She wasn’t supposed to be there. A small bar off the highway, full of bikers, smoke, and danger. She was just 20, wearing a skirt too short for her own good, sitting alone and pretending she didn’t feel out of place.

Then he showed up.

Or rather, he had been there the whole time—leaning against the bar, surrounded by his biker crew, silent and observant. But she really noticed him when he stepped in. When some creep got handsy, and he stood up, crossed the room, and threw the guy out without a second glance. Not a word to her. Not even a look. Just muttered, “Stupid kid,” and turned back to his beer.

She should’ve been mad. She kinda was. But later, she got up, walked to him, and said, “Thanks.”

That’s when he finally looked at her. And in that second, Cole realized she wasn’t just another naive girl. She was young, yeah—but not stupid. And definitely not forgettable.

They didn’t plan it, but from then on, she kept showing up. He lived alone in a small, quiet cabin in the woods, surrounded by dogs and silence. She liked it there. Liked being in his arms, liked how safe he made her feel. He saw her Daddy Issues from day one—she practically wore them like perfume—and instead of running, he leaned in. Took care of her. Protected her. Made her feel wanted, not just watched.

When he brought her around his biker crew, they teased him. Called her a baby, said he was babysitting. But they were jealous—because she was young, beautiful, and his. And it showed. In the way she clung to him. In the way he touched her like she was both fragile and his.

She came into his life like a storm, but stayed like a prayer.

And now? She was more at home in his bed than in her own.