She tilts her head. “You and Jack… talk much today?”
No, we haven’t. Other than our small altercation in his kitchen, we haven’t spoken much at all. Jack doesn’t want me here. Maybe I shouldn’t be so hurt by that. It’s not like we’re close anymore. I’m not naïve enough to think we’d pick up where we left off, that I’d have a ready-made family waiting for me after ten years of very little contact. But maybe I thought he’d be a little more interested in getting to know me again.
“Jack had club business this morning,” I say. “He left before breakfast.”
“You know men,” she says as she busies herself with another box of buns. “They shut down when they get emotional. You being back here is probably drudging up feelings.”
I hold back a scoff. “Feelings?”
She opens her mouth to respond, but exhales loudly, as if thinking better of it. With a shrug, she finally says, “He’s just not used to having you around. How about I make breakfast at the clubhouse tomorrow? You two can catch up then.”
I shoot a look at Kat, who snorts. “Don’t take offence to this,” I say to Triss, “but I’ve been warned not to eat anything you cook.”
The death glare she throws her sister would strike fear into most grown men. “You bratty little bitch.”
Kat belts out a laugh. “Why do you assume it was me? Everyone knows to steer clear when it’s your turn to cook.”
Triss throws up her hands and lets out an irritated breath. “Fine. Then you’re not invited,” she says to her sister. “But don’t come crying to me in the morning when you’re hungover and indesperate needof some bacon grease and those pancakes you love so much.” She rounds on me, softening that icy look slightly. “I’m good at breakfast. It’s my thing. All right? Ask anyone.”
I laugh. “Okay. I’ll be there.”
With a satisfied smile, Triss continues with her stock rummaging.
I get back to work too, unpacking the sandwich rolls, glancing out at the crowd as I go.
I’ve been on alert all night.
You really thought I wouldn’t find you?
He hasn’t contacted me again. Decker, on the other hand, seems to be texting nonstop.
Decker:
The pillows and cushions had zippers, Grace. Did you really have to cut them all open?
My fucking mattress? Really?
I swear to god, woman, this will not end well for you.
Where the hell are you? I’m dragging your ass back here to clean up this fucking mess.
Grace. Answer me.
WHY THE HELL DID YOU BREAK MY DISHES? THIS IS INSANITY.
They keep coming, but other than the odd kissy face emoji, which seems toreallyset him off, I haven’t responded.
I’ve now got two pissed-off men gunning for me. Staying calm, cool, collected, andout of trouble, as Axe commanded, feels more impossible with each passing minute.
My neck prickles as I’m tossing empty bags into the trash. Breath catching, I look around and study the clusters of people nearby, scanning faces, searching for the threat that’s got my body on alert. When I lock eyes with a very large man, I freeze.
Shaved head, mean-faced, taller than everyone else. He smiles. Cold and menacing. That promise of violence the men in my life always carry with them. There’s no insignia on his leather jacket, but I don’t need it to know he’s the enemy. I know this guy. The Raiders’ enforcer. One of the scariest, most ruthless men on the MC’s roster. Keegan Bannon doesn’t fuck around. I can only imagine what he’ll do if he catches me.
The anxiety that’s been churning in my stomach for weeks rages as I check for the knife tucked into my boot. Blade is there. Sharp and ready to do what needs to be done. My emotional support weapon and my safety net if shit gets out of hand.
I don’t want to use it. Not again. I don’t want to leave another mess behind, another body for someone else to clean up.
Keegan’s smile widens. He sees my fear, senses the rising panic pressing on my chest. I can’t let him kill me, and I can’t let him take me back. So I need to run. Now.
