

Arrow found me in the bathroom, with steam billowing in the air. I stood before the mirror in only my tank top and jeans, with a towel draped around my shoulders. My hair was a wet, stringy mess.

“Bobbie, honey, what are you doing?” he asked, incredulous. 

“I found a box of hair dye under the sink.” Grabbing the box, I turned it toward him. “Look. It’s electric blue. No offense, but I doubt you boys would be able to pull off this color. So, I thought I’d give it a go.”

Arrow stared at me for a moment. He set the tray of food aside on the table.

“A club bunny probably left it behind. It’s all yours.”

“Perfect,” I chirped.

“When I left, you were almost asleep,” he pointed out. “And now you’re…”

“Manic,” I finished for him, lifting a limp strand of hair to examine the dye job. “I know. The stress most likely set me off. I feel like I could run ten miles, and I haven’t even had a drop of coffee yet.”

“You’re not going anywhere near caffeine.”

I stuck my lip out in a mock pout.

“You never let me have any fun.”

Arrow chuckled and stepped closer, leaning his hip against the counter. Sliding one finger under my chin, he tilted my head up to meet his eyes.

“Every time you get the urge to change your hair color, you’re usually itching to run away.”

I huffed with frustration and pulled back, sticking my head under the faucet to rinse out the dye. It’s like Arrow had X-ray vision or something. He could see right through me.

When I woke up, it felt like I had a belly full of bees, buzzing with anxiety. The insatiable urge to leave—just go—made my muscles tense and my teeth clench. 

The logical part of my brain recognized that this was a trigger. I didn’t want to leave Arrow. But so much had happened in such a short span of time that my brain and my nervous system were overloaded.

Living with mental illness was a strange experience sometimes. Like watching a speeding train, careening closer with every passing second. I knew I needed to stop it, but actually managing to do that was the tricky part.

After rinsing my hair, I wrapped it in a towel. Then I started scrubbing the bathroom. The sink was a mess, pockmarked with watery blue dye, and my clothes were piled on the floor, and we were stuck in this goddamn clubhouse until further notice. Dear God, I was going to lose my mind if I had to stay in this room another second longer.

“Bobbie, honey,” Arrow said gently.

He came up behind me, wrapping his hands around my wrists so I would stop cleaning.

“Why don’t you take a break and eat a few bites—”

I shook my head, twisting away from him.

“Not right now. I made a mess and I really should get it cleared up and…”

“Bobbie, it’s okay,” Arrow whispered in a voice that had me blinking back tears. He was so damn patient with me. “Leave the mess. We’ll worry about it later.”

I fiddled with one of the buttons on his shirt.

“You’re so hot when you talk me through my mental breakdowns.”

He breathed a faint laugh, sliding his arms around my waist.

“I’d do anything to make you feel better, baby. You know that.”

I arched an eyebrow.

“Anything?”

Arrow shook his head.

“No, we’re not having sex. Not when you’re like this.”

His words seared into my gut like a sizzling iron brand. Shame prickled up my spine with a thousand scorching needles.

I understood his reasoning—I wasn’t entirely in my right mind at the moment. And Arrow was extra careful when it came to my consent. During a manic episode, I tended to get reckless, wild, and threw caution to the wind. I said yes to things that I shouldn’t, just for the thrilling rush of adrenaline.

My emotional state was too fragile, too volatile and reactive, to grasp that reasoning.

“Like this?” I jabbed my finger in my chest. “This is what I’m like all the time, Arrow. This is me. There will never be a time when I’m not like this.”

Arrow held up a hand in an attempt to reassure me.

“Hold on, I didn’t mean it that way—”

“I want to do better,” I said, my voice cracking. “I’ve been to the doctors. I’ve tried the medications. I do the damn breathing exercises. And I try. I try so hard.”

“I know you do, sweetheart.”

“But it’s never enough. I’m still…like this,” I added, gesturing to myself. “I wish I could change my brain. I wish I could just start over and be someone else. Someone who is easy to love.”

Arrow sat on the edge of the tub, pulling me down into his lap.

“Hey, hey, I never said you’re hard to love.”

I made a strangled noise, part bitter laugh, part sob.

“You didn’t have to say it. I see evidence of it every single day of my life. No family, no friends, no home, no job. I’m nobody.”

He frowned, swiping a tear away from my cheek. Taking my hand, he turned my palm up, pressing his thumb to the scar there.

“You are mine, Bobbie. I promised you that, remember? You are mine and I am yours.”

My vision misted with tears and my jaw ached from clenching my teeth to stop myself from bawling like a baby.

“I should be alone, Arrow. It’s better that way. Even my own family couldn’t love me.”

“No,” he said. “I won’t give up on you. I won’t let you go. You’re my girl, Bobbie. That has never changed.”

Damn it, why did he have to be so stubborn? I pressed my palms to my eyes, fighting to compose myself.

“It’s not your job to fix me. It’s not your job or your responsibility. And maybe…maybe I’m too broken to be a wife.”

“Then we won’t get married,” Arrow replied.

My heart felt like it was splitting open. I couldn’t breathe. My chest hurt. Isn’t that the answer I wanted to hear? Arrow would marry someone else, someone who wasn’t me. He deserved that. 

But it was going to kill me. Slowly. From the inside out.

Arrow pressed his forehead to mine as I clamped a hand over my mouth to hold back the gut wrenching sob that was welling up in the pit of my stomach.

“I don’t need a ring or a wedding or a certificate of marriage to love you, Bobbie,” he said. “I have always wanted just you. Whatever wacky color your hair is. Whatever is going on in your brain. I. Want. You.”

My heart was racing a mile a minute, and a wrecked noise of relief tore from my throat. 

“It’s not fair,” I whimpered.

“What’s not fair, baby?”

“Now I really, really want to fuck your brains out, and I can’t because you’re such a damn gentleman about it.”

Arrow laughed—that beautiful laugh from deep in his belly, with his head thrown back and his whole body shaking with amusement.

He was right. Whether we were married or not, our hearts belonged to each other.

Chapter nine

Psycho

Bobbie was a little more rational after she let me convince her to eat something. She sat cross-legged on the bed, carving into the flapjacks.

“Are you taking any meds?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“Not anymore. I used to have a prescription for my anxiety, and that seemed to keep me on the level for longer periods of time. But the pills ran out two years ago. And it’s tough to get meds when you’re…” She cleared her throat and fiddled with a piece of toast. “You know, homeless.”

I sat on the bed beside her and placed my palm on the nape of her neck for comfort.

“You have a home now. We’ll work on getting you that medication, okay?”

A faint smile flickered across Bobbie’s lips. Her skin was splotchy and her eyes were still red from crying. She scratched at the towel on her head and gestured toward the bathroom with her thumb.

“I should go dry my hair and assess the damage I did with this dye job.”

I plucked a piece of bacon from the breakfast tray and held it out to her.

“Take some bacon for the road.”

She rolled her eyes and accepted it without protest anyway.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to fatten me up like a goose before the slaughter?”

I scoffed and tugged on her wrist, pulling her to stand between my knees.

“I’m not fattening you up like a goose. I’m taking care of my girl. You are never going hungry on my watch.”

A pleased blush colored Bobbie’s cheeks. Then a firm knock echoed at the door.

“Psycho, you have a visitor,” came Trooper’s voice. “She didn’t give a name, but she seemed to know all about you.”

Bobbie raised her eyebrows.

“Do I have competition for your affection? Has an old flame returned in the hopes of winning your heart back?”

I swatted her ass lightly. She yelped with a laugh and danced out of reach, ducking into the bathroom.

Trooper led me out to the parking lot where a woman waited, leaning back against a rusty sedan. I didn’t recognize her—probably somewhere in her early twenties, with peroxide blonde hair, hot pink heels, and a tight black mini skirt.

Since the clubhouse was on lockdown until further notice, we weren’t allowing visitors inside. The only people who could cross that threshold right now were members of the club and their loved ones. 

“You wanted to see me?” I said as I approached.

The woman extended her hand, gold bangles clattering on her wrist.

“Hi, it’s great to finally put a face to the name. I’ve heard so much about you.”

I frowned. The back of my neck prickled with uneasiness. Something felt…wrong.

“And you are…?” I prompted.

The woman’s smile turned icy.

“Courtney Chase.”

An expectant pause lingered in the air. I shook my head with a shrug.

“Do we know each other?”

“Actually, I’m a friend of a friend,” she replied, rummaging around in her pink leather purse. “He told me to stop by and say hello.”

I heard a metallic click.

Gun.

Lunging at Courtney, I grabbed her arm and grappled for the—

“Holy shit,” I rasped.

She didn’t have a pistol. She had a fucking pipe bomb.

In a flash, Trooper was at my side, helping me wrestle Courtney to the ground. I stripped the pipe bomb out of her hands, maintaining pressure on the switch that she had tripped. Courtney shrieked in fury, her face twisted with rage.

“Let me guess,” I said, breathing hard. “Huxley put you up to this.”

“I volunteered,” she shot back. “None of you would recognize me, so I could catch you off guard.”

I tested the weight of the pipe bomb in my hand. It was sickening to think about the damage it would do if Courtney had actually succeeded in setting it off.

“You were really prepared to kill someone?” I said. “For Huxley, of all people?”

Courtney jutted her chin out with defiance while Trooper kept her pinned to the pavement.

“I started writing letters to him in jail,” she said. “We fell in love. When his wife left him, he promised to break out of prison and marry me. Then we would run away and live happily ever after.”

“Oh, boy,” Trooper groaned. “You bought that hook, line, and sinker, didn’t you?”

But I didn’t say anything. Courtney had waited a long time for the man she loved. And she would do anything to secure their happy ending. I might not understand why she aligned herself with a man like Huxley, but I understood what it was like to do crazy things for love.

I crouched down in front of Courtney and retrieved my phone from my back pocket.

“It’s a tragedy to keep lovers separated,” I said. “I’m sure Sheriff Whitfield will get you and Huxley back together again. And he can take this bomb off my hands.”

Courtney cracked under pressure in no time. She told the cops that Huxley had been hiding out in an RV park on the edge of town ever since his jailbreak.

I watched from a distance as the cops swarmed the place. Courtney was handcuffed in the back of Sheriff Whitfield’s cruiser. When Huxley spotted her, he flushed five different shades of red with the realization that she was his downfall.

I wish you could see the look on your face, I thought.

A week after Huxley’s arrest, October arrived and the clubhouse had been transformed with decorations for Halloween—pumpkins, floating bats, orange and black streamers, and a skeleton in the corner, dressed in biker gear, with sunglasses and a beer in hand.

“Who wants candy?” I announced when I walked in the door.

Mia and Casey swarmed around me with grasping, sticky hands. Tucked into the crook of my arm, I had a giant green bucket in the shape of Frankenstein’s head, filled with all kinds of candy. I deposited treats into their waiting palms until candy spilled through their fingers as they raced off with their loot.

“You owe me something,” Bruiser declared, holding his hand out. He pressed a bag of frozen peas to his black eye. The swelling had gone down by now, but it was still a vicious purple. “We have three more weeks of toilet-scrubbing duty.”

I slapped a king-sized candy bar into his palm.

“Will that make you stop bitching about it?”

Bruiser grunted and tore open the wrapper, biting into the chocolate.

“Probably not. You clearly feel guilty, and I plan to use that to my advantage as long as possible.”

I shook my head and flicked a Tootsie Roll at him.

Then I did a double-take when I spotted Bobbie standing behind the bar. She lifted her hand and wiggled her fingers in a little wave, as if she had been waiting for me to notice her.

“What about a sweet treat for your sweetheart?” she asked.

During the past week, Bobbie had been finding her place within the clubhouse dynamic. She was quiet at first, hanging back, observant. 

Until Ironside roped her into helping him barbecue some ribs, and she just blossomed after that.

Her hair was a brilliant tropical ocean blue, and she had chopped off roughly six inches. Now, it bounced and bobbed around her chin in waves. And it made her look lighter, happier.

“Who the hell put my girlfriend to work?” I demanded.

“Jesus, don’t bite our heads off,” Bruiser grumbled. He gestured at Bobbie with his candy bar. “It was her idea. She wanted to do it.”

Bobbie grabbed my hand and pulled me over to a bar stool, motioning for me to sit.

“Relax. Bruiser is right.”

I grimaced.

“Don’t say that. He’s insufferable when you admit that he’s right.”

Bobbie breathed a faint laugh and propped her elbows on the bar, resting her chin in her hand. She reached over and selected a ghost-shaped mint from my bucket, unwrapped it, and popped it in her mouth.

“Pretty Boy mentioned that you don’t have a regular bartender at the moment,” she said. “So, I offered to fill in. I've done bartending before—I know the gig. Since there are so many people to talk to, I never get bored. And…it gives me something to do. I like being useful."

She folded the mint wrapper again and again with fidgeting fingers. I put my hand over hers to stop her restless movement. 

“You don’t have to be useful to belong here, Bobbie,” I said.

“I know,” she said softly. “But I want to pull my weight and play my part like everybody else. Ironside cooks. Pretty Boy leads. Bruiser provides protection.”

I set my bucket of candy aside as I considered what she was saying.

“That sounds…permanent. Are you thinking about staying for good?”

Bobbie held my gaze as she bit her lip.

“I’d like to try. It scares the shit out of me that I’ll screw it all up—”

“You won’t,” I cut in. 

“I might." She sighed and tossed the folded wrapper in the garbage. Squaring her shoulders, she drummed her fingers on the bar. “But I’m…I’m going to do my best to fix things instead of running away.”

I stretched my hand out, palm up, exposing my scar.

“Well, maybe I could help. I’m good at fixing things.”

Bobbie placed her hand in mine.

"I was hoping you'd say that."

Then the door opened, and I expected another biker or two to file in, looking for a drink and a bite to eat. Instead, Fire Chief Barrett Kent crossed the threshold, wearing a standard dark blue uniform. Bobbie waved him over.

"Hey! I thought you were too busy to drop by."

She stood on tiptoe to hug him, and he patted her back.

"I can only stay for a few minutes. I'm still on call. But I appreciated the invitation, so I thought I'd say hi."

"You two know each other?" I asked, glancing between them.

Bobbie delivered a playful right hook to Barrett's shoulder.

"Chief has been looking out for me ever since my first winter in Juniper Creek. He makes the best hot cocoa."

Barrett crossed his arms, fixing her with a stern look.

"I've also pulled more than a few strings for her when she goes snooping around town for information."

Bobbie tugged at her earlobe self-consciously. She slid an arm around my shoulders, leaning against me.

"Chief, this is Arrow, the friend I told you about. Better known around here as Psycho."

Suddenly, I found myself the target of Barrett's assessing gaze. I'd met some intimidating men during my lifetime, but half of them were bullies, and the other half were just blowing smoke. Few men know how to handle authority responsibly, leading with a level head.

Barrett had that quiet, calm presence about him. I respected him for that. And I respected him even more knowing that he had been watching over Bobbie as much as he could.

He held out his hand to me. I shook it, surprised at the strength of his grip. But he didn't let go when I expected him to.

"Bobbie has been through a lot," Barrett said. "She's tough and she's smart and she needs someone who can protect that fragile heart she's carrying around."

I nodded.

"Yes, sir. That's exactly what I intend to do."

Barrett eyed me for another moment longer before finally releasing my hand.

"I told him not to grill you," Bobbie said sympathetically. "I'm about the same age as his daughter, so he gets stuck in Overprotective Dad Mode sometimes and he can't seem to turn it off."

I said nothing, but secretly, I was grateful to Barrett for stepping in and being a father figure to her. She needed that. And I didn't mind if he wanted to grill me. I would gladly spell out every detail of the future I dreamed of building with Bobbie.

Barrett's radio crackled to life with a call for a grease fire three blocks away.

"That's my cue. I'm heading out. It was good meeting you, Arrow. I'd like to buy you a beer sometime when I'm off the clock. Bobbie, try to stay out of trouble, will you?"

"Sorry, Chief, I'm not making any promises," she said, blowing him a kiss.

Barrett chuckled and shook his head, ducking out the door.

"Are you going to let me in on these plans to stir up trouble?" I asked Bobbie. "Or are you going to keep me guessing?"

She selected a chocolate pumpkin from my bucket with a grin.

"Of course I'll keep you guessing. It's entertaining to make you wonder what my next move will be."

An ear-splitting shriek split the air and all heads turned toward the sound. Jenny stood there with an utterly horrified expression, staring at her son. Casey cackled with delight as he held up a jiggly green thing.

“It’s a gummy spider, Mama!” he said. “Uncle Psycho gave it to me!”

He stuffed it in his mouth. Twitching green legs protruded from between his lips. 

Jenny gagged.

“Oh, that’s disgusting.”

“Don’t look, honey,” Hades said. “Mia got chocolate cockroaches. You can hear the crunch when she bites into them.”

Jenny choked and pressed a hand to her chest. She pointed at me.

“I will never forgive you for this. It’s absolutely vile. My precious little babies are eating bugs.”

“They’re not actually bugs,” I objected, attempting to save my skin.

Bobbie picked up the candy bucket and shook it.

"I think there are some jelly eyeballs in here, Jenny. They ooze in your mouth."

Jenny threw her hands up in dismay and fled the room. 

“Nice touch,” I said to Bobbie. “Very gross.”

"Thank you. I might have made myself gag a little while saying it. Since we're on the subject of eating bugs, can I get you something to drink? Maybe tequila with a real worm at the bottom?"

“Just a beer would be good, thanks. Skip the insects, if you don't mind."

I watched Bobbie behind the bar, smooth and confident, as she popped the top off my beer, sliding a coaster underneath the bottle before setting it in front of me. I liked seeing her comfortable enough to join in the antics around here.

“Blue suits you,” I said, gesturing to her hair.

She reached up and twisted a lock around her finger.

“You think so?”

"You look happy," I said with a nod.

Bobbie’s eyes softened and she circled around the bar to stand between my legs. She slid her arms around my shoulders.

“Well, to be honest, I’m a little disappointed.”

I curved my hand around her hip, tugging her closer.

“About what?”

She sighed dramatically.

“There's this guy. I’ve liked him for years and years, but he just keeps dragging his feet. I’ve been waiting for him to put a ring on it already, you know? I guess he’s not that into me.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“The last time we talked about marriage, you were a little upset.”

“Yeah,” Bobbie hedged, tracing the stitches on my patches with her fingertip. “But we did make a pact. And I have no clue how to be a wife, but…I’d like to learn.”

I cupped the back of her head in my palm, pulling her down for a soul-searing kiss. She smiled against my lips, stroking her tongue along mine with a teasing lick. 

When we came up for air, an idea dawned on me and I patted my pockets down until I found the bag of RX gaskets I picked up from the auto shop yesterday for my bike. I pulled one out, the metal shiny and brand new. Then I held my breath, slipping it on Bobbie’s finger, hoping it would fit.

“Perfect,” Bobbie declared, holding her hand out for examination. “Does this mean you’re going to take me apart on the kitchen table just like you did with that lawn mower engine?”

I laughed as I kissed her again.

“And in the shower. The bedroom. On the couch. Against the wall.”

She grinned.

“If that’s a promise, you better keep it.”

I squeezed her hips, toying with that gasket-ring on her finger.

“You know I will.”

Epilogue

Bobbie - Six Months Later

I woke in the middle of the night to find Arrow’s side of the bed empty. The sheets were cold, indicating he had been gone for a while.

Sitting up, I turned on the bedside lamp, squinting as my eyes adjusted to the light.

“Arrow?” I called.

My voice echoed back to me. No response.

Our wedding was only two weeks away. To minimize stress, it wasn’t a big or lavish affair. Just a small party of friends at the clubhouse, with pizza catered for the reception. Jenny practically begged to make a cake for us though, so we finally gave in and agreed.

Grabbing my robe, I pulled it on over my sleeping shirt. Arrow gave it to me when I officially moved in as a welcome home present. I had bought one or two lacy nightgowns, since I wasn't sleeping in the back of my car anymore. But they remained unused, hanging up in the closet. Arrow’s shirt was more comfortable anyway.

As I descended the stairs, I found Arrow on the living room floor wearing just his sweatpants, taking apart the washing machine with parts scattered all around him in a halo of debris.

“Arrow, what are you doing?” 

I crossed my arms with a shiver. The chill of winter was still hanging on, despite the first green buds of spring beginning to show. I couldn’t wait for the warmth of summer to return.

“It’s two o’clock in the morning," I added.

“Can’t sleep,” he said without glancing up. 

“What’s on your mind?” I prompted. “Wedding stress? Or…something else?”

Arrow didn’t reply right away. He took a deep breath, rubbing his chest. Then I noticed his hair was damp from sweat and his hands were shaky. 

I sat next to him, resting my cheek against his shoulder.

“Did you have a panic attack?”

He swallowed hard and said nothing, continuing to work.

“Arrow,” I scolded gently. “You’re supposed to wake me up when that happens so I can help you through it.”

He shook his head.

“No, you need to sleep. And I’m…I’m tired of this shit fucking up my life. My father never raised his hand to me. He got drunk, he raged, and his paranoia was off the charts, but he never beat me. I was damn lucky, compared to some of those kids in foster care who had it harder than me. I don’t know why I can’t…just get over it.”

“Because you were only a little boy, Arrow,” I pointed out. “You were so young. It’s okay to be impacted by what you went through. It makes you human.”

He nodded and rested his palm on my knee, brushing his thumb back and forth. 

“I guess it’s the wedding that has me thinking about things too much. I don’t want my bullshit to get all over you.”

“Well, too bad,” I replied. “That’s going to happen, one way or another. Your bullshit will get on me, and my bullshit will get on you. We’ve already been in the trenches together, Arrow. We’ve seen each other at our worst, and we still love each other.”

Arrow lifted his gaze to meet mine, searching my face with his watchful gray eyes.

“You’re pretty good at this pep talk thing.”

I shrugged, idly tracing his tattooed forearm.

“Oh, well, I can’t take all the credit. My future husband really grilled it into my head that I’m not a worthless nobody, so he’s my inspiration. My hero.”

Arrow blew out a breath.

“Fuck, Bobbie, don’t call me that. I don’t deserve it.”

I hummed as I dipped my head, kissing his neck sweetly.

“Yes, you do. And I’ll keep saying it for as long as I live. You saved me, Arrow. You loved me when no one else did.”

He scooped an arm around my waist, pulling me into his lap. I straddled him with a grin, smoothing my hands over his shoulders.

“This wasn’t what I had in mind when I came down here," I said. "But I’m right where I want to be, so I'm certainly not complaining.”

Arrow chuckled as he slid his hands under the hem of my shirt, cupping my hips. After living with him for six months and his insistent desire to make sure I got enough to eat, I had reached a healthy weight. Putting on a few pounds had turned my bony hips into softer curves. My tits were plump again, and I had to go shopping for a bigger bra. 

I wasn’t starving and alone, living on the road anymore. I was loved and I was home.

I wiggled against Arrow’s groin until a growl rumbled in his chest. He grabbed my ass, grinding into me.

“Show me,” I said. “Show me what it will be like on our wedding night. Show me what it feels like when my future husband makes me come on his gorgeous, thick cock, over and over again.”

Arrow swore softly through his teeth. I knew that would get to him. Calling him my future husband was like a switch that never failed to turn him on. 

His cock twitched against my clothed pussy, growing harder by the second. He skimmed his hands along my waist, up to my breasts, caressing them with a squeeze. When he pinched and rolled my nipples, I gasped, arching into his touch.

Arrow shifted to lean back against the couch, bringing his knees up for more leverage. He stripped off my shirt, immediately sucking one of my nipples into his mouth. 

I closed my eyes with a sigh of contentment, rolling my hips against the bulge in his sweatpants. Arrow grazed his hands down my torso, and snapped the elastic of my panties with a faint sting.

This is where I belonged. Right here. With him. Chasing the gradual rising heat of pleasure, touching and tasting and aching for release.

Within seconds, my panties had been tossed aside and Arrow’s sweatpants were pooled around his ankles. His cock jutted up, pulsing and leaking. I wrapped my fingers around his girth, watching his abs flex and sharpen in stark relief when his muscles contracted. 

I pumped along his length a few times, savoring his reaction. Arrow dropped his head back against the couch with a moan, straining to thrust up into my fist. I reached down with my other hand to cup his balls, toying with the weight of them in my grip. 

“Fuck, honey, that feels amazing,” he rasped.

I twisted my palm up and over the crown of his cock, smothering every sensitive little spot with merciless pressure and stimulation. His breath shuddered and hitched, and the veins in his neck strained.

I tugged and teased at his balls while I worked my fist along his cock faster, increasing the speed until he writhed.

“Bobbie, sweetheart,” Arrow croaked. “I’m—I can’t hold out much longer.”

I loved seeing him wrecked like this for me. He couldn't get lost in his own head when he was too preoccupied with getting edged.

Anchoring my palm on Arrow’s chest, I lined up his cock, easing that broad, blunt head into my entrance just enough to make him squirm with desperation. He watched me with hooded eyes as I sank down, reveling in every searing hot inch of him.

“Beautiful,” Arrow murmured, gliding his hands along my bare back. “You’re so fucking beautiful, baby.”

I started slowly rolling my hips, working his cock deep inside me. He met me with thrusts of his own that sent a flood of ecstasy cascading down my spine. I pressed my forehead to his, gripping the back of his neck to ride him harder.

The scorching bloom of my orgasm coiled tight and low in my belly. Arrow buried his face between my tits, sucking and nipping at them with stinging little love bites. My thighs burned from exertion and it wasn’t enough. I needed him deeper. I needed his body weight on top of me—spreading me open, filling me. 

As if Arrow could read my mind, he clamped his hands to my hips, holding me down on his cock as he pressed my back to the chilly hardwood floor. I sucked in a sharp breath at the temperature.

“I’m getting you a rug for a wedding gift,” I said. “This floor is freezing.”

Arrow rumbled a laugh as he pinned my arms above my head with a light grip and covered me with his scorching body heat. 

“Better?” he asked.

“Getting there.” I hooked my legs around his waist and pressed my heels to his ass, encouraging him to move. “Ask me again after I’ve milked your cock dry.”

He huffed a low laugh that shivered across my skin. 

The first long, deep thrust made me dig my nails into Arrow’s back and my eyes fluttered closed. The girthy glide was just too good. He was controlled at first, dragging his cock in measured strokes that made me melt from sheer bliss. 

Then he gradually ramped up, his breath on my neck, and his cock, hitting so fucking deep that I couldn’t think straight.

“God, sweetheart, your pussy fits me like a glove,” Arrow gritted out. “So hot and tight and all mine.”

“Make me come,” I panted. “Please, make me come. Make me scream your name.”

Arrow’s control crumbled and he tucked his face into my neck, pounding into me, again and again. Each ramming thrust was punctuated with an animalistic grunt. Sparks of pleasure zinged along every nerve, and all I could do was cling to him for dear life as my climax swelled and came to a toe-curling height.

Arrow hooked his tattooed forearms under my knees, folding me like a pretzel. The new angle had my legs shaking. Every time he bottomed out, with his balls bumping against my ass, a fresh jolt of delirious ecstasy surged through me.

“Yes, yes, yes, don’t stop, don’t stop,” I babbled.

“You’re so close, sweetheart,” Arrow said. “Let go for me. I’ve got you. I’ve always got you. Gush all over my cock for me like the good wife you’re going to be.”

I couldn’t catch my breath to speak. He rubbed my clit, grinding against my G-spot, obsessed with getting that orgasm as explosive as possible. My body seized as wave after wave of pleasure washed over me. 

Arrow kept going, circling my clit with relentless pressure, pushing his cock deep before he tipped over the edge, too. Then he slumped against me, resting his head on my shoulder with a chaste kiss to my sweaty skin.

I draped a limp arm around him, feeling boneless and wrung out.

“Wow,” I rasped. “Our wedding night will be incredible.”

Arrow breathed a soft laugh, easing his cock out of me, peppering my tits with kisses. I whimpered at the loss of him, just like I always did.

“Are you hungry?” he said

I yawned and stretched, arching my back. Everything felt pleasantly sore.

“You’re always asking me that,” I pointed out with a fond smile.

He shrugged as he rose to his feet, tugging on his sweatpants again.

“Because my girl has to eat. And it’s my duty, as your future husband, to provide for you. Besides, three square meals a day looks damn good on you.”

I blushed at his praise.

“In that case, I wouldn’t say no to a midnight snack.”

After Arrow and I got cleaned up, he reheated some leftover barbecue ribs and we shared them while we sat on the living room floor, side by side, shoulder to shoulder. He held up a rib and I took a bite, tearing at the meat with my teeth. He swiped some sauce away from the corner of my mouth. Then he tilted his head and pressed a kiss to my neck. 

“Have I told you lately that I’m crazy in love with you?”

I gave a pleased little hum and snuggled under his arm.

“Well, I’m not sure,” I hedged, playing along. “But I could have sworn you might have mentioned it once or twice. You should probably jog my memory though. Just to be on the safe side.”

Arrow chuckled and pulled me close, kissing my temple.

“I fucking love you, honey, and I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life being your husband.”

I grinned so wide that my cheeks ached from smiling. That silly little pact we made years ago turned out to be more than child’s play after all.

Don't miss the exclusive bonus epilogue! Catch a peek into Bobbie and Psycho's marriage, four years later. A snowstorm is moving in and domestic coziness ensues, with a dash of spice to heat things up! Download it for free here!

Craving more biker heroes? Hades and Jenny are getting their second chance at a happy ending in the next book in the series! Check it out here!

The Reckless Order MC Series

These loyal, dirty bikers don't mess around when it comes to their ladies.

Read the Reckless Order MC series here!

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Books by Audrey Bell

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Alpha Riders MC

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The Reckless Order MC

About the Author

Audrey Bell writes short, steamy romance with strong, swoon worthy heroes, and sassy heroines, HEA guaranteed!

She lives among towering piles of books, a horde of stray cats, and has an unhealthy obsession with buying too many plants.

www.audreybellauthor.com

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