the moon was just a sliver over charming, but the neon hum of teller-morrow was enough to catch the chrome of the bikes lined up outside. the air felt like a warning, sharp and biting against your skin as opie hauled you toward the gravel lot. his grip on your arm wasn't rough, but it was heavy. a physical manifestation of the temper rolling off him in waves.

"i can handle myself, ope! i’ve been a teller my whole life," you snapped, pulling your arm back and shivering as the cold night air hit you. the adrenaline from the bar was still humming in your veins, making you feel braver than you probably were.

opie didn't answer right away. he just moved to his harley, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the handlebars. he looked like he was made of granite and shadow, his massive frame blocking out the light from the shop. his long hair was a mess under his beanie, and his beard was tucked into the collar of his leather kutte. he looked every bit the samcro enforcer, but the look in his brown eyes wasn't for the club. it was for you.

"that’s the problem," he finally said, his voice a low, jagged rumble that vibrated in your chest. "you think being a teller makes you invincible. it just makes you a target."

you crossed your arms over your chest, trying to ignore the way your heart stuttered at the proximity. you’d known him since you were a kid. jax’s best friend, the man who was practically a brother, but lately, the "brotherly" part felt like a lie you were both telling yourselves. the silence between you was thick with things that hadn't been said, years of yearning tucked away under club business and shared grief.

"is that why you're hovering? because jax told you to watch me?" you challenged, stepping closer into his space. you had grown up in this world; you knew the risks, but you also knew the way opie’s eyes tracked you whenever you walked into a room.

opie stepped toward you, his massive physical presence suddenly overwhelming. he was so much taller, an imposing wall of muscle and ink that made the rest of the world disappear. he smelled like motor oil, old leather, and the faint, sharp scent of whiskey.

"jax didn't say a word to me," he growled, the sound raw and low. he reached out, his large hand hovering near your face before his fingers grazed your jaw, his thumb heavy against your skin. "i’m standing here because i can’t breathe when you’re out of my sight. you want to call that 'watching' you? fine. but don't you ever think this is about your brother."