Midnight Flight and a Trusting Mechanic

Chapter 1

The low hum of the jet engines was a poor substitute for the roar of a well-tuned engine, and Cole McCullen felt every mile of the Atlantic beneath him as a physical deprivation. In his hand, his phone glowed softly, the only light in the first-class cabin shrouded in night. The message was simple, a schedule for a Porsche 911 Turbo S needing service, sent from the garage he owned. But it was the sender that made his blood heat: **H. Trusting. Mechanic.**

The rules were printed in his mind, stark and uncompromising. He’d typed them himself, the morning after the Macerate Hotel’s Halloween party, hungover and horrified by his own need. *No cuddling. No spending the night. No check-ins. We can see other people. Just fun. The first one to catch feelings calls it off. No questions asked.*

He’d thought them a masterpiece of self-preservation. Now, they felt like a cage.

His eyes closed, not against the dark of the cabin, but against the vivid memory of the first infraction. The Macerate. Leo, his business partner and best friend, had been the guest of honor, celebrating a deal. Cole remembered the crush of bodies, the scent of sweat and cheap perfume. He remembered finding Leo passed out in a corridor, and Avery—Leo’s little sister, his brilliant, irreplaceable mechanic—helping him heave her brother into a suite.

The silence after they’d shut the door on Leo’s snores had been louder than the party. She’d been dressed as some kind of punk mechanic, grease-smudged cheeks, her red hair a wild cascade over the leather straps of her outfit. He’d been a hollowed-out corporate vampire. They hadn’t spoken. He’d just looked at her, at the intelligent green eyes glinting with a challenge he’d never noticed before, and seen the same furious, undeniable hunger reflected back.

It was against the headboard of Leo’s unused hotel bed, her short, muscular frame pressed against the formal lines of his ruined suit, her full lips swallowing his groan. It was frantic, a claiming born of alcohol and long-suppressed tension. He’d left before dawn, a ghost in the hallway. A mistake, he’d told himself. A glorious, singular mistake.

But then came the conference in Chicago. A sterile hotel room, the scent of industrial cleaner and his own cologne. He’d texted her an address and a time. *The garage is slow. Could use the business.* She’d arrived in worn jeans and a tank top, her tattoos on full display, a toolbox in hand. She hadn’t asked why. She’d simply looked at him, her playful smirk not quite hiding a flicker of shyness, and dropped the toolbox with a thud. That time was slower, darker. He’d taken her from behind against the floor-to-ceiling window, the city lights sprawling beneath them, her whispered dirty talk about torque ratios and compression strokes driving him to a brutal, shuddering finish. After, as they lay on the disheveled sheets, her head had, for a fleeting moment, rested on his chest. He’d frozen. The next day, the rule was formalized: *No cuddling.*

The memories came faster, unbidden. Her home garage, the scent of oil and metal, her body slick with a fine sheen of sweat as she rode him on a rolling creeper, his hands gripping the sharp curves of her hips. His penthouse, her playful dominance as she pushed him to his knees on the expensive rug, her fingers tangled in his hair. Her small apartment, just last month, the missionary position feeling unnervingly intimate in her own bed, her green eyes holding his in the dark as they moved together.

Leo, blissfully oblivious, had almost walked in on them twice.

Cole shifted in his seat, painfully hard. A month. A month without the taste of her, the sound of her breath catching when he entered her, the sight of her scars under his lips. He, who had always had his pick, who had designed the rules to keep his options open, wanted only one thing. One person. It was illogical. She was his employee. Leo’s sister. She thought he was out of her league. She had no idea that with every tuned engine, every smudged smile from under a car, she had become the only track he wanted to race.

The plane hit a patch of turbulence, a slight shudder. Cole’s jaw tightened. He looked at the message again. Just a schedule. Just business.

But the rules, his own damned, brilliant rules, were silent on one thing. They said nothing about what happened when you were the one who broke them. When you were the one who caught the feeling, mid-air, with nowhere to go but down.

---

Chapter 2

The 911 Turbo S’s schedule glowed on Cole’s screen, a taunt. He looked up as the plane’s wheels squealed on the tarmac, the jolt pulling him from his thoughts. Leo, stretching in the seat beside him, yawned.

“Finally. My back is killing me,” Leo said, gathering his things. “Oh, Avery texted me back. Said she went out with some guy last week. Finn. Silas Finn.”

The name hit Cole’s nervous system like a live wire. Silas Finn. Smarmy, silver-spooned, drove a pre-tuned Lamborghini he never had the skill to handle. A business rival who’d tried to poach clients from Cole’s garage. A possessive heat, ugly and immediate, coiled in his gut.

“Finn?” Cole’s voice was tighter than he intended.

“Yeah, you know him? Seems like a tool,” Leo chuckled, oblivious. He pulled out his phone. “Let me give her a quick call, tell her I’m back.”

Cole sat rigid, listening. Leo put the phone on speaker as it rang.

“Hey, big brother,” Avery’s voice came through, a little breathy, laced with static.

“Just landed. You decent?”

“Getting ready for bed,” she said, the lie smooth. Cole could picture her, probably in her garage, a smudge of oil on her cheek, not a pillow in sight. “Long day. Glad you’re back safe.”

They exchanged a few more familial pleasantries before hanging up. The second the call ended, Cole’s phone buzzed in his hand.

**Unknown Number:** You better still be coming over. That was the deal.

He didn’t have her saved. Another rule.

His reply was swift. **Address.**

The drive to her apartment was a blur of aggressive lane changes. The jealousy was a physical taste, metallic and sour. *She saw other people.* The rule mocked him. But Finn? The fury was primal, a claim he had no right to make but felt in his bones.

He took the stairs to her third-floor walk-up two at a time. He didn’t knock. The door was unlocked.

Her apartment was a single room dominated by a large, low bed, the sheets dark gray. She stood beside it, backlit by a single lamp, wearing only a black tank top and underwear. Her red hair was down, a fiery cascade over her shoulders. She held her phone, having just sent a text.

“Took you long enough,” she said, her green eyes locking on his. The playful smirk was there, but her gaze was hungry, searching.

He dropped his bag, the door shutting with a final click. “Finn?”

Her smirk faltered, replaced by surprise, then a defiant tilt of her chin. “Leo told you? It was one drink. It’s allowed, remember? Just fun.”

“Fun,” Cole echoed, crossing the room in three strides. He didn’t touch her. He loomed over her, his body a wall of tense heat. “With a man who tried to ruin me.”

A flicker of something—guilt, pleasure—crossed her face. “Maybe I like bad bets.”

It was the wrong thing to say. It ignited him.

He closed the last inch of space, his hand tangling roughly in her hair, angling her face up to his. His kiss was nothing like their first at the Macerate. It wasn’t frantic. It was a claiming, deep and punishing, all tongue and teeth and the month-long deprivation poured into a single, searing point of contact. She moaned into his mouth, her hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging through his shirt.

“You’re not seeing him again,” Cole growled against her lips, his other hand sliding down the curve of her spine to grip the swell of her ass, pulling her hard against the rigid proof of his jealousy.

“Or what?” she breathed, a challenge in her glazed eyes.

He answered by spinning her around, pushing her forward onto the bed. She caught herself on her elbows, looking back over her shoulder. The submissive pose, the dominance in her gaze—it destroyed him. He shoved her panties down her thighs, his hands rough on her skin. He unbuttoned his jeans, freeing his cock, and without preamble, notched himself at her entrance. She was slick, ready.

“Tell me you want this,” he commanded, his voice ragged.

“I want it,” she gasped, pushing back against him. “I’ve been waiting.”

He drove into her in one fierce, deep stroke, burying himself to the hilt. She cried out, a sharp, beautiful sound of relief. He set a brutal pace, each thrust a punctuation to his unspoken thoughts: *Mine. Not his. Mine.* The slapping sound of skin on skin filled the room, mingling with her choked moans and his labored breaths.

“You feel that?” he gritted out, leaning over her, his mouth at her ear. “That’s what a month without you does. That’s what thinking of his hands on you does.”

“Cole,” she sobbed, her fingers clutching the sheets. The familiar dirty talk was gone, stripped raw. “Please…”

He hooked an arm around her waist, pulling her up harder against him, changing the angle. The new depth wrenched a scream from her throat. He could feel her tightening around him, the flutter of her impending climax. His own control was fraying, the coil in his gut burning white-hot.

“Come for me, Avery,” he ordered, his thrusts becoming erratic, desperate. “Now.”

Her body convulsed, a silent, shuddering wave that clenched around him like a fist. The sight, the feel of her shattering beneath him, tore the last of his restraint away. With a final, deep plunge, he followed her over the edge, his release pumping into her with a guttural groan, his forehead dropping between her shoulder blades as the world dissolved into pulse and heat.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing in the dim room. The rules—*no cuddling, no spending the night*—lay shattered around them like glass.

Slowly, he softened inside her, but made no move to pull away. His arm remained locked around her waist, holding her close. His lips brushed a faint scar on her shoulder blade, a silent, possessive apology. The jealousy was gone, burned away, leaving only a terrifying, undeniable truth humming in the silence between their hearts.

---

Chapter 3

The world returned in increments: the feel of his softening cock slipping from her, the cool air on her damp skin, the hammering of his heart against her back.

Cole remained draped over her, his weight a possessive anchor. His lips lingered on her shoulder. Avery felt a tremor run through him, a fine vibration that spoke of something far deeper than spent lust.

Slowly, he rolled onto his side, pulling her with him, wrapping her against the hard line of his body. His arms locked around her. The rule screamed in the silence, but he held her tighter.

“A month without me?” she finally whispered into the dark, her voice husky with spent passion and disbelief. “I figured you’d have some fun. You were gone a long time.” Her tone wasn’t accusing, just…shocked. The Cole she knew—the one who’d written the rules—would have.

He didn’t answer immediately. His fingers traced a path along her arm, over a tattoo, his touch reverent now. “Fun,” he repeated, the word hollow. “I tried.”

“Did you?” she asked, turning her head slightly, trying to catch his expression in the gloom.

“No,” he admitted, the word raw. “All I could think about was you. Your hands. Your mouth. The sounds you make when you’re coming apart.”

His confession hung between them, more intimate than any penetration. The air shifted. The raw claiming was over; a different, more vulnerable need took its place.

Avery shifted in his arms, turning to face him. In the faint light, her green eyes were wide, searching his. She saw the conflict there, the war between his rules and this new, terrifying truth. A softness, a surrender, washed over her features.

Without a word, she pushed gently against his chest. He yielded, lying back on the dark sheets. She moved over him, straddling his hips, her short, muscular frame a silhouette against the dim lamp. This was different. Not her playful dominance from the penthouse rug, not the frantic energy of their first times. This was slow, deliberate, deeply passive. She was offering herself, a gift, waiting for him to take the lead.

She guided him inside her, sinking down with a slow, breathy sigh that was pure feeling. Once he was fully seated, she stilled, her hands resting on his chest, her head bowed. Her hair fell around them like a curtain. She didn’t move. She simply held him there, wrapped in her heat, letting him feel every perfect, clenching inch of her.

“Avery,” he breathed, his hands coming up to cradle her hips.

“You thought of me,” she murmured, finally beginning a gentle, rolling rise and fall. It was agonizingly slow, a deep, grinding rhythm that built a devastating pressure low in his gut. “Now feel me.”

He was spellbound. His grip tightened, not to control, but to feel every motion. His thumbs stroked the sharp bones of her hips as she moved. The visual was utterly consuming: her flushed skin, the sway of her breasts, the intense concentration on her face as she took him deeper with each descent.

“Tell me,” she whispered, her rhythm never faltering. “Tell me what you thought about. In detail.”

The command, wrapped in her submission, unraveled him. “I thought about this,” he groaned, his hips meeting her downward stroke. “About you riding me just like this, sweat shining on your skin. I thought about the taste of you. I thought about you whispering filthy things about camshafts and redlines in my ear while I fucked you against the window.”

A shuddering gasp escaped her. Her pace increased, becoming more urgent. “And Finn?” she managed, the name a weak challenge now.

“Gone,” Cole snarled, sitting up abruptly to capture her mouth in a fierce kiss. The motion drove him impossibly deeper, and she cried out against his lips. He broke the kiss, his forehead pressed to hers, his blue eyes blazing into hers. “There is only this. Only you. I’m breaking every goddamn rule.”

It was the permission she needed. Her passivity shattered into a frantic, driving rhythm. She rode him with a raw, unleashed hunger, her nails scoring his shoulders, her cries loud and unguarded. He matched her, thrusting up into her welcoming heat, the slapping sound of their joining a frantic drumbeat.

“Cole, I’m… I can’t…” she sobbed, her body seizing.

“Come,” he commanded, his own release coiling tight, a white-hot wire about to snap. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

Her climax tore through her with a silent, arching scream, her internal muscles clamping around him in rhythmic, milking pulses. The sight and feel of her undoing shattered his last shred of control. With a guttural roar, he buried himself to the hilt and came, his release flooding into her in hot, pulsing waves, his whole body shuddering with the force of it.

He held her through the storm, their sweaty bodies locked together as the waves subsided into trembling aftershocks. She collapsed against his chest, her breath coming in ragged hitches against his skin. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, his lips pressed to her damp hair.

The rules were ash. The feeling was caught. And he had never held anything tighter.

---

Chapter 4

The air was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, the only sound their slowing breaths. Cole’s arms were still locked around her, a fortress against the world and his own rules. He pressed his lips to her temple, a soft, lingering kiss that spoke volumes he hadn’t planned to say.

“Stay,” he murmured, the word rough against her skin.

Avery went still in his arms. The command, so gentle, was the most dangerous thing he’d ever uttered. She drew a shaky breath and disentangled herself, sitting up. The dim light traced the elegant lines of her back, the tattoos, the sweat drying on her skin.

“You have to go,” she said, her voice quiet but unyielding.

Cole sat up, the sheets pooling at his waist. “It’s after three. No one’s waiting for me.” He reached for her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. “One night. Just sleep.”

“Cole,” she said, turning to face him. Her green eyes were clear now, full of a painful resolve. “We both know why you have to go. The rule. The first one to catch feelings calls it off. No questions asked.”

“Forget the rules,” he argued, his grip on her hand tightening. “I wrote them. I can burn them.”

“But I didn’t,” she countered softly. She pulled her hand away, the separation feeling like a physical wound. “You have a life. An empire. I’m your mechanic. And Leo’s sister.” She stood, walking to the small window, her silhouette framed by the distant city lights. “This was just fun. You said it yourself.”

He was on his feet in an instant, crossing the room to stand behind her. He didn’t touch her, but his presence was a wall at her back. “Look at me and tell me that was ‘just fun’.”

She wouldn’t turn around. “It was.”

“Then look at me and tell me you want me to leave.”

Silence stretched, taut and fragile. He watched the tension in her shoulders, the slight tremble she couldn’t suppress.

“I can’t,” she finally whispered, the admission tearing from her.

A savage triumph surged through him, quickly followed by a more possessive dread. He closed the distance, his hands settling on her hips, pulling her back against him. He was already hard again, his cock pressing insistently against the small of her back through his boxers.

“Then I’m not leaving,” he growled into her hair.

“You are,” she insisted, but her body arched into him, betraying her.

He spun her around, capturing her mouth in a searing kiss that was all tongue and desperation. She met him with equal fire, her hands fisting in his hair. He walked her backwards until her legs hit the bed and they tumbled onto it together.

This time was different—a slow, deep claiming. He laid her down and worshipped every inch of her with his mouth, tracing each tattoo and scar with his tongue until she was writhing and begging. When he finally slid into her, it was with a profound slowness that made them both gasp. He set a grinding rhythm, their eyes locked in the dark.

“Tell me no one else touches you,” he demanded, his thrusts deepening with each word.

“Cole…”

“Say it.”

She whimpered, her legs wrapping tighter around his waist. “There’s no one else.”

“Not even Finn?”

Her head thrashed on the pillow. “God, no. He’s… he’s nothing. A client.”

The word sliced through his haze. He stilled inside her, propped up on his elbows. “A client?”

Avery’s eyes fluttered open, seeing the storm in his. She cupped his cheek, her thumb stroking his jaw. “Nothing to worry about. His garage does specialty fabrication work. I’m looking to take him on because his connections could help me get the loan I need… to officially own my shop.” She said it like a confession, like a hope she’d been guarding.

The revelation changed everything. It wasn’t rivalry; it was her dream. His fierce jealousy morphed into something fiercer—pride, and a driving need to be part of this ascent. He began moving again, this pace purposeful, possessive.

“You’ll own it,” he vowed against her lips, each thrust a pledge. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Her climax built slowly this time, a towering wave of sensation drawn out by his deliberate pace and the raw intimacy of their shared secret. When it broke, it was silent—a series of deep, pulsing contractions that milked him perfectly. Her inner muscles clamped around his cock rhythmically, pulling his own release from him in hot, surging ropes that filled her completely. He poured himself into her with a guttural cry, collapsing as the last shudder left his body.

For long minutes, there was only the sound of their breathing syncing in the dark. Then, Avery gently pushed at his shoulder.

“Now you really have to go,” she whispered, her voice thick with spent pleasure and finality.

He held her gaze, seeing the unspoken truth there. The feeling was caught. The rules demanded an end.
He kissed her once more, slow and deep, trying to memorize the taste of surrender.
Then he dressed in silence, each article of clothing feeling like armor he didn’t want. At the door, he looked back.
She hadn’t moved from the bed.
“No one else,” he stated, not asking.
She gave him a small, sad smile—a promise and a goodbye.
He left, closing the door on the only thing that had ever felt like home.

---

Chapter 5

The question burned through Cole long after he left her apartment.

Why hadn’t she asked him for the loan?

He spent a sleepless night in his sterile penthouse, replaying every moment. Before their arrangement began, he was just her brother’s imposing partner, the owner of the garage that employed her. His wealth was an unspoken gulf between them. *She thought she was out of my league,* he’d once assumed, amused. The realization now was bitter: she’d put *herself* out of his league, refusing to muddy their professional—and later, their physical—dynamic with a financial plea. It was a pride he understood in his bones, and it made the possessive ache for her deepen.

He arrived at her personal garage just after ten the next morning, using the pretense of a phantom engine knock in his ‘67 Shelby GT500. He found her bay door already open.

And Silas Finn was already there.

Silas leaned against his gleaming Lamborghini, parked insolently in the driveway, blocking the light. Avery stood in the doorway of her workshop, arms crossed over a faded band t-shirt, her posture rigid. Cole felt his jaw tighten.

“McCullen,” Silas said, flashing a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Slumming it?”

“Checking on an investment,” Cole replied, his voice cool. He nodded toward Avery. “You’re in my mechanic’s way.”

Avery’s green eyes flickered to Cole, a silent communication of warning and frustration. “Silas was just leaving. We discussed the fabrication partnership.” Her tone was clipped, professional.

“Partnership?” Cole echoed, stepping closer, deliberately placing himself between Silas and Avery. “I thought it was a loan referral.”

Silas chuckled. “It’s a package deal, McCullen. My connections for a… closer working relationship.” His gaze slid over Avery with a familiarity that made Cole’s fists clench. “She’s a rare find. Talent like that shouldn’t be stuck in a two-bay shack.”

The air crackled with tension. Cole took another step, crowding Silas’s space. “The discussion is over.”

For a moment, Silas held his ground, then he smirked, seeing something in Cole’s protective stance that clearly amused him. “Fine. I know when I’m outgunned.” He tossed a business card at Avery’s feet. “Call me when you get tired of playing with the big boys’ toys.”

They watched in silence as the Lamborghini roared away. The moment it disappeared, Avery let out a shaky breath and turned to walk into the shadowy garage.

Cole followed her inside. The space smelled of metal, oil, and her—a faint trace of her shampoo cutting through the grease. “What was that?” he demanded.

“Business,” she said, not looking at him as she wiped her hands on a rag. “He has the banking contacts I need to make the loan application bulletproof.”

“And the ‘closer working relationship’?” Cole’s voice was low, dangerous.

Avery finally met his eyes, her own flashing with defiance and vulnerability. “I can handle Silas Finn.”

“I don’t want you to have to handle him.” The words came out rougher than intended. He moved closer, until only inches separated them. “Why didn’t you ask me? Before any of this started? I could have written the check that first day.”

She looked away, her shoulders slumping slightly. “Because you were you,” she whispered. “And I was just Leo’s sister who fixed your cars. I didn’t want your charity. I didn’t want you to look at me and see… a liability.” She swallowed hard. “I didn’t have the means then to even ask as an equal. And now… now there’s *this*,” she gestured between them, her voice trembling. “It would be even worse.”

The raw honesty of it shattered him. It wasn’t pride; it was preservation.

He cupped her face, forcing her gaze back to his. His thumb stroked the apple of her cheek. “You are not a liability. You are the best goddamn investment I’ve ever considered.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a husky murmur laced with dark promise. “Forget his loan. You want your shop? You’ll get your shop. But you come to *me*.”

Her breath hitched. He could feel the rapid pulse in her throat beneath his palm.

“And Finn?” she breathed.

“Is forgotten.” Cole closed the final distance, capturing her mouth in a searing kiss that was all possession and pledge. It wasn’t gentle; it was hungry and deep, his tongue claiming hers as he backed her against the cool metal of a workbench.

She moaned into his mouth, her hands fisting in the front of his shirt. He broke the kiss only to trail his lips down her neck, nipping at the sensitive skin over her pounding pulse.

“Tell me you understand,” he growled against her throat.

“Cole…”

His hands slid down her sides, gripping the hem of her shirt and pulling it up over her head in one swift motion. She stood before him in just her jeans and a simple black bra, her skin pebbling in the cool garage air, tattoos on full display.

“Tell me,” he repeated, his mouth descending to trace the line of her collarbone with hot, open-mouthed kisses.

Her head fell back against the bench with a soft thud. “I understand,” she gasped as his fingers deftly unhooked her bra.

It fell away. He palmed her breast, his thumb circling her nipple before he bent to take it into his mouth. The sensation made her cry out, her back arching off the metal surface.

His other hand worked open the button of her jeans, then dragged the zipper down slowly. The sound was obscenely loud in the quiet garage. He pushed the denim and her underwear down over her hips, letting them pool at her feet.

“Mine,” he stated again, his hand sliding between her legs, finding her slick and ready. Two fingers slipped inside her easily, curling upward.

Avery gasped, her hips bucking against his hand. “Yes,” she panted, her eyes squeezed shut.

“Look at me.” She forced her eyes open, glazed with desire. He held her gaze as he added a third finger, stretching her exquisitely, feeling her inner muscles clamp around him in rhythmic pulses of need. He watched every flicker of pleasure on her face—the parted lips, the fluttering lashes—as he worked her toward the edge with relentless precision.

He leaned in again, kissing her deeply as his fingers continued their devastating rhythm inside her warmth. He could feel her climax building, tightening like a coil.

“Not yet,” he whispered against her lips as he felt her begin to tremble on the brink.

A sob of frustration escaped her throat. But she nodded, understanding this new rule: this gift came from him, and its timing was his alone.

He slowly withdrew his fingers and brought them to his mouth, tasting her essence without breaking eye contact. The darkly intimate act sent a fresh wave of heat through them both.

Leaning his forehead against hers, their ragged breaths mingling in the oil-scented air, he knew there would be no loan discussion today. Only this raw reclamation hanging heavy between them—a promise etched in sweat and wanton silence under the fluorescent lights of her dream

---

Chapter 6

The air still thrummed from Cole’s words. *You come to me.* Before Avery could formulate a response, the crunch of gravel and the familiar rumble of an engine sounded in the driveway.

Leo’s truck rolled into view, stopping just behind Cole’s Shelby.

Cole’s body tensed, a predator interrupted. He moved swiftly, grabbing Avery’s discarded shirt and bra from the floor and pressing them into her hands. “Get dressed,” he murmured, his voice a low command.

She scrambled into her clothes just as Leo’s door slammed shut and his heavy footsteps approached the open bay. Cole casually leaned against the workbench, putting a respectable distance between them, but his gaze remained locked on Avery, a silent brand of ownership.

“Hey,” Leo called out, ducking his head under the doorframe. He glanced between them, his friendly expression faltering for a moment at the charged silence. “Am I interrupting something? Cole, what are you doing here?”

“Following up on that phantom knock in the Shelby,” Cole said smoothly, his voice back to its usual, cool confidence. “Avery was just giving it a listen.”

Leo nodded, accepting the lie easily. His attention shifted to his sister. “You okay, Hails? You left your apartment door unlocked again last night when I stopped by. And you sounded… off on the phone earlier. Was it that nightmare again?”

Avery busied herself with a wrench on the bench, her cheeks flushing. “I’m fine, Leo. Just tired. Don’t make a thing out of it.”

Cole watched the exchange, a new, sharp curiosity cutting through his possessive haze. *Nightmare?* He filed the information away, a piece of her he didn’t own yet.

Leo shrugged, turning back to Cole. “Good timing, actually. Client meeting at the marina in twenty. The one with the vintage Riva. He wants both of us.”

Cole gave a short nod, pushing off the bench. His eyes found Avery’s again. “We’ll finish our discussion later,” he said, the words layered with unambiguous meaning.

“Right,” Avery breathed, holding his gaze for a beat too long.

As Cole moved to follow Leo out, he paused beside her. In a voice meant only for her ears, he asked, “Finn. Is he going to be a problem?”

She looked up at him, her green eyes clear and earnest. “Silas is just business, Cole. A means to an end. If I had other options, that’s where I’d go.” She let the implication hang. *You are my other option.*

The confirmation sent a fresh, violent wave of need through him. He wanted to kiss her again, to finish what they’d started against the bench.

Leo called from the truck, “You coming, McCullen?”

Cole forced himself to take a step back. He gave Avery one last, scorching look—a promise of continuation—before turning to leave. “Lock your door,” he tossed over his shoulder, the command echoing Leo’s concern but carrying a far darker, more personal weight.

---

Chapter 7

The truck’s interior was silent but for the hum of the engine. Cole stared ahead, his knuckles white where they gripped the edge of the seat. The ghost of Avery’s scent—motor oil and her own sweet sweat—clung to his skin, a torment.

He waited until they turned onto the main road, away from the garage’s sightline.

“Leo.”

His friend glanced over, one eyebrow raised.

“Earlier,” Cole said, his voice carefully casual. “You mentioned a nightmare. Avery has those often?”

Leo’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, his jovial facade dissolving. A long moment passed. “Not often. But sometimes. The bad ones are about the accident.”

“The one with your parents.”

Leo nodded, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. “Yeah. I was a freshman, just moved into the dorms. They were bringing Avery to visit me for the weekend. A truck blew a tire, crossed the median.” He swallowed hard. “Our parents died on impact. Avery… she was in the backseat. Broken collarbone, shattered leg, a head injury that messed with her memory for months.”

Cole listened, a cold pit forming in his stomach.

“The system wasn’t kind,” Leo continued, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. “She bounced between foster homes for a year while I fought in family court. One place… let’s just say the bruises weren’t all from the accident. I finally got custody, but we had nothing. Our old place was gone. I was a kid myself, trying to go to classes and keep her safe.”

He looked directly at Cole then, his blue eyes stark with an old pain Cole had never fully seen. “You remember that loan you lent me? The five grand sophomore year? You said it was for ‘books.’ I used it to pay the lawyer to finalize her custody and for first-and-last on our shitty apartment. That money… that got her back. Kept us from being homeless.”

A flood of memory assaulted Cole, vivid and sharp:

*Leo at his family’s dining room table, patiently explaining calculus as Cole’s mom fussed in the background.* “Stay for dinner, Leo, it’s no trouble!”
*“Thank you, Mrs. McCullen, but I really can’t. Avery’s waiting.”* *Later, his mother would wrap a plate of roast chicken and mashed potatoes, pressing it into Leo’s hands.*
*Cole trying to slip Leo a hundred for tutoring beyond their agreed hours.* *Leo pushing it back, jaw set.* “I owe you enough, man.”
*Him inviting Leo to parties, to dinners out.* *Leo always declining.* “Can’t swing it,” or simply, “Got Hails.”

All of it clicked into a brutal, humbling tableau.

Leo drove on, the confession hanging between them. “Tutoring you was the best thing that happened to us, Cole. The extra cash… I was a work-study janitor at the library, scraping together change for her school lunches. Your family’s money… it was a lifeline.” He paused, his voice thick. “You ever wonder why I work for you the way I do? Why I never pushed for more than 40%? I still owe you. And not just for that loan.”

Cole’s throat was tight. “Leo…”

“And how you helped Avery,” Leo cut in, a soft pride returning to his tone. “Sending your rich friends with their busted Lamborghinis and vintage Porsches to her little garage… you built her clientele. You gave her a reputation.” He shook his head, a faint smile touching his lips. “She’d kill me if she knew I told you all this.”

Cole said nothing. He looked out the window, but he didn’t see the passing streets. He saw Avery’s scarred leg under his lips in her apartment bed, felt the tensile strength in her small frame as she worked overhead on an engine, heard her shy laugh when he’d complimented a perfect weld.

He had made rules to keep her at a distance.
He had viewed their trysts as a secret indulgence.
He had thought himself above it all.

But every foundation of her life—her safety, her career, her very presence in his world—was built with bricks he had unknowingly provided. And he had used that power to corner her against a workbench and make demands.

A possessive heat still coiled low in his gut, sharper now for knowing what she’d survived. The desire was darker, more profound—not just to have her, but to shield her from every shadow that had ever touched her.

He turned back to Leo, the weight of years of debt and loyalty between them.
“You don’t owe me anything,” Cole said, his voice low and final.

Leo just chuckled softly, sadly. “Yeah, man. I do.”