Her Possessive Bikers

28. Indy

28

INDY

S unlight filters through unfamiliar curtains as I blink awake. Jacoby's arm drapes heavily across my waist, his warm breath tickling my neck. The events of last night flood back - the fire, the chevelle, the shower...

My stomach twists with guilt as I remember Kyler's touch just days before, how he slipped away into the night without staying. The weight of Jacoby's arm suddenly feels suffocating.

"Hey," I whisper, gently shaking his shoulder. "Jacoby, wake up."

Jacoby’s arm tightens around me, and he buries his face into my neck. His stubble tickles, making me squirm.

“Five more minutes, beautiful,” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep.

I sigh, pressing my palm against his chest. “Jacoby, I’m serious. We need to get up.”

He finally opens one eye, giving me a lazy grin. “Not much for pillow talk, are you?”

I roll my eyes but can’t help the smile tugging at my lips. “And you’re one to talk?”

He chuckles and props himself up on an elbow. “Fair point.” His fingers trace idle patterns on my arm, sending little sparks of electricity through me.

“You always this restless after a night of passion?” he teases.

“Maybe,” I say with a smirk. “Or maybe I just have a lot on my mind.”

His expression softens as he shifts closer. “I get it, Indy. Last night was... a lot.”

“A lot,” I echo, thinking about the fire and the confrontation with the rival gang.

Jacoby’s hand moves to cup my cheek. “But you handled it like a champ.”

I lean into his touch, feeling the warmth radiate from his palm. “I didn’t have much of a choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” he says softly. His thumb brushes my lower lip, and I can’t resist anymore.

I lean in and kiss him, pouring all my mixed emotions into it—grief, gratitude, confusion. He responds immediately, pulling me closer until there’s no space left between us.

We break apart just enough for him to whisper against my lips, “You’re something else, Indy Cooper.”

I laugh lightly and press another quick kiss to his mouth before pulling back completely. “Come on, Vice President Wilson. We’ve got a day ahead of us.”

He groans dramatically but sits up, running a hand over his shaved head. “Fine, but only because you asked so nicely.”

I throw the covers off and swing my legs over the side of the bed. The cool air hits my skin, making me shiver slightly.

Jacoby stands up and stretches, every muscle in his torso flexing under his skin. “What’s the plan for today?”

"I need to go check the house," I say, searching for my pants. "See what I can save before everything's ruined by water damage."

Jacoby runs a hand through his short hair. "Uh, let me call Tres first, darlin'. After what happened, we need to be careful."

"Come on, it's broad daylight." I tug my band tee down over my hips. "I just want to see what's left."

"I get it, but we don't know if those assholes are watching the place." He reaches for his phone. "Let me check."

My stomach growls, reminding me I haven't eaten since before the fire. "Okay. I'm gonna make a sandwich while you call. Want one?"

"Nah, I'm good darlin'." He's already dialing.

I head for the door but pause with my hand on the knob. Something in his tone makes me hesitate.

"Yeah, she wants to check the house," Jacoby says into the phone. "I figured you'd want to know?—"

I press my ear against the door crack.

"Absolutely not." Tres's voice carries through the phone, sharp and commanding. "Lupe and fucking Dos Banditos could be staking it out, waiting for exactly that. She stays put, Jacoby. That's an order."

"What about sending some guys to?—"

"No. Best thing for her is to stay in the clubhouse where we can protect her. End of discussion."

My fingers curl into fists. They're talking about me like I'm some china doll that needs bubble wrapping. I'm a fucking Cooper, for Christ's sake. I've seen worse things than a burned house.

But the memory of flames consuming my childhood home makes my throat tight. Maybe they have a point. Still doesn't mean I have to like it.

Heat flushes through my body as I listen to them discuss my fate like I'm some helpless princess needing rescue. The chevelle keys burn in my pocket where I'd stashed them last night.

"Fuck this," I mutter, heading towards the steps. The floor creaks slightly as I walk, but Jacoby's still engrossed in his phone conversation.

"Yeah, I'll keep her here," I hear him say as I start to descend the stairs.

I take the steps two at a time, my combat boots silent against the wooden floors. The clubhouse is oddly quiet this morning - most of the crew probably still out patrolling after last night.

The back exit beckons. I know they've got prospects watching the front, but Dad once showed me this service door that leads to the lot. My pulse quickens as I push it open, checking both ways before darting to where my car sits.

The chevelle's engine roars to life, and I'm already shifting into drive when I hear shouting from the clubhouse.

"Indy!" Jacoby's voice carries across the lot. "Stop!"

My tires squeal against asphalt as I floor it. The side mirror shows Jacoby shirtless, sprinting toward his bike, phone still in hand.

"Sorry boys," I say to my empty car, "but I'm not some china doll that needs protecting."

The chevelle purrs as I take the corner onto Main Street, muscle memory guiding me toward what's left of Dad's house. My phone starts buzzing - Tres's number flashing on the screen. I'm going to be in some deep shit, I just know it. The fucked up part of me gets a little turned on potentially thinking about being punished by Tres.

"Snap out of it Indy," I tell myself. "We're supposed to be pissed off, not turned on."

I switch it off and toss it onto the passenger seat. They can lecture me later about safety and protection and whatever else they want. Right now, I need to see what survived the fire with my own eyes.

Because that house? It's all I have left of Dad. And no rival gang or overprotective bikers are going to keep me from it.