One even inhale of library air at the front entrance is all it takes for me to ground myself into my old reality. The combined scents of old and new paper, ink, glue, and of library patrons and staff all assault my nose. It’s a welcome that reminds me that this is one of the few places I can and will always call my home away from home. So why do I have to use all my willpower to blink back the sting of tears threatening to fall as the rumbling, throttling sound of Axe’s bike fades away behind me in the distance? Since when does letting anyone go or leaving anyone’s side feel this awful?

Sucking in a breath, I allow the library entrance doors to close behind me on their own and I straighten my stance. I’m being foolish. It’s time to wake up and settle into reality. Curating information, sorting books according to good old Dewey Decimal system classifications, stacking shelves, organizing our online holdings, and spending time in that swivel chair behind the circulation desk. This is my life, not what I’ve been through for the past several days. And yes, it’s true that I don’t need to return to work this quickly. I don’t have to be here right away at all. Checking my emails and drumming up stuff around here will keep me busy. I much prefer staying here, though, in my comfort zone between these four library walls. It beats the emotional turmoil of having Axe take me home. Why? Because if I did that, I’d also have to deal with my feelings for him, and the likely ordeal of saying goodbye.

Goodbye for good.

Our lives might’ve been thrown together these past few days, but that’s the point. Circumstances thrusted us into the same messed-up situation. I was leverage for someone powerful who believed that taking me would make Axe weak, would give them something to hold over him. And they were right, even though they should’ve been dead wrong, even though we barely knew each other and didn’t have a clue that the other existed even ten days ago. But now, the danger’s long past.

Axe has no reason to stick around now.

I have every reason to let go.

Except, I can’t.

Not without turning my back on it all.

Which is why I’m here in my comfortable bubble at the library.

It’s step one of turning my back.

In this temperature- controlled knowledge-heavy, logic-packed space, life is a lot less personal. It’s way easer to grasp onto what’s simple and real, and to bury this irrational, overly complicated emotional turmoil that’s happening in and around my heart.

I take a seat at the main desk and log into the shared computer. In the middle of replying to the first message in my inbox, a sound from the back of the library echoes down the wide hallway.

“Pattie-Jean?” I call out, hoping it’s my friend from Archives. Like me, my colleague also has a tendency to come in after hours to keep this place going.

No one answers. I go quiet, my body tensing as I try to stay perfectly still and listen more intently. A scratchy sound comes from the stacks near the back entrance. Ignoring the small hairs raised at the back of my neck, I leave my desk, lips pressed together in a tight frown as I take a walk back there to make sure. But on my way over, the distinct rustling of clothing comes from directly behind me. I swivel around quickly and stare back at the same spot where I was sitting at the main desk. No one’s there either. Nothing about this is funny or entertaining, and now, my heart is stuck in my throat.

Forcing in a long, deep lungful of air, I take a glance in each direction. Maybe it’s just the air conditioning. I try to calm myself off the panicked ledge I’m on, forcing the logic side of my brain into action. There has to be a simple explanation for all of this—or maybe Axe was right that my nerves are still through the roof on account of the trauma it was subjected to during the tense, adrenaline-filled past few days. I mean, those men tried to grab me right outside the library that night.

Sighing, I mentally kick myself for not simply agreeing to Axe’s suggestion to take a look around. With a forceful swallow, I gulp down the nervousness that’s made my throat dry and head back to the circulation desk. I’ll call him. He’s probably not too far away. I’ll just butter him up with platitudes and tell him he was right. It probably won’t take much coaxing to get him back here, so I pick up the desk phone and reach into my purse for his number, ready to let him do what he’s done so well for the past few days.

“You do not want to dial out on that phone, Blondie,” a smarmy voice breathes out above my left shoulder. “Let me see those hands.”

I don’t have time to move an inch when a pair of heavy hands rests on my shoulders, encouraging my obedience. Shit. Scared out of my mind, my hands raise skyward in panicked compliance with zero effort on my part.

“Wh-what do you want?” I stammer out the question on shallow breaths.

“You won’t be around long enough for an answer, so don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” the male voice says from behind me, seeming intent on hiding his face. But even as he threatens to end me, I notice there are so many reflective surfaces around me. I see glimpses of his sharp jawline, his slender yet imposing frame. Nothing about him is familiar. I’ve never seen this man before.

Then he jerks his forearm around my neck and I feel the sinewy flesh and bone as he tightens his grip. The move is sharp and rough, instantly choking the life out of me as I try to breathe. My body flails backward, caught off guard by fact that I. Can’t. Breathe.

My eyes widen and start to water. My hands scrape and scratch the offending arm at my neck, but he’s too strong and I wasn’t prepared for this situation to go from zero to murder with no warning at all. Small black spots dance in front of my vision as I scramble and claw at the arm around my throat. I can’t break his hold. There’s barely enough room to get a wheeze through my throat, let alone a scream. Every second, my eyes grow heavier and my brain struggles to stay alert.

With what little cognitive function I have left in my brain, I use the only advantage I have left. My body weight. With a slight bend forward, I reel back into the chair as hard as I can, hoping it’ll topple over and take my attacker down with it. That doesn’t work, so I try jamming my shoe heel into the top of the man’s foot. I grind it down with all my weight and the man grunts and swears, but he doesn’t release me. In fact, he clamps his arm around my neck even tighter. I scramble around, bashing into things to throw him off, but it’s no use. Every time he’s caught off balance, he corrects himself and stabilizes his stance again. And unfortunately for me on my fourth desperate attempt, when my body’s turned slightly to one side, he loses his patience and slams my shoulder hard into the top of the desk.

I barely register the pain radiating out from the spot, not with the adrenaline coursing through me as I fight to stay conscious, to stay alive. But he doesn’t give up either. No, he uses his strength advantage to take it a step further. I feel the chair kicked out from under me as he pushes me against the counter, pressing his body up against me from behind. His hands loosen a little this time, though, and it’s just enough for me to suck in a small breath of air in through my bruised airway. I use every bit of strength to fight back, and when my fingertips happen to touch the smooth, cold, sharper edge of a staff letter opener, hope fills me again. Stretching my arm as far as it’ll go, I clench the piece of metal, ready to hurt, maim, or kill, if it comes to that. Anything to stay alive.

But I don’t get my shot at using the letter opener.

The piercing sound of glass shattering somewhere near the front entrance fills the air and my attacker freezes. Both my attacker and I are quickly lifted up. My feet can’t touch the ground under it for a moment, then the grip around my neck loosens, and as I drop to the floor, I glance up in time to see my attacker’s torso being pelted over the counter. He’s airborne for what seems like a long second, then goes head first into a glass display case, taking the entire thing down with him in an ear-splitting, glass-shattering crash.

My fingers grip protectively around my neck as I collapse to my knees. I cough and sputter, gasping for air to refill my lungs, suddenly hit with the stinging pain.

“Are you hurt?” Axe drops to my side, wrapping a protective arm around me as he helps me off the floor.

“I’m okay,” I answer hoarsely, but it’s my blurry vision and bright spots behind my eyes playing tricks on my vision that I’m worried about. That and the dizziness that makes the room spin. “I’ll be okay.”

“I’m gonna kill that fucker for touching you,” he grinds out, rubbing my back soothingly. “I never should’ve fucking left.”

“No. I should’ve listened to you… should’ve let you stay with me,” I croak out in a raspy whisper, barely able to speak through the pain pulsing in my throat right now.

“No. This is my fault,” he barks. “This is on me. He only came after you because of me. I should’ve followed my gut.” With no effort at all, he slides his arms around my back and behind my knees. Scooping me up into his arms, he gets to his feet and starts to the door. “I’m taking you home now…with me.”

I feel a twinge of relief that he’s still willing to go to such lengths for me, but God, I don’t want to be weak either. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Yes. I do,” he mutters, tilting my chin up so I’d look him in the eye. “You’re not gonna fight me on this. You’re not just my responsibility… you’re mine.”

There’s a depth and solemn tone to his voice that I’ve never heard before. And he’s right. I don’t want to fight it anymore. I’ve been his for longer than I care to admit.

“Okay,” I whisper, and point back to the desk. “My purse.”

“No problem,” he answers, and turns, grabbing it.

“I need to call the police to report this… after you leave, of course.”

“Don’t you worry about that, or that piece of mafia coward trash in the corner.” Axe motions to the door. A man with a blue Mohawk stands in the doorway. He nods my way and I notice he’s wearing a leather cut just like Axe’s. “That’s Tate. Silas and Cole are outside. My biker family will get him out of your hair and have the place all better by morning.”

“Thanks, Axe. So who exactly is he? Did he do all this to me? To us over the last few days?”

“That prick over there is Giovanni,” he seethes.

I flash a puzzled glance across the space to the unconscious man lying in a heap amongst the broken glass and fallen hard covers and magazines. “But… I don’t understand. He was already waiting inside here before we even arrived… I mean, why would he believe…how would he know that I’d come here at all today?”

“Crazy has no logic. The bottom line is he won’t ever get another chance to hurt you or anyone again.”

“What are they going to do with him?”

All Axe does is shake his head. He says nothing more on the matter. I shudder. It probably is better for me not to know.

“Let’s get you to the hospital,” he says as he steps out through the front entrance.

I stiffen up in his arms. “No. I’m tired, and I detest hospitals.”

“That mark around your neck’s pretty bad. Are you sure?” I nod vehemently. “All right. I’ll take you home. As in my place… at the clubhouse.”

“For how long?”

“As long as it takes. Maybe longer. A few days, weeks. I’m not sure how long yet. Just to be safe.”

“That’s the only reason? For my safety?” I probe. He was pretty clear just now that he wants me to be his, that he believes that I’m his. And I want that too, deep down. It’s just been so hard to admit it to myself let alone Axe. It’d be so much simpler if I could accept his love. I want to believe we both deserve that.

“Yes, there’s that, and I…I want you there. Look, I understand you already said you’re not looking for—”

I put my hand over his mouth. “Yes, I’ll come with you. I was hasty before. No, that’s a lie. I was scared. I still am. But…yes. Just yes. I’m ready for this.”

He presses his mouth against my temple. “Awesome. Good girl.”

“But on one condition,” I add, smiling for the first time since he dropped me off earlier. “Well, more like three.”

“Which are?”

“Jet, Marley and Spencer. They’re my fam.”

“Dogs, huh? Among mean as fuck bikers?”

“Take it or leave it,” I add, and brush my lips against his.

“Silas will probably kick my ass out for saying yes, but fuck it. You’ve got yourself a deal.”