“Birth certificate says Charlotte. Life says otherwise.” She jerked her chin toward the pool table where Gator was teaching a preteen to chalk a cue. “Bet him I could outrun his Harley in wolf form. Short circuit took out his ignition coil at mile three.”
Maddie’s eyes got big and she shook her head at the gorgeous teen, then cut her eyes toward me. “We talked about that, Charlotte.” She told her in a low voice.
“Sorry, Auntie.”
I must have misunderstood what they were saying. Wolf form must be some kind of motorcycle talk. The room went a little sideways as someone cranked the stereo. A Lynyrd Skynyrd riff collided with the clack of billiard balls. Scar dragged me into a chaotic lesson on Texas Hold ’em, her friends dealing cards onto a grease-stained toolbox by the bar. My third whiskey sour burned through residual nerves, leaving flushed cheeks and loosened syllables in its wake.
“Pair of queens!” I announced, fanning my cards with mock solemnity.
Scar’s friend slammed his fist on the makeshift table. “Bullshit! She’s bluffing!”
Bronc’s shadow fell across our circle. “Wouldn’t bet on it. Lady’s got a forensic accounting degree.”
Eighteen eyes swiveled toward me. Scar whistled. “You keeping books for the club now?”
“I’m working on the shop's ledgers right now. Trying to make heads or tails of the inventory and all..” The words slipped out smoother than I’d intended, edged with a smirk I didn’t recognize.
Laughter erupted like gunfire. Someone tossed a pretzel at my head. Bronc caught it midair, his smirk mirroring mine. For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to the flecks of gold in his irises—molten, primal, approving.
Maddie materialized with a platter of smoked ribs, sauce smeared across her leather vest. “Move your felony-in-training ass, Scar. Grown folk talking.” She hip-checked her niece aside, lowering her voice as she handed me a napkin. “Heard you spotted some discrepancies.”
The rib grease turned acrid on my tongue. “Minor ledger issues. Probably input errors.”
“Uh-huh.” She licked sauce off her thumb. “Bronc, tell you we had three bookkeepers quit this year?”
Ice slid down my spine despite the room’s feverish warmth. “That happens sometimes. People move around until they find the right fit.”
I noticed Skeeter hovering in the shadows, listening to our conversation.
“Let’s call it creative differences.” Her gaze drifted to where Jester was arm-wrestling a prospect. “Thing about motorcycle clubs? We prefer problems that can be solved with torque wrenches or tire irons. Spreadsheets…” She shrugged. “Tend to combust.”
Fireworks of pain exploded behind my eyes—memory fragments of shattered laptops, shredded bank statements, Harrison’s polished loafers grinding glass into carpet. My fingers found the small scar on the inside of my arm, raised tissue mapping old punishments.
Bronc’s boot nudged mine under the table. When I glanced up, his gaze locked on me.Safe, his eyes promised.Protected.
The back door crashed open, wind hauling in the scent of rain and distant musk. Wolves harmonized beyond the tree line—a sound that no longer sparked fear, but recognition. My pulse answered in double-time, blood singing with secrets I couldn’t name.
The woman named Roxy appeared at my elbow, one baby gnawing a teething ring shaped like a skull. “They’re calling you, honey.”
“The wolves?”
“Nah. The parts of yourself you’ve been starving.” She adjusted the sleeping toddler on her shoulder. “They ain’t ever wrong.”
Bronc’s hand closed over mine beneath the table. Calluses snagged on my knuckles, anchor and spark combined. Around us, the pack laughed and brawled and lived in Technicolor chaos. For the first time since fleeing New York, I craved rather than cowered.
The realization tasted like freedom and folly. Like tequila and terminal velocity.
Somewhere beyond the compound lights, another wolf howled—longing given sound. Strangely, my throat ached to answer. I took another drink.
Wrecker appeared to my left and tapped Bronc on the shoulder. “Hey boss. Can you meet me in the office for just a minute?”
Hesitation colored his movements. “Only a minute.” He rubbed the back of my neck. “You ok for me to step away?”
Won’t lie. I didn’t want him to. But I’d put on my big-girl panties today. “No worries. Go ahead.” I put on my best ‘I got this’ smile.
Chapter 8
Bronc
