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Christ. I’ve fallen for the Forsaken Saint’s heiress and have nothing to offer her but gravel nights and starlight kisses as a future. But she’s not a Saint. Not anymore. Maybe she never was. And when she threw her lot in with me, she became something else entirely. Someone her father can’t control.

“Yeah.” My voice is as rough-cut as the shards of glass that litter the yard after too many party nights. “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

Poppy leans forward, her cheek brushing my knuckles. “As long as I’m with you, I’m happy,” she whispers. Low enough that her confession is only loud enough for us. I’m real good with that.

My chest aches to offer the cut on my back that bears my name. Who I am now. Who she knows me to be. But here, the entire club will see that declaration, and this moment was never intended for them. That’s not who we are.

The reason Poppy balked at taking my jacket the first time wasn’t because she rejected me. The idea of losing her independence scares the shit out of her, and it should. This isn’t something she enters into lightly. But we’ve lived together through more than most now, and even though it’s been a few weeks, we’ve shed blood together, taken a life, even though I never wanted her in that room. We’re still here. Those are bonds that can’t be undone.

Taking my cut, wearing my name—that’s a one-way street. The way I plan this out in my head, she gets something back too. Not just me thieving her life and independence out from under her. I tug her curls once more, until her back arches for me. “Are you going to be real sweet for me all day, Poppy?”

Her lashes flutter and she releases a soft breath. “You’re a tease, Walker Creed.”

“Damn right I am.” My cock thickens when she glides her hands along the leather of my cut and we’re both on the same goddam page. Her fingertips rest delicately on top of my belt. Just there. If I ask her to suck me off right here or spread her legs wider for me, she’ll do it. But that’s not quite what I have in mind.

I swing a leg over the bike and wind her arms around my waist once she had her helmet secured. “Hold on.”

The yard disappears in a halo of dirt. I don’t look back to see who’s come out to see us off, knowing there are shadows behind the dirt curtain we kicked up on our exit.

Poppy’s hands press to my stomach, her hold firm around me. The town disappears as we head for open road country. I don’t have a destination in mind, taking turns and corners as the bike demands.

Mile by mile, the tension from the last week, cooped up in the building along with twenty other club members, begins the ease away. Or maybe that’s because my girl is wrapped around me, her warmth seeping into these hardened bones.

Finally, I pull up at a bluff just outside the town where she used to live. When she pulls her helmet off, Poppy watches me with wary eyes.

“Not what I’d call a romantic spot,” she comments.

I shrug. “It depends on the intent.” I tug her off my bike and across to the railing that prevents anyone from accidentally diving over the edge of the cliff face. Harsh wind buffets us as I tuck her back first against my chest and wind my arms around her body, securing her against me. “Tell me what you see.”

Poppy is silent for a long moment. “A small town in a big area that will never grow bigger,” she says softly. “Drug deals and grudges gone wrong. Deaths and broken families. Schools closed down over turf wars. That infrastructure will never be rebuilt while my father is in charge.”

I press my chin to the top of her head. “Your mind is beautiful.”

“My mind is a warped, twisted thing because of the man who sired me. Because he thought I should be useful rather than a child,” she scoffs.

My thumb grazes her cheek and I’m unsurprised to find it damp, or that she shoves at me, pushing away. I don’t let her, banding my arms tighter when she struggles and curses, keeping her close.

“I love you.”

Poppy freezes in my arms. “Goddamit, Walker. You really know how to kill a good fight. I was in a mood,” she grumps.

I hum and press a kiss to the top of her head. “There’s the compound.”

“Mood killer.” She sighs and tips her head back. “Love you too.”

“I know, cosita. Want to go get your bike?”

The squeal she emits could be heard halfway across the town, I swear. Poppy twirls deftly in my arms, showing I never really had a hold of her at all, and launches upward. I catch her, laughing, and stagger backward so we don’t tumble ass first over the edge of the bluff and hurtle into nothingness together.

“I do love you, I promise. How did you know? I never said.” Confusion knits her brow. “Did I mention it? I’m sure I didn’t.”

I kiss her lips gently, then a little deeper until she’s rocking against me and panting when I pull away. “You never told me. But no one steals a bike and rides like that if you don’t have your own. And I’m guessing Daddy-O didn’t let you on his. Did you have a man in the club?” I keep my expression carefully closed, knowing she won’t answer me if I allow the beast roiling in my chest to launch forth in a green-tinged display all over the picnic area we stand on.

“Oh.” Poppy laces her hands behind my neck, her legs tangled at my waist. “I suppose it is obvious. And ... once, I had someone at the club. You know I’m not virginal or anything.” She lowers her lashes and peeks at me through them.

A deep rumble starts low in my chest. “Don’t play with me, Poppy.”

“Samuel killed him for touching me.” The words rush out of her all at once. Goose bumps stand up on her bare arms, and her body stiffens. “He was nineteen. A prospect, for fuck’s sake. He didn’t know better. And it was my fault. I should never have—”