Iclamp my hold tighter, burying my nose in her dark hair.Thestrands carry the sharp reek of ash mixed with the biting cold of melted snow.
"Don'tthank me,"Icommand, pressing my lips hard against her temple. "Justdon't leave."
"Never."
Ihoist her off the floorboards.Herthighs clamp instinctively around my waist to secure her balance.Icarry her dead weight straight to the massive walk-in shower attached to my bedroom.Idon't need to strip her down or bury myself inside her right now.Mymuscles burn with total exhaustion, matching the deep fatigue dragging at her spine.Isimply need to cage her in my arms until morning.
Droppingonto the edge of the mattress,Iarrange her limbs until she curls securely into my lap, her temple resting heavily on my shoulder.
Outsidethe thick walls, fierce wind howls and batters the metal roof of the clubhouse as the blizzard surges violently back to life.Insidethe loft, the steady blue glow of the monitors bathes us in absolute security.
Ifix my gaze on the primary screen one last time.
KAILA GUNNAR.
Theglowing text burns like an undeniable truth.
Closingmy eyes,Ianchor my chin on the crown of her head.TheTracker’shunt officially ends tonight, replaced by the heavy, breathing weight of the woman anchored to my chest.
9
KAILA
Thescreen glows blue in the dim light of the loft, reflecting off my retinas untilI’msure the words are burned there permanently.
IDENTITY PROTOCOL: COMPLETE.SUBJECT: KAILA GUNNAR.
Istare at the name.Itlooks like mine, sounds like mine, but carries a heavy, foreign weight.Besideme,Danielpowers down the secondary servers with precise, methodical keystrokes.Hejust erased my entire past and built a new existence over the ashes, sacrificing the one thing he always guarded more fiercely than his own blood.Hisfreedom.
TheTrackeris grounded because of me.
"Stopthinking so loud,Kaila," he grunts, keeping his focus on the console.Hisvoice rumbles low enough to vibrate through the floorboards. "Ican hear the gears grinding from here."
"I’mprocessing,"Icounter, spinning my chair around to face him. "Youjust ended your life as aNomad,Daniel.You’restuckhere inPineValleywith the gossip network and the endless parade of people."
Hefinally turns, leaning back against the desk.Thickarms cross over his broad chest.Hist-shirt strains against biceps that have done more damage in the last twenty-four hours than most men do in a lifetime.Darkeyes lock onto mine, intense and unblinking.
"I’mnot stuck," he rumbles. "I’mplanted."
"Thatsounds like something a potato would say."
Thecorner of his mouth twitches. "You’relucky you’re cute when you spiral.Getup.We’regoing downstairs."
Heatflares in my chest, tight and restrictive. "Downstairs?Asin, where the rest of the bikers are?Theones who probably still thinkI’maCostaspy sent to upload a virus into their coffee maker?"
"Theyknow who you are,"Danielrasps, closing the distance between us.Hislarge hand wraps around the back of my neck, settling there with a grounding, possessive weight. "Andthey know who you belong to.Kevinis awake.He’seating in the mess.It’stime to make this official."
Kevin.Mybrother.Theimage of him safe and eating real food settles my racing pulse faster than any line of code.Istand up on shaky legs.Danielkeeps his iron grip on my neck, guiding me toward the heavy steel door of the loft.Histhumb brushes the sensitive skin behind my ear.
"Yourealize,"Imutter over the click of the lock, "that 'KailaGunnar' technically has a credit score of 720 and a nursingdegree from hidden recordsIdidn't even know existed.Youwere thorough."
"I'malways thorough," he counters, shoving the heavy door open.Theambient noise of the clubhouse drifts up the stairwell.Laughtermixes with the clink of glass and the heavy thud of boots. "Shedoesn't have a nursing degree.She'sa freelance systems analyst.Don'tinsult my craftsmanship."
Ilean into his solid side as we start the descent.Themetal, industrial staircase spirals down into the heart of the beast.Theair shifts as we drop in elevation, trading the ozone-and-static of the server room for the rich, earthy grit of the club.Leatherand gun oil replace the clean tech smell, undercut by the faint tang of stale beer.
Theheavy scents create an immediate sense of security, an absurd concept inside a fortress full of outlaws.
Thebottom of the stairs deposits us into the main common area.Themassive space blends hunting lodge aesthetics with bunker-level security.Darkwood beams cross the ceiling above a massive stone fireplace dominating the far wall.