Knight by Lana Grayson

blood. Not again.”
    Not when he was the cause of so much of it before.
    Not when he hadn’t earned forgiveness for the lives he wasted and the blood he spilled and how goddamned stupid it was tearing the club apart in the first place.
    “And if Temple kills you, The Coup loses control anyway.” I crossed my arms, but the robe billowed around me, losing most of my motion in the fluffy, ridiculous cotton-candy puff.
    “I can duck Temple for a while. I have an edge on them.”
    Not what I wanted to hear. “An edge?”
    “I have a listing of Temple’s known warehouses,  preferred routes, aliases, trucking schedules, everything. All things that can keep me one step ahead of them.”
    “What fairy godmother gave you that?”
    He smirked. I hated how much I liked that smile.
    “Just a friend,” he said.
    “You don’t have those anymore.”
    “I have associates then. Mutual trust.”
    “They’re fools if they trust you.”
    Luke crossed his arms. The tight muscles flexed. “The men in my core are loyal. They can and will take a bullet for me, and vice versa.”
    “Don’t be so naïve,” I said. “Or you’ll get that razor blade in your candy apple this Halloween.”
    Now I did need another drink. He followed, hovering a little too close, lowering his voice into a whisper that reserved too much hope for my response.
    “What the hell happened to us?” He made no apologies for his words. “We used to be—”
    “Nothing.”
    I spun to face him, revealing most of my leg. Didn’t matter. He could look, just like the others, but he long since ruined any chance to touch.
    “There was never anything between us .” I swallowed. “There never was an us .”
    “Might have been.”
    “If wishes were dollar bills, Sorceress would have gold stitched curtains on stage.”
    Luke didn’t flinch. “You never gave me a chance.”
    One step too far. “When would have been a good chance? You tore Anathema apart, Luke. You cause the civil war. You caused the misery. When were you planning on making a move? Between bursts of gunfire? Did you plan to take me to dinner after the funerals?”
    “Christ, Lyn.”
    “We didn’t have time for chances after you chose anarchy over the club, and it’s done now.”
    “Doesn’t have to be.”
    This was too much, too quick. Luke hadn’t backed off, and I was running out of places in the living room to shiver.
    The bedroom was much warmer, much more welcoming, but not for him.
    Not now.
    I pushed him away, pretending only to poke his chest instead of touching the hardened, tensed abs waiting beneath his t-shirt. He retreated as I pushed, only because my robe parted. The V of my cleavage promised him one last look at the goods that would never belong to him.
    “I respect you.” It was a fair admission. “You’re the only one in this damn city with a decent head on his shoulders. But it doesn’t do anyone any good now that you keep across the river and wear this...”
    My hand flattened against the president’s patch. A mistake. He covered my fingers with his palm, pushing my hand harder against his chest.
    His heart beat just as quick as mine.
    And all I remembered was the last time we were so close. In the dark. In the quiet. The music dulled, the lights dimmed, and the dance was more for me than him.
    I gave myself to him.
    The breathless whisper as he entered me. The shudder of promised pleasure when we moved.
    He was the only man I ever let touch me in my own club, and had his phone not buzzed, had the war not started the instant he sheathed himself in me?
    I never would have let him go.
    “You made your decision,” I said. “You caused this civil war, and we’re all suffering because of you.”
    “I did what I thought was right.”
    He was too close to me. I managed an entire year without trapping myself within his striking gaze, but every second he bared his soul rendered me more vulnerable to him than if the robe had slipped from my shoulders.
    I didn’t want