The Ruthless Biker's Ex-Convict Bride

Chapter 11

Wren's point of view

"Can you put on some clothes?" he asks, and it takes everything I have not to crack a smile.

I look at him. He isn't looking away from me, which is new—usually he's the one who catches himself staring and glances off toward the nearest wall.

I don't usually let men tell me what to do, but with him I turn and head back to my room without arguing and put on my clothes.

Standing in front of the small mirror nailed to my closet door, I catch myself smiling at my reflection like an i***t. It's such a small thing. A man asking me to cover up instead of reaching for me. I haven't had a man do the first one in longer than I want to admit.

When I'm done, I head back in nothing but sweats and a t-shirt.

"Better now?" I ask, teasing, unable to help myself.

He grunts before looking away from me. I bite down on the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning outright. It shouldn't feel this good, rattling him.

I leave to grab our mail and deliveries. When I get back, I find he's cleared the table and started packing things.

"You shouldn't put too much pressure on yourself. Your stitches might bust, and I don't think I can fix them without—"

"Okay." He cuts me off, short, flat, not even looking up from what he's doing.

I stand there a second; I don't know if he wants to talk to me or if he just needs space. So I let it go. I put my things on the table and head to my room.

After I make my bed, I grab a towel and head back out to shower, but I've barely stepped into the hallway when I find him standing there. Our eyes meet. A full minute passes before he turns and leaves.

The whole time I'm freshening up, I can't stop thinking about the way he looked at me. The way his eyes trailed down my body before he caught himself.

When I finish dressing, I tell him I have to go to work. He looks at me, doesn't say much. I leave the pills he needs on the counter with instructions written out beside them. He watches me the whole time, and when I'm done, I head out of the house.

"How's Ash?" Kara asks before I've even got the door shut behind me.

"He's fine," I say. "Stop worrying."

She rolls her eyes and puts her hands on her hips. "Who's worried?" Then she's gone, and I can't help the smile that stays on my lips the rest of the walk to work.

Just as I'm striding toward the building, my eyes land on a very familiar Harley parked in the lot.

I swallow hard, glance around to make sure no one's watching me do it.

Inside, John is wiping down the counters, and Elias is at the end of it, nursing a beer like he's got nowhere better to be.

"What are you doing here?" I ask the second I'm through the door, keeping my distance.

"Thought we could talk."

I smile weakly, exhausted more than polite, and don't say anything.

"Please leave me alone."

He chuckles, low and warm, like I've said something almost amusing. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Elias—"

"We have to talk, Wren."

"No, we don't. There's nothing to talk about. You're three years late."

He actually looks hurt. Actually, has the nerve to look wounded by that.

"Who is he, Wren? Did you let—"

"I have no reason to explain myself, or who I'm fucking." My voice comes out hard. "So do us both a favor, Elias, and get the f**k out. I'm on the job."

try to walk past him. His hand closes around my wrist, and before I can pull free, he's got me pulled back against his chest, arms wrapping around me like the last three years never happened at all.

"No—let go of me—" I try to twist away, but he holds on, doesn't let go, doesn't even loosen his grip.

"I missed you, Wren." He whispers it against my ear, face buried in my neck. "I missed you so much."

And God help me, I find myself leaning into it for one second, because that's what Elias does to me. That's what he's always done to me.

"Let go of her."

Ash's voice cuts through the room, and I freeze. My heart is slamming. What is Ash doing here?

He's standing just inside the door, one hand braced on the frame like it's the only thing keeping him upright, color gone from his face, sweat already breaking along his hairline from whatever it cost him to walk here on stitches that aren't ready for it.

Elias doesn't let go right away. If anything, his arm tightens, just slightly, a small possessive thing meant only for me to feel.

"This doesn't concern you," Elias says, not even turning around.

"She asked you to let go." Ash's voice stays level, but there's something underneath it now, something with teeth. "Twice."

"We're having a private conversation."

"Doesn't look private. Looks like you've got your hands on something that isn't yours."

That gets Elias's attention. He finally releases me, slow, deliberate, like letting go was his idea all along and not a concession. I step back fast, putting the counter between us again, pulse still hammering.

Elias turns to face him properly, taking in the sweat, the pallor, the way Ash's other hand is pressed flat against his ribs like he's holding himself together by will alone.

"You shouldn't be out of bed," Elias says, almost amused. "She's not going to be happy about that."

"She's standing right here," I snap. "And neither of you gets to talk about me like I'm not."

Neither of them looks at me.

"You drove yourself here?" I ask Ash, softer now, some of the anger bleeding into worry instead.

"Walked." His jaw is tight. "Wasn't far."

"It's six blocks."

"Felt like it needed doing."

Elias's eyes move between us, something calculating behind them, filing away every detail—the way Ash won't sit down even though he clearly should, the way he hasn't stopped watching Elias's hands since he walked in, like he's ready to move the second they twitch wrong.

"Cute," Elias says finally, voice gone flat. "Really. Dragging yourself half-dead across town to play knight."

"Wasn't playing anything." Ash's eyes don't leave him. "Just don't like watching a man hold onto something he already threw away."

Something shifts across Elias's face, fast, gone before I can name it. He sets his beer down on the counter, unfinished, and straightens his jacket like the whole conversation is beneath him now.

"We'll finish this later," he says to me, and it's not a request.

"There's nothing to finish."

He doesn't answer that. He just looks at me a second too long, the way he used to look at me before everything, and then he's walking past Ash toward the door, close enough that I see Ash's shoulders lock up as he passes, ready for something that doesn't come.

The door shuts behind him. The Harley starts up outside, loud, deliberate, and fades down the street.

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding and turn on Ash immediately.

"Are you out of your mind? You walked six blocks with stitches that aren't—"

"You're welcome," he says, echoing himself from the snowbank, and despite everything, despite my heart still racing, despite Elias's mouth still ghosting warm against my ear in memory, I nearly laugh.

"Sit down before you fall," I tell him instead, already moving to grab a chair.

He sits. Doesn't argue. Watches me the whole time like he's checking I'm actually okay, like that's the only reason any of this happened at all.