Page 52 of Peak’s Code

“I could still pretend.”

Peak reached for the hand resting against his chest and threaded his fingers through hers. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

“That’s the problem,” she insisted.

“No, Maeve. That’s the point.” Her eyes filled with an emotion he couldn’t quite name—fear or hope. Hell, maybe both.

“You don’t know me,” she whispered.

“I know enough,” he said.

“You’ve known me for two days.”

“I know you walked into an outlaw motorcycle club alone because your sister needed you.” He lifted their joined hands slightly. “I know you sold everything you owned and spent eighteen months chasing a trafficking network that governments couldn’t, or wouldn’t, stop.” Her gaze dropped. “I know you carry tools in your boots, lie about broken fuel pumps to test mechanics, and insult people when you’re uncomfortable.”

“I don’t⁠—”

“You do,” he said. The corner of her mouth twitched, and Peak continued. “I know you pretend you aren’t afraid because you think fear makes you weak.” Her smile disappeared. “I know you feel responsible for every person who gets hurt near you, even when none of it is your fault.”

“Peak—”

“And I know you haven’t quit.” His voice softened. “Not once.” Maeve looked at him, and he could see the effort it took for her not to look away. “That’s enough for now,” he said.

Her eyes glistened. “For now?”

“Means I plan on learning the rest.”

She released a shaky breath. “You make everything sound simple.”

“It is simple,” he said with a shrug.

She gave him a disbelieving look. “Nothing about this is simple. Finding Wren isn’t simple, and taking down the Director isn’t simple. Figuring out who betrayed the club isn’t simple.”

He squeezed her hand. “This is, though.”

“What is this?” she asked.

“Whatever’s happening between us.” Maeve went still. Peak had always been direct. He fixed motorcycles by finding the broken part and dealing with it. He wrote code by identifying the problem and building the cleanest solution. He didn’t understand why relationships were supposed to require games and half-truths. He wanted her, he cared about her, and pretending otherwise would not make either fact disappear.

“I don’t know what happens after we find Wren,” Maeve admitted.

“Neither do I,” he said.

“What if she needs me?” she asked.

“She will,” he breathed.

“What if helping her takes everything I have?”

“Then we give her everything.”

Maeve stared at him. “We?”

“Yes,” he said.

“You barely know Wren.”

“I know she matters to you, and that’s enough for me,” he said. A tear slipped from the corner of her eye, and Peak brushed it away with his thumb. “I don’t need promises from you right now,” he said. “I don’t need you to know what happens tomorrow.”