Hand tight on the doorframe, he shouted her name. At least that’s what he thought he did. Instead, his mouth dropped open and he just stared at Naiya stirring a pot on the stove, her back to him, her body bathed in the warm orange light of the setting sun as she sang Led Zeppelin’s “Ramble On.”
Jesus fucking Christ. He loved that song. The greatest fucking geektastic song by the best band of all time. He remembered the first time Tank played it for him. They’d been trunking with Cade one night and the drug dealer they’d stuffed in the trunk was making a helluva lot of noise. While Cade called the dealer’s buds and arranged a payout for his freedom, Tank turned up the radio just in time for the first few beats of “Ramble On.” Holt had always thought it was about a girl and wandering around, but Tank made him pay attention to the lyrics. Mordor. Gollum. The whole song took place in Middle Earth. Holt never forgot the grin that split Tank’s face. After that, every fucking time they drove around together, Tank pulled the song up on his phone and blasted it through the speakers. And he always had the same grin. Ear to fucking geektastic ear.
Holt had never made the connection, but as he listened to Naiya’s soft voice, watched the sway of her hips, and the sun play over her hair, he realized she had a lot in common with Tank—from her love of comic books, to the music she enjoyed, to the way she stayed calm under pressure and did what she thought was right despite Holt’s views on the matter.
His gaze drifted down to her perfect, heart-shaped ass outlined in dark denim, the flare of her hips, and then back up to the curve of her waist, hugged by a tight red T-shirt. Maybe not exactly like Tank.
He liked that her feet were bare, and that she sang as she cooked when she thought no one could hear her. After the hell he’d been through, the entire scene was surreal, peaceful. Domestic. Sweet. Not something that had ever been on his radar. He almost didn’t want to have words with her about what she had done.
“Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to sit down and eat?” She looked back over her shoulder, cheeks flushed, the light dancing in her eyes. “I’ve made lasagna, garlic bread, and salad. I like red wine with dinner, but Doug thought you were more of a beer or whiskey man, so I bought both. I’ve also made soup in case real food is too much for you.”
Holt’s mouth watered, not just at the prospect of eating a meal, but also at the fact it was home cooked. Before his capture, he lived at the Sinner clubhouse with a few of the other unattached brothers who hadn’t saved up enough money to buy their own place. Food was grabbed on the go unless one of the brothers with an old lady invited him home for dinner, or one of the sweet butts did some cooking instead of doing what they were supposed to do—what they often did for him, what he was thinking about doing now that Naiya had bent down to pull something from the oven.
Christ. She had a sweet ass. And it had been a long time since he’d had a woman.
A woman who had knocked him out when he was about to take down a few Jacks.
“What the fuck did you do?” His gaze dropped to the dish of pasta in her hands, and he reeled from the delicious aroma of melted cheese and tomato sauce. If he didn’t hurry up this conversation, his stomach would rule his head, and he would miss the opportunity to lay down the line.
“Saved you.” She placed the dish on the table. “There were six Jacks, fully armed, none of whom appeared to have been chained in a dungeon for months. I get that you want revenge. But that wasn’t the time or the place. A shoot-out would have landed you in jail, or worse, dead, and you have a Viper to kill. He’s who you want. Not them.”
She was right. Every fantasy of retribution he nurtured in that dungeon had Viper in the starring role. But damned if he would admit it to her. “You had no fucking right. What you did … if we were in the club, a kick out would be the least of your punishments.”
“But you’re not in the club,” she said quietly. “And neither am I. Although I’m not sorry I got you out of there, I am sorry about how I did it. But I didn’t think you would listen and we didn’t have time to talk.”
“How long was I out?”
“Eight hours. Ally said the shot should only have lasted one or two, but your body needed to heal. She stayed until a few hours ago to make sure you were okay, but she and Doug had to get to work. She left stuff for me to treat your wounds.”
Holt grabbed the nearest chair and yanked it out from the table then sat heavily on the wooden seat, his harsh movements rattling the cutlery and plates. He wanted to be angry with her, should be angry, but she’d saved him from his own stubbornness, and now she was standing barefoot in the kitchen after cooking for him, singing his favorite song, looking so fucking lost and beautiful he thought his heart would break.