Brooke reaches across the table again and squeezes my hand, but this time, there’s no lecture behind it. Just love. And a little fear. And a lot of oh shit. “Well,” she finally says, clearing her throat, “if he hurts you, I’ll still rip his heart out through his nostrils.”
A laugh breaks out of me, shaky but real. “You’re terrifying, you know that?”
“It’s a gift.” She pops a tortilla chip like she didn’t just drop emotional nuclear bombs.
We fall into silence after that. Not awkward. Not tense. Just… letting it sink in.
Brooke nudges my foot under the table. “We good?”
I take a second. Then nod. “Yeah. We’re good.”
“Good.” She smirks. “I’d hate to commit a felony before my 2 p.m. showing.”
I roll my eyes but I’m smiling, warmth creeping back into my chest. Maybe progress is messy. Maybe it looks like heart confessions, queso therapy, and a big sister trying her best not to freak out over how fast her baby sister is falling for a biker.
FIFTEEN
BLADE
I sitlow behind the wheel, fingers drumming against the leather like I’m trying to burn a hole through it. I don’t want to be out here. I want to be home with my woman in my arms and her soft body under mine, not freezing my ass off doing a damn babysitting job. But I drew the short stick, so here I am. On stakeout duty with Riot and Lucky riding shotgun in my truck instead of on our bikes. Bikes would draw too much heat. Too loud. Too obvious. We ain’t here to announce ourselves.
“That’s them,” I say, eyes narrowing as the black Range Rover rolls to a stop. “College pricks from Perdition. Caused shit there a few nights back.”
They spill out of the SUV dressed like trust-fund trash trying to play gangster. They’ve been making the rounds at every bar in town… picking fights, getting handsy with women, running their mouths about the club like they don’t know whose town they’re in.
Riot leans forward, cracking his neck slow and loud. “We sure we can’t drag ‘em into an alley and beat the truth out of ‘em?”
“As much as I’d love to break bones tonight,” I grit out, “Pres wants a trail. We let them lead us to the bastard pulling the strings. Then we handle business.”
I toss Lucky the tracker. “Go make yourself useful.”
Lucky slips out of the truck, hood pulled low, all cocky swagger. He moves quick, sticking to shadows. Riot and I keep watch.
Riot mutters, “I swear to God, if that idiot gets us burned…”
“He gets caught,” I say, jaw tight, “he’s on his own. We don’t play hero for stupid.”
My eyes stay locked on the Range Rover. My blood’s running hot. I hate sitting and waiting when there’s a problem in my backyard.
Lucky signals from across the lot. Job done.
“Good,” I grunt. “Now we see where these punks scurry off to.”
Riot drags a toothpick from his pocket and grins. “After that, we crush ‘em?”
I smirk. “After that… we do what the Reapers do.”
We wait. And wait. The truck feels too damn small for three restless bikers with violence on their minds.
Riot stretches his tattooed arm across the back of the seat, the glow of his phone lighting up his sharp grin. He messes with the app Dagger loaded onto his device, fingers flying like he’s hacking the Pentagon. The guy’s been patched in a few years, earned his place through blood and brains, and yeah… he gets a little smug about it.
Lucky’s the opposite. New patch. Too eager. Too loud. One wrong move from acting like he’s still prospecting. He taps his boot nonstop against the floorboard until I grab his knee and squeeze.
“Knock it off,” I mutter. “You gonna vibrate us into another dimension.”
He gulps and nods, staring straight ahead.
The bar’s door finally swings open. The college pricks stumble out, jackets half-zipped, talking with their hands like they think they’re real dangerous. One nearly face-plants into the Rover’s side mirror. Riot snorts under his breath.
