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I step closer, tilting my chin up. The height difference forces me to crane my neck, and I use it, letting him see the challenge in my eyes. “Maybe I wanted a night off from being your old lady.”

The words land like a slap, and I watch something dangerous flash across his face. His hand shoots out, not grabbing, just pressing flat against my lower back, pulling me against him. The contact is electric, and my body betrays me instantly, heat pooling low and fast.

“You’re always my old lady,” he murmurs against my ear, his breath hot. “Wherever you go. Whatever you do. Mine.”

“Are you going to punish me, Judge?”

He pulls back just enough to look at me, and the corner of his mouth curves. It’s not a smile. It’s a promise. “Get your jacket.”

I don’t argue. Something in his voice strips away the defiance and leaves only the wanting. I grab my jacket from the booth, wave to Raven and Harper, who watch with wide eyes and knowing grins, and follow him outside.

Chapter Nineteen

Sin City Surrender

Poppy

The night air hits me, cool and sharp, clearing some of the tequila haze. Walker doesn’t head for his bike. Instead, he grabs my hand and pulls me around the side of the building. My heels, the ones I borrowed from Raven’s closet because I missed the way they made my legs look, click against the gravel.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

The fire escape ladder clatters under his boot, and my stomach flips. He climbs first, all coiled strength and sure movements, then reaches down one-handed and hauls me up like I weigh nothing. I scramble up the rungs after him, the metal cold against my palms, until we reach the roof.

It’s flat, gritty, scattered with old cigarette butts and broken glass that catches the moonlight. The Vegas skyline glows in the distance, a hazy orange blur against the dark desert sky, but up here, it feels like we’re alone in the world. Just us and the stars and the silence.

Walker walks to the center of the roof and turns to face me. The moonlight catches the silver at his temples, the hard angles of his face, the leather of his cut. He looks like something carved from the desert itself, all stone and shadow.

“Three months,” he says.

“I know.”

“Three months of me keeping you safe on the road. Three months of sleeping with one eye open. Three months of trusting you with my life.” He steps closer. “And you sneak out like you thought I wouldn’t notice.”

“I needed...”

“You needed to be here. With me. Where I can protect you.”

His words land hard, but beneath the anger, I hear it. The fear. Walker Creed, former soldier, Sons of Sin Nomad, a man who’s killed without hesitation and survived things that would break most people, was afraid when he couldn’t find me.

“Judge,” I say softly. “I was safe.”

“You don’t know that.” Another step. We’re close now, close enough that I can smell him, leather and whiskey and cedar. “You don’t ever know that. Not in my world. Not in yours.”

“I had Raven and Harper...”

“Raven and Harper can’t stop a bullet.” His hand comes up, fingers closing around my throat. Not squeezing. Just holding. A collar. A reminder. “I can.”

My pulse hammers against his palm, and I know he feels it. I know he knows what it does to me when he touches me like this, possessive and certain, like my body is territory he’s already claimed and has no intention of surrendering.

“You’re shaking,” he observes.

“I’m not.”

“You are.” His thumb strokes the side of my neck, and I hate that he’s right. “You knew what you were doing, sneaking out. You knew what it would do. What I’d do.”

“Maybe.”