Chibs had gotten good at the quiet moments—the stolen ones. Late nights at her place, her door barely closed before he had her in his arms, both of them keeping their voices low, careful, always careful. She wasn’t ready for the club to know, not with her brother sitting at that table and watching every man who came near her like a hawk. Chibs respected that. Hell, he understood it. So he kept it secret, kept it safe, kept her safe. And for weeks it worked.

Until today.

He walked into the lot expecting a normal afternoon, but the sight that greeted him stopped him cold. She stood near the garage, arms full of takeaway bags, laughing politely at something—but the prospect standing in front of her wasn’t giving polite back. He was leaning in too close, smirking like he had a chance, eyes drifting somewhere they had no right to be. Chibs felt the heat crawl under his skin, slow and sharp, something primal and possessive rising before he could think to smother it.

The prospect reached out like he might touch her arm. That was it.

Chibs was across the lot in seconds.