The scalding water did nothing to wash the feeling from my skin.

I stood under the spray for thirty minutes, scrubbing at flesh that still tingled with electricity, trying to drown the memory of his voice saying my name like a prayer. But every time I closed my eyes, I saw him pressed against that wall like I was something dangerous.

Maybe I was. Maybe that was the problem.

My body was a traitor. Even now, with soap suds sliding down my curves and steam fogging the mirror, I could feel the phantom weight of his gaze on my mouth. The way his pupils had blown wide when I’d whispered “yes” to feeling whatever this impossible connection was between us.

I’d never reacted to a man like this. Sure, I’d had relationships—safe lawyers who understood my ambition, men who fit neatly into my ordered world without causing ripples. But none of them had ever made me feel like I was coming apart just by existing in the same room.

Kane Drax was everything I should run from. Criminal. Violent. Dangerous in ways that had nothing to do with his record and everything to do with how he made me forget every principle I’d built my life on.

So why did his rejection feel like losing a piece of my soul?

I turned off the water and caught sight of myself in the mirror—skin flushed pink, hair wild with curls I’d finally freed from their professional prison, eyes dark with want I couldn’t hide. For a moment, I looked like someone who belonged in Kane’s world of leather and sin.

The thought should have terrified me.

Instead, heat pooled low in my belly as I imagined those scarred hands mapping every curve, that whiskey voice whispering filthy promises against my throat while he—

My phone rang, shattering the fantasy before I could do something really pathetic like touch myself again.

Patricia’s name flashed on the screen. Calling after hours meant either very good news or very bad news, and given my luck lately, I wasn’t betting on good.

“Calla? Sorry to bother you at home, but there’s been a development with the Drax case.”

My pulse jumped so hard I nearly dropped the phone. “What kind of development?”

“He fired his previous attorney this afternoon. Specifically requested for you.” Patricia’s voice carried surprise that mirrored my own shock. “Apparently, he was quite insistent about it.”

I sank onto my bed, towel clutched around me like armor. “That doesn’t make sense. He told me to find him someone else. He said he didn’t want me.”

“Well, he changed his mind. Are you interested, or should I assign it to Marcel?”

The thought of Marcel handling Kane’s case sent an unexpected spike of possessiveness through my chest. Marcel kith was competent but predictable. He’d plea bargain Kane into a cell without bothering to dig into Victoria’s real motivations.

Kane deserved better.

The thought surprised me. Yesterday I would have written him off as another criminal gaming the system. Now, after seeing the desperation in his eyes when he’d warned me away, I couldn’t shake the feeling there was so much more to this story.

“I’ll take it,” I said before I could second-guess myself.

“Good. He wants to meet tomorrow morning. And Calla? Be careful with this one. My sources say Kane Drax is… complicated.”

If only she knew what he could do to me without saying a word.

I arrived at the courthouse forty minutes early, armed with coffee strong enough to wake the dead and a determination to keep things strictly professional. Whatever this thing was between Kane and me—this electric connection that made my skin burn and my pulse race—it had to take a backseat to his legal defense.

I could do this. I was a lawyer first, a woman second. No matter how Kane affected me, I wouldn’t let it compromise my ability to represent him.

The lie tasted bitter even as I thought it.

Kane was already waiting when the guard led me to the interview room, and the sight of him made every carefully constructed wall crumble to dust. He’d showered since yesterday, his black hair still damp and loose around his shoulders. The jumpsuit clung to his frame like it had been tailored, emphasizing every hard line and dangerous curve.

He stood when I entered—a courtesy that shouldn’t have affected me but did—and the space between us immediately crackled with tension.

“Ms. Reyes.” His voice was carefully neutral, but I caught the rough edge beneath the politeness. “Thank you for coming.”

“Mr. Drax.” I set my briefcase on the table, using the familiar ritual to center myself even as my hands shook. “I understand you’ve reconsidered your position regarding representation.”

“I have.” Kane settled back into his chair, but there was nothing relaxed about his posture. He looked like a predator trying to appear harmless. “Turns out you’re the best criminal defense attorney in the city under thirty.”

The compliment should have pleased me. Instead, it felt like armor—something to hide behind instead of acknowledging what had really passed between us yesterday.

“Flattery isn’t necessary, Mr. Drax. Just honesty.”

Something flickered in his eyes at that. “Honesty. Right.” His smile was sharp enough to cut. “How honest do you want me to be, Counselor?”

The way he said “counselor” made my thighs clench. There was something darkly intimate about it, like he was testing how the word tasted on his tongue.

“Honest enough to mount a proper defense.” I uncapped my pen with hands that trembled slightly. “Your record suggests you’re familiar with the legal system.”

“Guilty.” Kane’s gaze tracked the movement of my fingers, and I felt heat bloom under my skin. “Though most of those charges were dropped. Amazing what money can buy.”

“And this time?”

“This time I’m being framed by a princess who doesn’t like hearing ‘no.’” His voice hardened, and I caught a glimpse of the man who commanded respect through presence alone. “Victoria Ashford thinks daddy’s money can buy her anything. Including me.”

I scribbled notes, grateful for something to focus on besides the way Kane’s jumpsuit stretched across his chest when he leaned forward. “Tell me what happened Friday night. Everything.”

Kane was quiet so long I started to wonder if he’d heard me. When he finally spoke, his voice was carefully controlled.

“You were there.”

My pen slipped, leaving an ink blot across my legal pad. “Excuse me?”

“Eclipse. Friday night.” Kane’s eyes never left my face, and I felt pinned like a butterfly under glass. “Red dress, brunette sister, looked like you wanted to bolt the second you walked in.”

Heat flooded my cheeks. Of course he’d noticed me staring. I’d been practically drooling over his public display, my body responding to his dominance in ways that still horrified me.

“I was there briefly,” I managed.

“Long enough.” Kane leaned forward, and his scent hit me like a drug—leather and something wild that made my mouth water. “Tell me what you saw.”

This was insane. I was supposed to be interviewing him, not the other way around. But something in Kane’s voice compelled honesty.

“You were… entertaining someone. Victoria approached afterward, and you rejected her.” I kept my voice clinical despite the memory of how watching him had made me wet. “She didn’t handle it well.”

“Understatement of the century.” Kane’s laugh was harsh. “Victoria’s been circling me for months like a shark scenting blood. Friday night, she decided to make her move public.”

“And when you refused?”

“She threatened to destroy me.” Kane’s eyes glowed with remembered anger, and for a moment, they looked almost inhuman. “Said she’d make sure I rotted in prison if I didn’t give her what she wanted.”

I made notes, my legal mind already cataloging defense strategies even as my body responded to the dangerous energy radiating off him.

“There were witnesses—”

“Who won’t testify against Senator Ashford’s daughter.” Kane’s voice was flat with resignation. “The kind of people at Eclipse don’t risk their necks for bikers.”

He was probably right, but I hadn’t built my career on probably impossible cases by accepting defeat.

“Let me worry about that. Right now, I need details about Victoria’s allegations.”

Kane recited the accusations with clinical precision, but I could see the rage building beneath his controlled surface. Victoria claimed he’d cornered her in a private room, forced himself on her despite her protests, and threatened her when she tried to leave.

It was textbook he-said-she-said, and without physical evidence or cooperative witnesses, it would come down to credibility. A biker with a record versus a senator’s daughter with unlimited resources.

We were fucked, and we both knew it.

“There’s something else,” Kane said when I’d finished taking notes. “Something you need to understand.”

I looked up, and the intensity in his gaze made my breath catch. He looked like he was about to confess to murder or declare war or—

“What is it?”

Kane stared at me for a long moment, some internal battle playing out across his features. His hands were clenched into fists on the table, and I could see the tension thrumming through his body like a live wire.

“This case isn’t what it seems. There are people—powerful people—who want me gone. Victoria’s just their latest weapon.”

“What kind of people?”

“The kind who don’t hesitate to eliminate threats.” Kane’s voice dropped to something almost like a growl. “The kind who might hurt you just for being here.”

The words should have frightened me. Should have sent me running like any sane woman would. Instead, they sent liquid fire straight to my core.

“Is that a threat, Mr. Drax?”

“It’s a warning.” Kane’s gaze burned into mine. “Walk away, Calla. Drop this case and forget you ever met me.”

“Why?” The question slipped out before I could stop it. “Because I’m not good enough? Because I’m some cop’s daughter who doesn’t belong in your world?”

Kane’s face went absolutely still. “Because you’re too good for it.”

The words hung between us like a confession, and I felt something crack open in my chest. Not rejection. Protection. Kane wasn’t pushing me away because he didn’t want me.

He was trying to save me from something.

“Everyone deserves proper representation,” I said quietly. “Even you.”

Kane’s breath hitched like I’d hit him. For a moment, his careful control slipped, and I saw raw hunger flash across his features before he shuttered it again.

“Your funeral,” he said, but his voice was rough with something that sounded suspiciously like gratitude.

I gathered my papers and stood on unsteady legs, trying to ignore how Kane’s presence filled the small room like smoke. “I’ll be in touch when I have more information.”

“Calla.”

I paused at the door, my hand hovering over the handle. When I turned, Kane was watching me with an expression that made my knees weak—desperate, conflicted, like he was fighting a war with himself.

“Be careful,” he said quietly.

The simple request shouldn’t have meant anything. But as I looked at this dangerous man who was trying to protect me even as he pushed me away, I felt something shift in my chest.

“I will.”

Kane’s eyes closed like I’d hurt him. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

I walked out of that courthouse carrying his words like a secret flame, warming the cold places his rejection had left behind the day before. Because now I understood.

Kane Drax didn’t want me to walk away because he didn’t want me.

He wanted me to run because he probably wanted me too much.

And that knowledge was the most dangerous thing of all.

I couldn’t concentrate.

Three hours I’d been sitting at my kitchen table, case files spread across the surface like tarot cards predicting disaster, and all I could think about was the way Kane had said my name. Like it hurt him. Like it was something precious he wasn’t allowed to have.

Be careful.

The memory of his desperate plea sent heat spiraling through my core for the hundredth time today. I shifted in my chair, pressing my thighs together against the persistent ache that hadn’t left me since walking out of that courthouse.

This was insane. I was a professional woman, not some lovesick teenager obsessing over her first crush. Kane Drax was my client—a criminal accused of sexual assault—and I was supposed to be preparing his defense, not fantasizing about his hands on my body.

But God, the way he’d looked at me. Like I was salvation and damnation wrapped in a conservative suit.

I forced myself to focus on Victoria’s statement, reading through her accusations with growing skepticism. Her timeline didn’t match the witness reports. She claimed Kane had followed her to a private room around midnight, but the bartender’s statement put him at his table until at least 12:30, surrounded by his crew.

Someone was lying, and it wasn’t hard to guess who.

My phone buzzed with a text from Sofia: How’s the mysterious client? Still thinking about Mr. Tall, Dark & Dangerous?with a smirking devil face

If only she knew.

I’d been thinking about Kane since the moment I’d left that interview room. Thinking about the electricity that had shot between us when I’d touched the door. The way his voice had roughened when he’d warned me away. The desperate hunger I’d glimpsed before he’d shuttered his expression.

What would have happened if I’d walked back to his corner that night?

The thought was dangerous. Intoxicating.

My hand drifted to my throat as if pulled by an invisible thread, imagining Kane’s fingers there instead—strong, unyielding, commanding. Would he have been gentle, coaxing? Or would he have claimed me with the same ruthless dominance I’d watched him unleash on the brunette?

Heat coiled low in my belly, spreading molten and relentless until it pooled between my thighs. The memory looped through my head: Kane’s hands gripping her waist, guiding her every movement while she writhed against him like her sanity depended on it. And that sound he’d made—that guttural growl, not quite human—when she kissed him with tongue and teeth like she wanted to devour him whole.

I wanted to make him sound like that.

The realization hit like lightning, sharp and impossible to ignore. My body moved before my mind could stop it. My hand slid beneath the waistband of my yoga pants, finding the slick heat of my own need already waiting for me.

Kane.

Just his name in my head was enough to make my pulse stutter. I pictured his voice saying mine, rough and low, whispering Calla like a command only I could obey. My fingers brushed against my slick folds, circling with the same rhythm I’d watched that brunette grind out against his lap.

But in my fantasy, it wasn’t my hand. It was his. His rough, calloused fingers—stronger, firmer, far less forgiving—working me with practiced precision. He’d know every place to touch, every spot to press, every way to drag out the pleading he craved.

“Please,” I gasped into the silence of my apartment, my other hand gripping the table edge so hard my knuckles ached.

In my mind, Kane’s mouth was at my throat, hot breath trailing fire down to my chest. His teeth grazing, his lips claiming. His hand holding me open while his fingers drove me higher, deeper, faster. He wouldn’t stop until I was undone, until I shattered against him. He’d want it all. Demand it all. And I’d give it, because he would leave me no choice.

You’re mine, Calla. Say it.

The phantom command vibrated through me, as real as if his lips brushed my ear. My body clenched around my own fingers like he was really there, pulling the sounds from me that I swore I’d never make.

Say you’re mine.

“I’m yours,” I cried out, the words torn from my throat as release ripped through me. My back arched, my body convulsing with wave after relentless wave of pleasure. His name spilled from my lips like a prayer, like a curse, like the only truth that had ever mattered.

And when the last shudder passed, I collapsed against the chair, breathless, trembling, every nerve still singing with the echo of him. Kane wasn’t here. But God, it felt like he had been.

For a moment, I floated in that post-orgasmic haze where nothing mattered except the satisfaction thrumming through my veins.

Then reality crashed back.

I was sitting in my kitchen, hand still buried in my pants, having just masturbated to fantasies of my client. My criminal client. The man accused of sexual assault who I was supposed to be defending with professional objectivity.

“Jesus Christ,” I whispered, yanking my hand away like I’d been burned.

What was wrong with me? I’d built my career on logic, on evidence, on maintaining appropriate boundaries. I didn’t lose control. I didn’t let emotion cloud my judgment. And I certainly didn’t get off thinking about dangerous men who warned me away for my own good.

But the evidence was literally on my fingers, and the satisfied ache between my legs made it impossible to pretend this was just professional curiosity.

I was in trouble. Deep, dangerous trouble that had nothing to do with Kane’s legal case and everything to do with the way he made me feel like a woman instead of just a lawyer.

My phone rang, shattering the guilty silence.

Unknown number. I almost didn’t answer, but years of legal training had taught me that important calls often came from unexpected sources.

“Calla Reyes.”

“Ms. Reyes.” The voice was cultured, refined, with the kind of old-money accent that spoke of boarding schools and trust funds. “I believe you’re representing Kane Drax.”

Ice formed in my veins despite the lingering heat in my body. “Who is this?”

“A concerned citizen with advice for a promising young attorney.” The man’s tone was conversational, but there was steel beneath the silk. “Mr. Drax is a dangerous man with dangerous enemies. It would be… unfortunate if an ambitious lawyer found herself caught in the crossfire.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s practical advice. Drop the case, Ms. Reyes. There are other clients, other opportunities. Ones that won’t end with you following in your mother’s footsteps.”

The mention of my mother hit like a physical blow. “What do you know about my mother?”

“I know Elena Reyes thought she was untouchable too. Right up until she wasn’t.” The man’s chuckle was soft, almost gentle. “Car accidents happen so easily in this city. Especially to lawyers who don’t know when to stop digging.”

The line went dead.

I sat there staring at my phone, my earlier satisfaction replaced by something cold and sharp. Someone was watching me. Threatening me. Using my mother’s memory as a weapon.

They’d made a mistake.

My hands shook as I gathered the scattered case files, but it wasn’t fear making them tremble. It was rage. Pure, clean fury at whoever thought they could intimidate me into abandoning a client.

They didn’t know me very well.

I’d built my career on impossible cases, on fighting for people the system wanted to forget. I wasn’t about to start backing down now, especially not for some anonymous coward who hid behind veiled threats.

But as I locked my apartment door and checked the windows twice before bed, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d just crossed a line I couldn’t uncross.

Whatever this case really was, it was bigger than Victoria’s wounded pride. Bigger than Kane’s criminal record.

And somehow, it was connected to secrets that had gotten my mother killed.

I didn’t sleep.

Every creak of the building, every car passing outside my window, every shadow that moved wrong had me reaching for my phone to call… who? The police? And tell them what—that someone had made vague threats about car accidents?

By morning, exhaustion and fury had crystallized into something sharp and unbreakable. Someone thought they could scare me off with anonymous phone calls and veiled references to my mother’s death. They were about to learn exactly how wrong they were.

I dressed for battle—my sharpest suit, heels that could double as weapons, hair pulled back in a bun tight enough to give me a headache. If Kane Drax thought he could keep playing games while someone threatened me, he was about to get a reality check.

The courthouse felt different today. More eyes tracking my movement, more whispered conversations that stopped when I passed. Paranoia, maybe, but after last night’s call, I wasn’t taking any chances.

Kane was already waiting when I entered the interview room, and the sight of him made my carefully constructed armor waver. He looked exhausted too, dark circles under his eyes like he’d spent the night pacing his cell. When those hazel-gold eyes met mine, something electric sparked between us—the same impossible connection that had been burning me alive for days.

“You look like hell,” he said by way of greeting.

“Funny. I was about to say the same about you.” I set my briefcase down harder than necessary, the sharp sound echoing off concrete walls. “We need to talk.”

Kane’s posture shifted, subtle but unmistakable. From casual to alert in the span of a heartbeat. “About the case?”

“About the phone call I received last night.”

The change in Kane was immediate and terrifying. His entire body went rigid, hands clenching into fists on the metal table. For a moment, his eyes flashed with something that wasn’t quite human—too bright, too predatory.

“What phone call?”

I pulled out my notepad, reading from the notes I’d made immediately after hanging up. “Unknown number, refined voice, mentioned my mother by name. Suggested I might follow in her footsteps if I didn’t drop your case.”

Kane’s face had gone absolutely white beneath his tan. “Son of a bitch.”

“So you know who it was.”

“I know the type.” Kane stood abruptly, beginning to pace the small room like a caged animal. “This is exactly what I was trying to prevent. This is why I told you to walk away.”

“Well, I didn’t walk away, and now someone’s threatening me.” I kept my voice level despite the fear and anger churning in my gut. “So you’re going to tell me exactly what I’ve gotten myself into.”

Kane stopped pacing, his back to me. I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands flexed like he wanted to hit something.

“You want the truth?” His voice was rough, dangerous. “Fine. But you’re not going to like it.”

“Try me.”

Kane turned, and the look in his eyes made my breath catch. Raw, desperate, like he was about to confess to sins that would damn us both.

“The Iron Fang isn’t just a motorcycle club. We run high-stakes street races—illegal, underground, big money. Real big money.”

My legal mind immediately started cataloging the implications. “How big?”

“Big enough that politicians look the other way, cops get paid to patrol other neighborhoods on race nights, and the city’s elite place bets they can’t afford to lose.”

I scribbled notes, but part of me was focused on Kane himself—the way he moved when he was agitated, the barely leashed power in every gesture. Even discussing something that could destroy him, he commanded the room.

“And Victoria?”

Kane’s jaw tightened. “Victoria’s daddy has gambling debts. The kind that get people killed if they’re not paid. She thought if she could control me, she could control the races. Fix outcomes, guarantee wins.”

“And when you refused?”

“She decided to destroy me instead.” Kane’s smile was sharp as broken glass. “If she can’t have the races, she’ll make sure nobody can.”

The pieces were falling into place with sickening clarity. This wasn’t just about a spoiled princess’s wounded ego. This was about money, power, and control of something worth killing for.

“Who else is involved in these races?”

Kane’s hesitation was telling. “There are… other clubs. Rival organizations who’d love to see Iron Fang eliminated.”

“Names, Kane.”

“The Blood Fangs.” Kane’s voice dropped to something almost like a growl. “Led by Marcus Blackthorn. We’ve got history—bad history. He’s been trying to muscle in on our territory for years.”

Marcus Blackthorn. I made a note to research him, though something about the name sent an inexplicable chill down my spine.

“You think he’s behind the threats?”

“Marcus doesn’t make phone calls. He makes bodies disappear.” Kane moved closer, and I caught that intoxicating scent that made my mouth water despite everything. “But he’s got connections, people who do his dirty work from the shadows.”

“Then we go to the FBI—”

“With what evidence?” Kane leaned over the table, his face inches from mine. “You think the feds are going to care about some biker’s word against a senator’s daughter? About illegal races half the city government profits from?”

He was right, and we both knew it. But having him this close was scrambling my thoughts, making it hard to focus on anything except the way his lips moved when he spoke.

“So what do you suggest?” I managed.

“I suggest you do what I told you from the beginning.” Kane’s voice was soft, but there was steel beneath the silk. “Walk away. Let them assign you another lawyer and forget you ever met me.”

“No.”

The word came out stronger than I felt. Kane’s eyes flashed with something between admiration and desperation.

“Calla—”

“No,” I repeated, standing so we were eye to eye across the narrow table. “I don’t back down from fights, Kane. Especially not when someone threatens me with my mother’s memory.”

Something broke in Kane’s expression. For a moment, his careful control slipped, and I saw raw hunger flash across his features before he shuttered it again.

“You don’t understand what you’re up against.”

“Then help me understand.” I leaned forward, matching his intensity. “Stop trying to protect me and start trusting me to do my job.”

Kane stared at me for a long moment, and I could see him fighting some internal battle. Finally, he reached across the table, his fingers stopping just short of touching mine.

“If you get hurt because of me,” he said quietly, “I’ll never forgive myself.”

The confession hung between us like a live wire. This close, I could see gold flecks in his hazel eyes, could count the individual scars mapping his knuckles. The air felt charged, electric, like the moment before lightning strikes.

“I’m not afraid of you,” I whispered.

Kane’s breath hitched. “You should be.”

“Why?” I challenged, my voice barely audible. “What are you hiding, Kane?”

For a heartbeat, I thought he might tell me everything. His lips parted, his eyes dark with secrets and want. Then footsteps echoed in the hallway outside, and the moment shattered.

Kane jerked back like I’d burned him, putting distance between us just as the guard appeared in the doorway.

“Time’s up,” the officer announced.

I gathered my things on unsteady legs, hyperaware of Kane’s gaze tracking my every movement. When I reached the door, his voice stopped me.

“Calla.”

I turned, and the intensity in his expression made my knees weak.

“Be careful going home tonight. Vary your route. And if anyone approaches you—anyone at all—you run. Do you understand me?”

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

Kane’s eyes closed like I’d hurt him. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

When he looked at me again, his gaze burned with something that made my core clench with need.

“For what I’m about to do to you.”

What was he about to do to me? Before I could ask what he meant, the guard was escorting me out, leaving Kane alone with his cryptic warning and the electricity still crackling between us.