Blaze:
The first thing I registered was the scent—rich, warm, and a little nutty.
Coffee.
The good kind too. Not the burnt crap we kept at the clubhouse or whatever leftover sludge Saint drank like it was water. No, this was fresh, hot, and brewed just right.
Then came the silence—soft city hum outside the window, low and steady. No engines revving. No club chaos. No yelling or plans or war cries.
Just quiet.
I sat up slow, scrubbing a hand over my face. I walked into the kitchen for some coffee. I looked over to find Kat. My shirt was rumpled on her perfect little body, her curves teasing through the cotton in the best f*****g way. She was standing in front of the window, one leg bent, cup in hand, watching the early light settle across the skyline.
Bare legs. My shirt. That coffee
