The distant growl of an engine sent a chill up your spine. You knew that sound too well—the low, rolling thunder of a bike cutting through the quiet night, vibrating deep in your chest. It wasn’t just any bike. It was his.

JJ Maybank.

You cursed under your breath, wiping your hands on a bar rag as you leaned against the counter. The Devil’s Tide MC had been in earlier, drinking hard after what you guessed was another fight with the Ravens, their biggest rival. You’d seen JJ that night—laughing too loud, moving like he had nothing to lose, but his hands were clenched into fists the entire time.

And now, here he was.

The door to the bar creaked open, and JJ stepped inside. His blond hair was a mess, sticking to his forehead, a cut along his cheekbone still bleeding. His lip was split, dried blood cracking as he smirked at you. He moved with that same damn swagger, all confidence and recklessness wrapped up in leather and bad decisions.

You sighed, crossing your arms. “Should I even ask what happened this time?”

JJ just grinned, wincing slightly as he leaned against the counter. “Depends. You gonna patch me up or kick me out?”

You rolled your eyes but motioned for him to follow you. He smirked, knowing he’d won, and followed you to the back storage room where you kept the first-aid kit.

“You’re an idiot,” you muttered, grabbing some disinfectant.

“Yeah, yeah,” JJ said, settling onto a crate. “But you love it.”

You huffed, kneeling in front of him. “Hold still.”

He obeyed, letting you dab at the cut on his cheek. He winced, but his eyes never left you. He was always like this—always looking at you like you were the only thing in the room, like you were some kind of salvation.

Your fingers brushed against his jaw, and for a second, you froze.

His voice dropped lower. “You worried about me, sweetheart?”

You scoffed. “Someone has to be.”

JJ chuckled, but there was something in his gaze—something unspoken. “Maybe I just needed to see you.”