I drive Brooke back to her hotel, tryin’ and failin’ to ignore the way her arms are locked around my waist. How she’s snuggled up to me, her tits pressing against my back. Brooke always had this effect on me, even when we were teenagers. By the time we get there, I’m hard as a bat.

I pull the bike into the circular drive in front of the hotel doors, then cut the engine. She awkwardly climbs off of the seat, favoring her right ankle.

“Thanks,” she murmurs grudgingly. “I guess I’m lucky you happened along.”

She takes one step toward the door, limping. Goddamnit, I can’t let her go in like that. “Hold up,” I grumble. I pull the bike forward a few feet and put down the kickstand. “I’ll help you inside.”

“It’s fine, Travis. I can manage.”

“Nope. I’m comin’ with you.”

Brooke lets out an exasperated sigh. “And I suppose I don’t have any say in the matter?”

She’s pissing me off, but still, I can’t help but laugh. “Well, considering I’m almost three times your size and you have a fucked up leg, I’d say the answer to that question is, no.”

“Jesus Christ,” she mutters, and starts hobbling toward the door. I get in front of her and hold it open to let her pass through. Once we’re inside, she briefly stumbles on the edge of a rug, and I catch her arm before she falls. Brooke looks up at me and gives me a reluctant purse of her lips. “Thanks,” she mumbles.

I let her lead the way to the elevator, where she punches the button for the fourth floor. Once we’re at her room, she fumbles for her key card and inserts it in the little slot. The door’s a little heavy for someone who can’t plant both feet, so I push that open too, and let her go in before me.

Brooke turns around about a foot inside the room, and literally bashes her face into my chest.

“Whoa,” I chuckle, grabbing her by both shoulders.

“I…” Her face flames red. “I don’t remember inviting you in,” she sputters, to cover up her embarrassment.

“You’re welcome,” I shoot back. “Sit down on the bed and give me your key card. I’m gonna go grab some ice.”

It’s pretty damn obvious she doesn’t want to, but to her credit she shuts up and does as I say. I take her card and grab the ice bucket sitting on top of the mini-fridge. It’s got a plastic bag draped over the top of it, which I put inside the bucket and use to make an ice pack for Brooke’s leg.

When I get back, she’s propped up on her bed with some pillows behind her. Her left leg’s on the floor, her right sticking out straight in front of her. I walk over and lay the bag of ice over her ankle as gently as I can. Brooke hisses as the coldness hits her skin, but doesn’t complain.

“You sure it’s not sprained?” I ask.

“No,” she shakes her head. “At least, not badly. I just need to be off it for a few hours.”

“Now will you admit you shouldn’t have been running on that stretch of road?”

She casts her eyes up to the ceiling. “I could have rolled my ankle anywhere. It just happened to be there.”

For a few seconds, neither one of us says anything. I tell myself I should take off.

“So,” I ask instead. “What are you here for, Brooke? Some sort of FBI shit?”

She looks at me for a second, hesitating. Finally, she gives me a brief nod. “Yeah.”

“What sort of shit?”

“A tip that was sent into our field office.” She pauses. “Human trafficking.”

“Seriously?” I ask skeptically. “Like, a sex ring?”

It’s not like it’s impossible. But it sure seems unlikely that something like that would happen out here.

“Yes, seriously.”

“You get the shit end of the stick at your job, B, investigatin’ something like that out here?”

My nickname for her slips out before I realize it. If she notices, she doesn’t say anything.

“Yeah, maybe.” She laughs softly. “My boss isn’t exactly my biggest fan.”

“You found anything yet?”

She smirks at me, one eyebrow shooting up in amusement. Something in her face reminds me of old times. It makes my chest hurt.

“I’m an FBI agent, Travis,” she chuckles. “I’m not at liberty to tell a civilian the details of the case I’m investigating.”

I snort. “Civilian. That’s what we call ‘em, too.”

She frowns. “What?”

“People who aren’t in an MC,” I explain. “We call them civilians.”

“Ah,” she smiles. “Well. I guess we’re both members of an exclusive club.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

For a second, neither one of us says anything. The silence turns awkward, and Brooke looks down at the bedspread and clears her throat.

“Travis,” she murmurs, her voice soft. “Thank you again, for helping me. And…” She stops, swallowing once. “I’m sorry. About… you know. The past. Everything.” Her voice is tinged with regret. Brooke takes a deep breath, and then blows it out. “I had my reasons, for leaving the way I did. I know it was a shitty thing to do.”

My jaw tenses. It’s fuckin’ surreal standing here right now, hearing her say this. Never thought I’d see this girl again, that’s for sure. Much less get an apology from her.

I’ve been holding on to a lot of anger at Brooke Brentano over the years. Even as I told myself at the time I didn’t give a shit. But the fact is, she’s the first girl I ever felt anything for. The only one, to be honest. Hell, at the time I even thought I was probably in love with her. And I guess I fooled myself into thinking she might be in love with me, too.

But I was young, and filled with the kind of foolish bullshit that young people believe. For Christ’s sake, we never even got past third base. I spent my senior year with a perpetual case of blue balls. At the time I told myself it was all worth it, because eventually Brooke would say yes, and then we’d be together.

And hearts and flowers, and unicorns and rainbows, or some such shit.

Jesus.

When she left, and I finally started to get over her — after shoving my dick inside so many women I literally lost count — I told myself she’d done me one hell of a favor, leaving town and ghosting me before I got in too deep.

And I believed it, too. I believed the hell out of it.

Just like I believed I’d never see Brooke Brentano again in this lifetime.

Now, here she is, right the hell in front of me. And the fuck of it is, hatin’ her was a lot easier when she was an abstract idea.

“Yeah, well.” I say gruffly. I don’t want to see where this conversation is about to go. “We all have our reasons for doin’ what we do, I guess.”

Brooke stares up at me, looking like she wants to say more. It almost seems like she’s sorry to see me leave, but I know that must be my imagination.

“Okay, then. I’m off,” I tell her. “I gotta go visit someone in the hospital.” I was on my way to see Rock when I ran across Brooke. It’s not like I had a pressing appointment or anything, but it’s an excuse to get me the hell outta here.

“Thanks again, Travis.” Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment it’s like we’re locked together. Something passes between us — a current of what used to be. My dick jumps in my pants, and in spite of myself I have to fight the urge to close the distance separating us. To take her into my arms, and see whether the electricity that used to arc between us is still there. The pull is almost magnetic. But I don’t move. I make myself stay put.

Brooke’s mouth is half open, her breathing shallow. As I turn to go, her eyes fall to the patches on my right pec.

“Beast,” she reads. Her voice is soft, curious. “Why do they call you that?”

I say the first thing that comes to my head.

“It’s a reminder,” I tell her. “And a warning.”