If Ward could block out the view for me, his filthy-sweet words could block out everything.

Insecurities.

Doubts.

Nightmares.

With that, he took my hand and guided me down the stairs. He pulled a thick fold of cash from his pocket, and the delivery driver suddenly looked less inconvenienced.

As Ward dealt with the food, Katarzyna inched closer to me. Keeping her voice soft, she whispered, “He’s my hero but not my hero.”

“What do you mean?”

I’d wanted clarification on how he was a hero, but she misunderstood and said, “He is not mine. And I am not his. There’s no… thing between us.”

“He explained.” I put my fingertips to my swollen lips, which showed exactly how he’d done that.

“Good. I was sad to see you upset. It is not good for the little niemowlę, right?” I had no clue what she meant, but she continued. “If I had ingredients, I’d make you pierogi. Comfort food. But another time. Hollywood already ordered a lot.”

“He does that.”

“He’s a good man.” With that, she turned and walked inside.

“Let’s get you fed,” Ward said from my side, proving he was, indeed, a good man.

That or the bar was so low, it was underground.

Probably both.

20. Tasteful Boobies

CHAPTER 20

TASTEFUL BOOBIES

MAC

I wasn’t sure what I expected from Ward’s house.

He wasn’t a cliché, skeezy biker, so I’d already guessed it wouldn’t be nudie-mag centerfolds tacked to the wall and empty beer cans on every surface. But he was still a biker, so I’d pictured tasteful boobies and vintage beer signs.

In actuality, it was… kinda plain. Normal, even.

Cool but boring.

His couch took up most of his living room, and it wasn’t floral or wrapped in protective plastic. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said his TV was ten times the size of mine. There were dark framed photos of him and his Mayhem brothers, a piece of some metallic scrap in a box frame, and that was about it.

“What’s that?” I asked, pointing at the shiny blue metal. The paint was all scuffed and scratched, the top dented.

“Chunk of my first Harley.”

“What happened to it?”

“Had to lay it down.”

Based on the condition of the remaining piece, I assumed that meant something more aggressive than gently setting it on the ground. “That sucks.”

“Nah, it saved—” His words cut off for half a second before he amended, “It did its job. Now sit, baby.” He handed me a remote that rivaled a graphing calculator.

Katarzyna brought me in a drink and napkin, asking me what else I needed and fussing around me almost as bad as Ward. Once everyone was comfortable with their plates of Chinese food, Ward snagged the unused remote with a raised brow.