Page 33 of Ride to Nowhere

He ignores me until we reach the small medical room. Shelves of bandages, antiseptic, and tape line the walls. A sturdy bench sits in the center under harsh overhead lights. Corbin shuts the door firmly, the lock clicking loudly in the sudden silence.

“Sit,” he orders, nodding at the bench.

I stay standing, towel still pressed to my mouth. “No. You lied to me, Switch. You never said a fucking word about Thomas. Not once. That bastard tried to sell me out and you—” My voice cracks with fury. “You let me walk around being his friend when he’s a little fucking rat.”

He turns from the supply shelf, gauze and antiseptic in his hands, jaw clenched. “Sit. Down. Before I put you there myself.”

I stand a moment more before dropping onto the bench with a wince. Mostly because my ribs are killing me. “Don’t think this means I’m done being pissed at you.”

Corbin steps between my knees, knocking my feet to the sides to give him space. He tilts my chin up with surprisingly gentle fingers. His thumb brushes just under the cut on my lip, eyes narrowing at the damage. “You think I wanted you fighting blind? Fuse should never have put you guys against each other. Thomas was not supposed to tell you nor was any officer. We did it to keep you out of this shit. Lennox thought it was best,” he mutters, voice rough. “Thomas was warned. Why he told you and started shit is beyond me. It was fucking stupid, and he’ll be dealt with for that.” He dabs antiseptic to the cut on my forehead. The sting makes me hiss.

Lennox is not prepared for the shit storm coming his way. He fucking knows better.

“Lennox? Mr. President himself said I didn’t need to know? Fuck all of you. I had to beat the truth out of Thomas in the ring because you decided I didn’t need to know. I’m not some fragile little thing you get to protect by keeping me in the dark. That’s not how you treat a pledge—or a member.”

His gaze locks on mine, dark and intense. “You’re not fragile. But you’re also not invincible, and right now, you’re bleeding all over the bench.” He presses fresh gauze to my forehead, his other hand resting on my thigh like he needs to feel I’m still in one piece. “Let me fix you up first. Then you can yell at me all you want.”

I stare up at him, chest still heaving from leftover adrenaline and pure anger. “Good. Because I’ve got plenty more to say.”

A ghost of a smirk tugs at his mouth even as his eyes stay stormy. “Wouldn’t expect anything less from you, Spitfire.”

Corbin kneels down directly in front of me, his broad, imposing frame filling the space between my knees. The contrast hits me hard—this commanding club officer, all hard muscle and authority, now treating me with unexpectedly gentle, calloused hands. He tilts my chin upward with two fingers, his touch warm and steady against my skin. My breath catches, and I twitch involuntarily.

“Hold still,” he murmurs, his voice a low rough gravel that sends unintended shivers down my spine. He carefully dabs antiseptic on my split lip. The burn is sharp, but I refuse to flinch away. His emerald gaze flicks up to meet mine, intense and searching. “You didn’t have to go that hard. You destroyed him out there, you know.”

“He earned every bit of it,” I reply softly, my voice steadier than I feel. “He tried to rat on me, Corbin. You know exactly what that means in our world. Not only that, but everyone lied about it and protected him.”

His jaw clenches hard, the muscle jumping. “I know. But we deserved to know, too, and you were hiding it. I’m glad he told us—because you’re only under full-club protection now because of that letter. Imagine if we’d found out another way.”

He shifts attention to the cut on my forehead again, gently brushing stray hair aside with surprising tenderness. His thumb lingers, tracing lightly along my temple. Heat begins to pool low in my belly despite the lingering pain. “That fight…you move like someone who’s been fighting for survival her whole damn life. Where did all that come from, Tatum? Really?”

“A bunch of different things. My dad was big on me being able to look after myself—especially with my mouth. So, I had a few hard lessons no one should have to learn.” I keep the details vague, as always, choosing instead to focus on the way his warm breath ghosts across my face. The proximity is intoxicating. “You gonna keep lecturing me, or are you finally going to kiss it better?”

The bold challenge hangs in the charged air between us. His eyes darken noticeably with unmistakable hunger. “Careful what you ask for, sweetheart. You might get more than you bargained for.”

He leans in slowly, his lips brushing the uninjured corner of my mouth—soft and testing at first. I tilt my head into the contact, and the kiss deepens rapidly. His hand cups the back of my neck, strong fingers threading through my hair as our tongues meet in a heated dance. It tastes of blood, salt, sweat, and raw, electric need. A deep, rumbling groan vibrates from his chest into mine, sending sparks racing across my nerves.

My hands grip his broad shoulders tightly, pulling him even closer. We finally break apart for air, both of us breathing harder, but his hands refuse to stop their exploration. They move down to my ribs, checking the darkening bruise with careful professionalism that quickly melts into something far more sensual—his thumbs stroking slowly across bare skin beneath the hem of my sports bra, igniting trails of fire.

“You’re a beautiful fucking mess,” he whispers huskily against my ear, voice thick with desire. “All fire, scars, and dangerous secrets.”

“Flattery from you?” I arch into his touch, greedily chasing the warmth that pushes the pain into the background. My fingers trace the sharp line of his stubbled jaw, then slide down the strong column of his neck. Another kiss follows, slower and more consuming this time—his solid body pressing deliberately between my knees, hands roaming my waist, my back, the curve of my hips with growing hunger. Every bandage he applies is smoothed down with lingering, intimate caresses. Every cleaned cut is followed by a soft, deliberate press of his lips to the spot. The intimacy builds like a slow-burning fuse in the private room, dangerous and utterly addictive.

Eventually, he pulls back just enough to really study my face, the heated haze shifting into something sharper and more probing. “How exactly do you know Pres so well? He says a family friend, but the way he threatened me feels like more is there…” The question drops with feigned casualness, but the jealousy simmering underneath is impossible to miss in his eyes. “People around here talk, Tatum. You show up out of nowhere, fight like a goddamn demon, and you’re instantly tight with the president. You got some kind of thing going on that I should know about?”

The insinuation strikes like a fresh punch to the gut. I push lightly but firmly at his chest, creating necessary space even as my body protests the loss of his heat. “Really? After you just had your hands all over me, you’re choosing to go there right now?”

He doesn’t back down an inch, holding my gaze steadily. “Yeah, I am. Because if there’s something between you and him⁠—”

“There isn’t. Not like that at all.” My voice remains firm, though genuine tiredness starts creeping in around the edges now. The cumulative toll of the fight, the intense touches, and the endless questions are all pressing down.

“Lennox pulled me out of a really bad situation when absolutely no one else would. That’s why I’m here. That’s it. You either trust me on this, or you think I’m just fucking my way through the club ranks.”

The air grows thick with unresolved tension. Corbin runs a frustrated hand through his hair, looking deeply conflicted. “I already trust you more than I probably should at this point. But dammit, Tatum, you’re full of secrets. Thomas wasn’t completely wrong about that Redline shadow you’re still carrying around.”

I push myself up to stand slowly, testing the limits of my battered body. Every movement sends fresh protests through my muscles. “Some secrets are what keep people breathing in this life. You, of all people, should understand that better than most, Switch.”

He watches me intently, his eyes tracing every fresh mark and old scar like he wants to personally fight the ghosts responsible—or kiss every single one of them away again until the pain disappears. The magnetic pull between us crackles stronger than ever, undeniable even in the raw aftermath. Outside the door, the normal gym noise gradually filters back in—Thomas likely getting his nose properly set by now, probably cursing my name with every breath.