“I’m so sorry, Saxon.” I wrap my arms around his waist; his chin drops to the top of my head. We may be opposites, but we sure fit together perfectly.

“No need to be sorry, babe. It’s life and the cruel way it shapes us.” His arms pull me closer to him until I’m drowning in everything Saxon.

“I hurt for you.”

He pulls his head back without letting go of me. His beautiful, scarred face drops to mine. “All this pain and hurt brought us together, that’s what we need to focus on.”

I smirk. “For being a big badass biker, you sure can go all romantic on my ass.”

He growls and then attacks my lips. I react without thinking, opening up to him. Our tongues dance together, exploring every single space inside each other’s mouths. Saxon presses his want for me into my stomach, causing me to giggle into his mouth.

He pulls away even though I know he doesn’t want to. “Don’t be spreading that bullshit around about me. I ain’t no Prince Charming here.”

I crook up an eyebrow in protest. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Darlin’, I’ll bend you over this fucking bike and take you from behind right out in the daylight.” Saxon whirls me around.

I can’t help the damn laughter rolling off me. His powerful palm presses down on the middle of my back while his other hand grips my hip.

“’Bout to Prince Charming the fuck out of you, babe.”

“Brick.” A gruff voice interrupts the playful banter. I wouldn’t put it pass Saxon to make good on his promise. I’d probably let him. I mean, come on. He’s bringing me to life. A life worth living. This might be the first time laughter has graced me in a long time. This man makes me forget everything and feel safe at the same time. It’s priceless.

Saxon pulls me up from his bike until my back collides with his chest. He keeps both arms laced around my front.

“Griff,” Brick barks back.

“Church, you dirty motherfucker.” The man called Griff takes a deep inhale on his cigarette.

“Fuck,” Saxon murmurs into my hair.

Griff strides right back into the club with no fucks given. Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to tell these men aren’t worried about bedside manners. Saxon begins walking us forward.

I crane my neck. “Who was that?”

“Our sergeant of arms. He’s a brother.”

“What’s church?”

“Meeting where only brothers and the prez attend. Discuss club business. Nothing behind those closed doors leaves.”

Both of my eyebrows shoot up. I’ve entered a completely new world. It’s not until I step into the clubhouse that it hits just how far out of society these men function.