Save me? Pick between the two of us?

I didn't need saving. And I sure as hell wasn't giving him the chance to play hero for her. I was going to haul her up myself and smash her little sob story to pieces.

I gritted my teeth. One kick. Another pull. The wild thumping in my chest wasn't fear-it was pure, blind rage. Jagged scrap metal tore at my skin under the water, but I didn't give a shit.

Somewhere above, engines roared and cut off. The guys from the club were arriving. The bitch who had just been thrashing in the water had already scrambled halfway up the bank.

The second we'd hit the water, she had used me as leverage-literally kicking off my shoulder to propel herself up the muddy shore while shoving me under. Chloe's wails drifted through the wind and rain right on cue.

I hauled myself up the steep bank inch by agonizing inch, until my elbows dug into solid ground over the ledge. Then my knees. Finally, I stood
Chloe was still there. Half her body hung over the edge of the muddy slope. Her leather jacket strategically ripped, one hand weakly clutching a rusted pipe. Putting on the performance of a lifetime.

I grabbed her by the back of her jacket, hauled her over the ledge, and dumped her into the mud like a bag of trash.

She hit the dirt, gasping for air. I stood over her, my chest heaving. Blood dripping from a jagged gash on my cheek and oozing from my raw, torn-up knuckles. Heavy boots crunched against the gravel. Daryl sprinted out from the glare of the bike headlights. His eyes scanned me before dropping to Chloe, who was sprawled out on the ground .

Then, he reached out and grabbed my arm.

I yanked myself free. "Don't touch me. You take one step toward her right now, and I'm getting on my bike and riding out tonight."

He froze. Without a word, he stripped off his leather jacket-damp with rain but still radiating his heat-and draped it over my shoulders.

His scent flooded my senses instantly-heavy tobacco rolling over something aggressively warm and masculine. I hated that I even noticed it at a time like this. I didn't say thank you. Chloe sat up. Her eyes went wide-perfect timing-and the tears began to pour.

"I almost died!" She clutched her torn jacket, pitching her voice loud enough for the guys to hear. "She grabbed me! She tried to drag me down the cliff! Daryl, your girl almost killed me-and you're just standing there watching?"

The rest of the MC swarmed into the clearing behind Daryl. The moment Chloe finished, the harsh murmurs began.
"Only been around for three days and she's already out for blood?"

"Outsider. Doesn't respect the club."

One by one. I stood there, soaked to the bone and bleeding, staring coldly as every face in the crowd turned hostile. Their voices blurred into static. Outsider. Trouble. Trailer trash.

Daryl's hand clamped around my wrist. I thought he was restraining me. Forcing me to stand still and let the pack pass their sentence.
Fine. I'll throw the first punch. Then I'll tear up that damn marriage arrangement.

"Sam wouldn't do that."

His voice sliced through the noise. Dead silence. It carried an undeniable absolute finality.

"I believe her."

He didn't even look at Chloe when he said it. He was looking at me. His jaw was set, his voice razor-steady, and his eyes-for the first time since I'd met him-were completely unguarded.

I forgot to breathe.

Damn it. This was the absolute worst time for my heart to lose its mind.

He turned his head to Chloe. "And you, Chloe-you grew up diving in the abandoned quarries. You're the strongest swimmer out of all of us. If you'd really fallen in, you could have easily swam up and saved yourself."

His gaze swept coldly over the crowd. "So why was she screaming bloody murder from the bank?"

Silence. Chloe's lips parted but no words came out.

“Get Tech," Daryl ordered, "Have him pull the dash footage from the truck parked by the ridge, and check the tracks in the mud. We'll see exactly what the hell happened out here.” 

An older patch member stepped forward, scowling. "Pull footage over a petty catfight? You really gonna waste club time on this bullshit, Pres?"
"This isn't a catfight. It's about my wife's name." Daryl's tone hardened to steel.

"She rode halfway across the country to stand by me. She's got more spine than half the guys around here. You're looking at my Old Lady--and this club is damn lucky to have her riding on the back of my bike."

He locked eyes with the veteran. "I won't let anyone drag her name through the mud. Go get Tech. Now."

The older patch opened his mouth. Closed it. Then turned and walked away without a word.

Chloe scrambled to her feet, clutching her arm tightly. Her face was a mess of tears and muck. "You'd go through all this trouble for some feral bitch who doesn't even belong here?! She's no Old Lady. She's just a stray mutt you picked up off the street."

I slipped my wrist out of Daryl's grip, walked straight up to Chloe, drew back my hand, and slapped her hard across the face.
The sharp crack echoed over the wind-battered cliff.

She stumbled hard to the side, a hand flying to her cheek. For a split second, her pathetic victim mask shattered completely--leaving nothing but pure shock, and beneath it, raw, venomous hatred.

"You hit me?!" She shrieked, lunging at me with her nails out. I caught her wrist with dead- on precision and shoved her hard, sending her stumbling backward.

"What, did you think I needed an appointment to slap you?" I sneered. pointing a finger right in her face.

"If I actually wanted you dead, you'd be feeding the fish right now. You think your little quarry-diving tricks could fool me? Paddling your ass to the shore and playing dead in the mud... God, you make me sick."

Chloe clutched her cheek, staring at me in absolute terror. All the fight drained out of her in a second; she even forgot to keep up the waterworks
I shifted my glare to Daryl. "The ink on our marriage arrangement isn't even dry yet. If your club is gonna keep this snake around to test my patience, I'm packing my shit and hitting the road tonight, I don't deal with this kind of bullshit."

Daryl met my hostile stare, then dropped his gaze to Chloe, who was trembling and looking guilty as sin.

He stepped up, his broad back forming a solid wall between me and the rest of the club.

"Enough, Chloe," Daryl's voice dropped, cold as ice. "Pack your shit. As of today, you're out of the main clubhouse. You're relocating to the Eastside charter. And you don't step foot inside The Yard ever again without my say-so."

"Daryl! You can't-" Chloe wailed, crumbling into the mud.

Staring at the broad, immovable expanse of Daryl's back, a fraction of the ice in my veins finally started to thaw.

Good. At least this man-a guy who usually let his fists do the talking-still had his priorities straight.