The man sneered, but Maddie’s voice drew attention. Two men by the bar glanced over, and Gator shot a look like he was ready to vault the counter if needed.
He let go, holding up his hands. “Didn’t mean any offense. Just being friendly.” But his gaze lingered, a silent promise I didn’t like at all.
He disappeared into the crowd. I could feel my heart hammering, the flush of panic colder than the beer in my stomach.
Maddie steadied me. “You okay?”
I nodded, breathless. “Yeah. Thanks.”
She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Told you. Wolves don’t always play nice.”
Chapter 8
Big Papa
The Iron Valor clubhouse felt different at night, especially after a day where nothing went sideways. The lot was packed; every Harley in the club just about lined up in military precision, reflecting the moonlight like wolf eyes in a brush fire. Inside, the men had gathered in their off-duty gear, leathers open and sleeves rolled up, the air thick with cigarette smoke and the better kind of laughter—the kind that said no one was dead or in the hospital and the world could, for once, be easy.
I had a cold Lone Star in hand and my feet up on the battered coffee table, half-listening to Wrecker and Gunner debate the merits of fried okra versus hushpuppies as a sideto chicken-fried steak. It wasn’t a night for deep thoughts, but I found myself stuck in my own head anyway, thinking about Aspen and the way she’d smiled at me through the bakery window that morning. It had haunted me all day, the way she’d seen my scars, but looked past them.
Arsenal sat beside me, cleaning a pistol that didn’t need cleaning, and Bronc had disappeared to the front porch to make a call to Juliet. I envied him sometimes. Not the power, not the bullshit politics, but the simplicity of loving someone and being loved back, consequences be damned.
That’s when my phone vibrated. Not a text, not a call, but a FaceTime request—Maddie’s name in all-caps, with a string of little wolf emojis behind it. Wrecker saw the screen and let out a cackle. “Uh oh, Papa’s about to get a show.”
I rolled my eyes and accepted, holding the phone at arm’s length, but the moment it connected, the screen filled with chaos. Music blared, the bar’s neon signs flashing behind a blur of faces and drinks. Maddie was there, front and center, holding up her own phone with an unsteady hand.
“Say all that again!” she hollered, and the camera swung wildly until it landed on Aspen.
She looked radiant and completely toasted, cheeks flushed pink, hair wild and falling over her face in dark, glossy waves. Her eyes glittered, not with magic, but with a kind of joy I hadn’t seen on her before. For a second, she looked straight at me through the screen, and my heart did a double-clutch.
“I wish JT were here!” Aspen said, her accent deepening until it was syrupy enough to pour on pancakes. “He’s so big and beautiful. He makes me feel safe, and small.”
Maddie grinned, all teeth and trouble. “She’s been talking about you all night, Papa. But she keeps chickening out. But it’s right there from the source!”
Wrecker and Gunner crowded in behind me, peering over my shoulders. Even Arsenal stopped his compulsive pistol cleaning to watch.
“Yeah, Aspen,” Wrecker called out, voice booming through the speakers, “tell Papa what you really think.”
Aspen couldn’t hear the guys. She didn’t know Maddie was sharing this.
“Come on, sweet pea, just say it. The man’s right here!”
Maddie egged her on. “You have it so bad, girl.”
Aspen looked off in the distance all dreamy. “You don’t even know. I love his face. I love his hands. I love his hair, even the way it goes messy when he’s being all grumpy.” Her giggle was precious. “He has a good beard. Like, a really good beard.”
Gunner made a strangled sound and ducked his head, fighting laughter, but I couldn’t look away from the screen. Aspen’s words hit me straight in the gut. The real kind, not the pretty kind. The kind that said she meant every syllable. It was like poetry to my ears, anyway.
Maddie whooped. “She’s got it bad, Big Papa! You’d better show up and sweep her off her feet before someone else does.”
Aspen just realized what Maddie was doing. “Wait, you have Papa on the phone?”
Maddie’s laughter carried over the music. “I do, girl. Actually, I’m FaceTiming him. You wanna see?”
Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the years of being ignored and unappreciated, but she found her courage and leaned in closer.
“I do,” she said, almost in a whisper. “I wish you could have seen me like this tonight. To see I can be more than the bakery girl. And Idothink you’re beautiful. The most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”
A chorus of howls erupted around the clubhouse. Even Arsenal cracked a smile.
