Jessa awoke the next morning to a dull ache. She furrowed her brow with her eyes closed, not quite willing to greet the day yet. Her head hurt. Or was it her face? She shifted in bed, the soft sheets tickling her naked breasts. She sighed, turning onto her side.

 

Nope, that was her head. Her head definitely hurt. Too many cocktails the night before, no doubt.

 

Her eyes drifted open. And then she gasped.

 

Silas was in bed next to her.

 

Naked.

 

He had one leg kicked out from underneath the sheets. Turned away from her, the glorious curve of his ass was more like fine art than a dirty biker. She blinked a few times, trying to absorb the scene. He was sculpted. Even in his sleep, his calves were flexed.

 

But why was he in her bed?

 

She sat up, her breasts tumbling out from under the sheet. She gasped, gathering the material around her again. Maybe they were past the point of modesty, though, if he was in her bed and nude.

 

A flash of a memory. His smirk in the kitchen. Greasy fingertips from a sandwich. She rubbed her face. Her very skull ached. How had any of this happened?

 

Silas shifted on the bed, flopping onto his back. His scent reached her, something between sweat and cologne. Her gaze drifted to between his legs. His cock was limp, resting in a tightly trimmed thatch of dark hair. But even soft it was huge.

 

She blinked, unable to rip her gaze away. Judging by how the area between her legs felt, she’d most likely gotten pretty familiar with that cock.

 

Oh. My. God.

 

She pushed out of bed, stumbling once her feet hit the ground. Every part of her protested, but seemingly for different reasons. The back of her head seemed hangover-related, but the ache on the side of her face was inexplicable. When she got into the bathroom and looked at her reflection, she gasped.

 

A gnarly bruise covered the side of her face, spanning from her earlobe to her jawline. “What the fuck?”

 

Silas stirred. Memories rushed back to her – a man holding her down… Silas grabbing her hips… Then the punch across the face.

 

He’d done this to her.

 

“What the fuck did you do to me?” She tore the blankets off the bed, exposing him fully.

 

He jolted awake, looking over at her with bleary eyes. His abs flexed as he sat up, belly creasing in multiple places. God, even when she was hurt and confused, he was still too sexy to look away from.

 

“Nothing!” He held up his hands as she thwacked him with a pillow. “Nothing you didn’t ask for.”

 

“Oh yeah? Well, what’s this?” She pointed to the side of her face. “You think it’s cool to beat a girl up? Why the fuck are you even here?”

 

Silas stared at her for a moment, clarity washing over his face. “You don’t remember.”

 

“I remember enough,” she spat. Even though she didn’t remember anything.

 

“Jessa, I fucking rescued you from that Wicked Spawn asshole who broke into your house trying to rape you.”

 

His words hung awkwardly in the air. She grabbed at the robe hanging on the back of her door and wrapped it around her, extra tight, like it might help stave off the confusion and ickiness.

 

“I beat him up, and he got away.” Silas watched her intensely. “You made sandwiches, and then you basically climbed on top of me wanting to fuck.”

 

She stuck out her jaw, crossing her arms. “Yeah, well, I doubt that.”

 

A disbelieving grin slowly crawled across his face. She hated how handsome he was in the morning light, even through the haze of a hangover. “Trust me, babe. You wanted it. And I gave it to you exactly how you wanted it.”

 

Her cheeks flushed at the naked honesty of his words, and his body. His pecs were solid hills. The tiny mole on his low belly sang to her, begging her to catalog all of the quirks of this man. His kutte hanging over the side of her armchair snapped her back to reality. This wasn’t just a sexy man. This was a lethal biker, who probably had a history. Not to mention an almost certain string of easy fucks and “bellhangers”, as they used to call them.

 

“Did we use anything?”

 

Silas ran a hand through his dark hair. It fell almost to his shoulders when it was down. “No.”

 

“Oh, great.” She threw her hands in the air. “So not only did I get attacked, but I also got an STD.”

 

His brow creased. “Hey. Watch it. I’m clean. I’m not gonna act like we talked about it last night though. We didn’t. I was too caught up in the moment.”

 

She harrumphed, sitting on the edge of the bed, facing away from him. Silence hung between them as she churned over the new knowledge. So maybe an STD wasn’t on the table. Thank God. But what about the rest of it?

 

She combed through the scant details she could remember from last night… The struggle against a heavy body on top of her… A ripping skirt…

 

She shivered.

 

“Well… thanks.” She turned to look at him, offering him a small smile. “For rescuing me.” She paused, about to add but not for the sex. But maybe it had been good. She could only imagine it would be good. Fuck, why had she drank so much? It seemed wrong to have sex with someone like Silas and not remember it.

 

“I promised Stone I’d look after you.” Silas sniffed, rolling out of bed. “This is exactly why he wanted us to get married, too.”

 

Jessa rubbed a palm over her forehead. She hated how right her dad had been about worrying about her. The danger was greater than she’d imagined. “I’ll admit, I thought he was exaggerating about needing to protect me so much. But how does getting married help? I don’t get it. Why can’t you just swing by every once in a while?”

 

“Because if you’re the wife of the Death Knells’ president, shit gets real.” Silas bent down, scooping his boxers off the floor. Jessa tried not to stare while he redressed. “Maybe it won’t make sense to you, but if you’re my wife, those assholes know they can’t come anywhere near you. Coming after an ex-president’s daughter is shitty but coming after a sitting president’s wife is forbidden.”

 

“But they’d still try anyway.”

 

“Yeah. But if—when—they try, then we have all the more reason to take them out.”

 

The room was quiet as she thought, save the rustling of Silas’ jeans as he pulled them on. She shifted on the bed; her entire body ached. Parts that couldn’t be related to sex. The bruise on her face was formidable, and when she spoke, her jaw hurt.

 

“So, what’s this bruise from?”

 

“He pistol-whipped you.”

 

“And you thought that fucking me afterward was the way to make it better?” She sent a wry look his way.

 

“Hey, you climbed on top of me.” He sent her a pointed look as he cinched his belt around his waist.

 

In the early morning light, the dark sprinkling of chest hair over his otherwise smooth chest was endearing – made her want to say, “Aww,” and then pull him down on top of her, make him take off all those clothes he’d just put on.

 

“I’m sure.” She’d said it sarcastically, but actually, she was sure. In the light of day, sober and beat-up, she still wanted him. “Hopefully I at least got an orgasm out of it.”

 

Silas let out a disbelieving laugh. “Oh, trust me. You came harder than I expected.”

 

Her cheeks flamed, spurring to life a lot of thoughts that needed to remain dormant. Such as: what had he done to her? How good was it? And why did she so desperately want a second chance? He’d seen her in her most vulnerable state. Despite the persona she put out there, she was guarded about intimacy. She didn’t like one-night stands, didn’t like letting in just anyone. When she hooked up, she liked it to mean something.

 

And with Silas, all it meant was a sexy man who sent her hormones into overdrive.

 

One thing was clear, at least; she couldn’t be trusted to be around him while drunk. So that would never happen again. Because the more she thought about it, the more the decision became clear. She did need his protection. And they needed to do something about it.

 

Jessa jolted when his hand smoothed over her shoulder. He looked down at her with something like tenderness. Or maybe she just wanted to imagine a man like him looking at her like that.

 

“Last night you got lucky. If I had stopped by later, or even earlier…” He shook his head, the implication weighing heavy in the air. “I don’t want to see you get hurt. I promised Stone I wouldn’t let that happen.”

 

Jessa swallowed a tight knot in her throat. Her life had been uprooted since the death of her father. Why not add one more absurd thing to the pile? “Well, I guess we should get married then.”

 

Silas studied her for a moment, his face a mask of indifference. He nodded slowly, but she couldn’t read him.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Well, it sounds like I don’t have any other choice.” Jessa sighed, pressing her index finger between her eyes. Her head throbbed – from all the different infuriating aspects of her current situation, hangover included. “I was pistol-whipped in my own home. Dad tried to warn me. I never thought…” A wave of emotion shuddered through her. “I was almost raped. How am I supposed to stay here and feel safe ever again? I’d have to leave the state.”

 

“Okay.” For the first time, she caught a hint of uncertainty in his voice, like maybe he was still trying to swallow such an enormous idea himself. “Let’s figure this out then. We get married. We can make it happen fast, too. Something simple, but it has to be in the MC.”

 

Jessa heaved out a big sigh. Of course it would. Getting married to Silas meant officially rejoining the MC. “Do we have to? I have a feeling people don’t think very highly of me. I’d probably get egged during the ceremony.”

 

Silas sent her a look that felt like a reprimand, but she wasn’t sure why. “It doesn’t matter what they think. I’m the president now, and this is to honor Stone. Nobody’s gonna give us shit.”

 

The firmness in his voice was reassuring. At the very least, he was a biker with a strong head. That was good. Most of the time.

 

“Once we get married, we should live together.” Silas bent down to lace up his boots. “Just to make it easier. I can keep an eye on you. On the place.”

 

“Different beds,” she said, her cheeks heating up again, though she wasn’t sure why.

 

He sent her a smirk. “Of course.”

 

“This—”Jessa gestured to the space between them“—was a mistake. So don’t plan on any future hanky-panky.”

 

“Oh, I won’t. Don’t worry.” He sat up, his face slightly flushed from bending over. As he pulled his hair back into a topknot, he grinned evilly. “But that doesn’t mean you won’t be begging for it sooner or later.”

 

Her mouth fell open in shock as he stood and sauntered toward the chair where his kutte was draped. He slid it on over his plain black tee, then jerked his chin in her direction. “Send me a text, so I have your number. I’ll get the details ready and let you know.”

 

All she could do was nod. The president of a feared MC in Northern California was organizing her wedding. This was surely the bow on top of the bizarre cake of her life.

 

“Great. See you at the wedding.” He sent her a sexy grin before clomping out of the bedroom, leaving a thick wake of tension behind.

 

She stared into space until the front door slammed shut.

 

Relief. That’s what she felt – now that that darkly attractive biker was out of her house. But she also felt excitement.

 

A tiny kernel throbbed inside her, desperate for more of Silas, no matter how much she didn’t want to admit it.