Tex
A hurricane's rolling in fast when I see a stranded biker.
Small. Soaked. Terrified. Like the road finally ran out on him and he's got nowhere left to go.
The first thing I notice about him is his eyes, the color of the Gulf before a storm.
He won't speak. He won't look at me. Just watches my hands like they might hurt him.
When I move too fast, he flinches. That tells me everything I need to know.
So I load up his bike and take him back to my bar.
He's clearly running from something. Or someone.
>Stormy
He's the biggest man I've ever been this close to. Six-five. Maybe taller. Built like he could break me in half without trying.
Men that big usually hurt you. My hand drifts toward the knife in my pocket just in case.
I don't give him my name. I don't give him anything. I keep my eyes down. That's the safest way to survive.
But he doesn't get angry. He doesn't push.
Instead he gives me a name like it's a gift he wrapped himself.
Stormy.
>Stormy is an emotional M/M hurt/comfort romance about survival, healing, and finding safety in the last place you expect.
