“I’ll leave you to it,” Rags said with a chuckle.
“Later, dude. I’m winning that money back before I head home.”
Saber pulled Topaz in, his hand claiming her ass as his mouth crashed to hers.
Rags turned away and threaded through the room, pushing out into the night. Cool air slapped his face and it felt good after the stuffiness of the main room. He pulled a joint from his cut, lit it, took a deep drag, held it, then slowly exhaled.
Casey stirred in his head. His gut. His groin.
This is bullshit.
He crushed the roach beneath his boot and stalked across the lot. One smooth motion, and he was on the Harley. He thumbed the ignition. The engine roared to life beneath him. The vibration settled deep in his frame—steady and familiar—in a way nothing else could.
He tore out of the lot, the road opening up ahead of him, wind cutting sharp against his face, but it still didn’t help. No matter how fast he rode, no matter how hard the engine screamed beneath him, there was only one thing in his head. Beautiful, infuriating, sexy Casey.
Rags opened the throttle and accelerated hard, letting the Harley unleash its full power as his speed climbed fast. The road unspooled beneath him, dark and empty, the engine’s growl vibrating straight through him. The farther he rode from the clubhouse, the quieter everything inside his head got. Wind tore at his jacket, cold and clean, stripping the smoke, whiskey, and frustration from his lungs.
Pines closed in on both sides of the highway, their sharp, earthy scent slicing through the night. Fallen needles and leaves skittered across the asphalt, flashing in his headlight before disappearing behind him. The cold breeze bit his cheeks, his breath misting in the frigid air. The rhythm of the engine steadied him, each shift smooth, instinctive, the movementscoming to him without thought. The ride was the one thing that never failed him.
He leaned into a long curve, body and machine moving as one, the world narrowing to speed, balance, and control. Out here, he didn’t have to explain himself. He didn’t have to chase or want. Out here, his mind finally went quiet.
Riding had pulled him out of every clusterfuck life had thrown his way: bad blood, club wars, women who promised more than they meant. The ride always took him where he needed to go.
Casey began to fade. Her face blurred, her voice dissolved into the rush of wind and the steady roar beneath him. He stopped replaying her kisses, her moans, the way she’d felt in his arms. The bike demanded all of him, and he gladly gave it. Controlling the Harley consumed his focus; the movement burned the last of her from his blood.
Thiswas why he rode.
When Rags finally eased off the throttle and let the engine settle, something tightened in his chest.
The road had done what it always did. It steadied him. It gave him distance… and control.
As the engine idled beneath him and the night pressed in close, he knew that the ride could quiet him, numb the edges, and burn off the worst of it.
But it couldn’t erase what he wanted.
Chapter Sixteen
He stood bythe window, staring down at the street below. The houses across the way were dark and silent as a tomb. Streetlights cast long charcoal shadows across the asphalt. No cars. No footsteps. Only the stillness of the night.
A muffled grunt dragged him back to the room, and to the woman tied spread-eagle on the bed. Panic twisted on her face, and her eyes, wide and wet, fixed on him. He’d almost forgotten she was there.
He’d first noticed her at the bakery the week before, while he waited to buy a blueberry-filled Bismarck dusted with sugar. Her beautiful dark hair had caught his eyes, and he loved the way it spilled in waves down her back. Mesmerized by the movement, he’d almost forgotten why he was in line in the first place. When he picked up the small white bag, he’d caught her laughing with the clerk and ordering the same donut. In that moment, something about her had felt familiar, even comforting.
His sister used to love those jam-filled donuts, too. When they were kids, they’d sit on the back porch and devour them together on the rare occasion their mother brought any home. Afterward, his sister always had jam smeared across her cheeks, and he’d dip his napkin in water and gently wipe it away. His sister was so pretty… so fragile… The memories skittered away as his gaze returned to the woman bound to the bed. A frown creased his brow as frustration clawed up his spine.
When she’d ordered the same donut, he thought and hoped she may be the one.
His perfect one.
But now, looking at her trembling and ruined, disappointment soured his stomach. His jaw tightened.
How could he have thought she was right?
She wasn’t. No. Not at all.
She could never be his princess.
He walked closer, studying her face. Nothing in her expression sparked the perfection he needed—no softness, no glow, none of the flawless features his princess should have.