The men carry the weight of that world, and the heaviness of it tries to seep into this kitchen. Bella notices and bumps my hip again.
“Enjoy tonight,” she murmurs. “Let stress stay outside.”
I nod, even though my version of stress looks a lot like a six-foot-four biker with haunted eyes and a body that should be illegal.
The oven timer dings, breaking the moment, and Bella switches into host mode. Brooke grabs the salad. I set out plates. The house smells like garlic bread and safety. It settles over me like a blanket I didn’t realize I needed.
“Speaking of stress,” Brooke says under her breath, cutting a glance toward the living room, “is this one of those nights where Switch is in Reaper mode, or do we get family-man version?”
I sigh. “Feels like both.”
“He usually only gets that look when someone’s stepped somewhere they shouldn’t,” Bella adds quietly, worry flicking over her face before she schools it away. “He’s trying not to bring it home.”
“He never does,” I say, meaning it.
“He tries,” she corrects softly. “That’s different.”
And of course, that’s when my gaze betrays me. Blade’s leaning forward, elbows on his knees, jaw tight, brows drawn together as he talks to Switch. Rev nods along. Whatever they’re discussing isn’t light.
He must feel me staring because his head turns slightly and our eyes meet.
The world keeps moving, but my heart stutters. I look away first, like I always do, but my gaze keeps wanting to drift back. Wanting him is a problem. Ignoring him might be worse.
“Alright, everyone. Food’s ready,” Bella announces, her voice carrying through the house and instantly shifting the energy. The voices quiet, chairs scrape, and conversation gives way to movement.
Switch walks in first with his usual swagger, piling lasagna like it’s his right as head of the household. Rev snags garlic bread and earns a smack from Bella. Blade comes in last, slow and steady, his gaze sweeping the room as if cataloging exits and people. Soldier instincts. It shows.
We all gather around the big wooden table that’s clearly seen a thousand meals and maybe a brawl or two. I sit acrossfrom Blade, which is terrible for my sanity but perfect for my curiosity.
Blade’s knee brushes the table leg and the silverware rattles. He doesn’t react, but I feel it anyway. The closeness. The awareness. The line we don’t cross, even though we both stand right against it.
Rev clears his throat and leans forward, instantly signaling he’s about to stir the pot. “Alright, before dinner, I gotta tell y’all about the shitshow at Perdition lately.”
What follows is a shift in tone. College kids. Dealers. Pushing boundaries. Testing. And suddenly dinner doesn’t feel quite as light anymore.
I picture Perdition on a busy night and I can practically smell spilled beer and cheap perfume. I’ve worked enough shifts behind that bar to know when something’s off. Drunks wander. Idiots start fights. But groups with structure? With confidence? That’s different.
I know I should keep my mouth shut. It’s not my world. But curiosity pushes its way forward.
When I ask what happens if they don’t take the hint, Blade looks at me, intensity sharp in his eyes. “Then they learn the hard way.”
The reaction that earns from the table is enough to make my pulse skip. I should probably let it go. I don’t.
“I know what I’m doing this weekend,” I say.
Groans ripple down the table.
And Blade’s voice drops. “You’re gonna stay far away from all that.”
His stare locks with mine, and the air gets hotter.
“And what if I don’t?” I ask, because self-preservation clearly isn’t my strong suit.
“You just go looking for trouble, don’t you?”
“Maybe I like trouble.”
His jaw ticks. My stomach flutters. And everyone else pretends not to watch.
