No, brothers in MCs were many things, a lotgood, but kindness didn’t head up their list of descriptors, I didn’t think.
When Storm showed us to the back of the clubhouse, I realized the BBQ was in the setup phase. Storm led us deeper into the yard, where a woman with a toddler on her hip coordinated a potluck table that had a line of other women with dishes in their hands gathered in front.
“That’s my Old Lady,” Storm informed us. “Her name’s Keira. If you need anything, talk to her.” He approached her, whispered something in her ear that had her blushing, then offered, “I’ll be around. Enjoy yourselves.”
Keira stepped over to us, hand outstretched. I shook it, but Stan raised her hand to his mouth in a move that was pure Regency romance.
“Honestly, I’d say you get used to it but you really don’t.”
Amusement flashed in her eyes. “It’s very courtly of him.”
“You’ve been watchingBridgerton,” I teased, surprisingly at ease with the stranger.
Keira laughed. “Who hasn’t? Kitty, right? And Stan?”
“Yes. I think you know which is which.” When she hooted, I smiled. “Who’s this charmer?” I asked as the toddler grabbed a lock of my hair.
“He’s trouble. That’s what. Thankfully, I’m just babysitting. Maddox’s my friend’s headache, aren’t you, cutie pie? Now, would you like something to eat?”
Unsurprisingly, Stan ambled over to the table and peered at the dishes on display. Because how much he could put away intrigued me, I watched as he managed to pile enough food on the dinner plate to feed ten.
“It’s fascinating how much they can eat, isn’t it?” Keira murmured at my side, seeming to understand why I studied him rather than pick out my own food.
“Oh, yeah, it sure is,” I said around a hum.
“What would you like to drink?”
I peered at the many coolers beside the picnic table. “What do you have?”
“Keira, sorry I’m late. I brought—Kitty?”
The words dropped off with a sharp gasp, which preceded a shattering sound as a glass oven dish fell to the ground. Jolting at the abrupt clamor, I twisted on my heel, only to gape at the woman standing in front of me.
My head reared back in rejection of what I was seeing.
“What is it, Trixie?” Keira demanded, gaze flickering between us.
I swallowed, but her name was hoarse as it spilled from my lips. “Beatriz?!”
Her mouth worked but she bit back a sob and took off, racing toward the clubhouse. Before I could follow, Keira’s hand around my wrist locked down tight. Stan was there like a shot.
“Unhand her,” he snapped.
“Not before I know who the hell she is and why Trixie was so scared of her!”
“I-I knew her. A long time ago. Beatriz.” To Stan, I clarified, “You remember? I brought her up when we were south of the border.”
“But… you said she was dead!”
“I thought she was.” Miserably, I turned to the Prez’s Old Lady. “She was my best friend.”
“What made you believe she died?” Keira insisted, her brow furrowed.
I shoved at her hold on me. “She was in a car crash!”
“You don’t know where she’s gone,duci,” Stan cautioned, but he remained watchful. “Keira, could you tell her where Beatriz went?”
“Her name isn’t Beatriz.”
