Jack is leaning against the frame, tall, tattooed, wild-haired, brows furrowed, arms crossed.
Triss’s attempt at getting us to talk over breakfast didn’t go as planned. Somehow, the interaction was even more awkward than the others we’ve already had. He’s kind but distant, a little cold. Makes me wonder if this is what he’s turned into. A harder, emotionally distant version of the brother I knew ten years ago. But then I see him with Triss, how attentive he is, the easy laughter, and even with Kat, theadopted little sister,Bex calls her. As if he didn’t already have a fucking sister.
I haven’t gone out of my way to maintain our relationship, but it’s not like we had a falling-out. We drifted. It happens when you don’t see someone for ten years.
So why does he look at me like he’d rather me be anywhere but here?
“Oh. Um,” I start, glancing at Axe.
He sighs and sits back. “Guess I’ve said what I needed to say, Grace. You can go,” he says. “I’ll handle your big brother.”
“Handle me?” Axe’s stuffy office somehow gets even hotter as Jack steps inside the room.
Taking the out, I jump from my seat and offer Jack a tight smile as I slip past him. Before I close the door, I turn back to Axe. “Oh, and sorry about the… trying to punch Decker in the face thing.”
Jack’s brows jump up. “You did what?”
I kick the door shut, and I don’t stop until I’m outside and I can no longer hear my brother’s angry growl echoing across the shop.
The property that houses Donovan’s Auto Repair sits adjacent to the Sinner clubhouse, which, like every Saturday night of my childhood, is rowdy. A group of bikers milling around near the entrance. Smoking, drinking, laughing. Eighties rock thrumming loudly from inside, the blacked-out windows rattling, the scream of a guitar riff piercing the otherwise quiet neighbourhood.
The area is mostly industrial, with rows of self-storage across the street, a heavy-equipment dealer down the road, and some sort of warehouse where big trucks come in and out several times a day. Just beyond the chain-link fence, the lower-income housing starts. In any other town, that would make the dark street I’m walking on a little sketchy. Maybe I’d have my keys jammed between my fingers or my hand on the knife I’ve got strapped to my thigh. But with the Sinners here, this is one ofthe safest neighbourhoods in South Bay. No one wants to risk jumping a man, only to find out he’s got a snake-wrapped skull tattooed on his skin, or putting their hands on a woman who might belong to the club.
Cross the wrong person in this neighbourhood, and you die. Simple as that.
Halfway to the clubhouse, my phone vibrates.
Bex:
Yo bitch, where you at? These Sinner Sluts are outnumbering us.
I snort. Bex is the epitome of a Sinner woman. Mean, hell of a drinker, and hostile as fuck to outsiders. She and the Danforth sisters, along with a few other women Bex has deemed worthy, are the Sinner Sisters. Ride or dies. They share the kind of connection I’ve never actually experienced.
Then there’s the Sinner Sluts. The biker bunnies that, according to Bex, are all gunning to be someone’s old lady and don’t care who they have to tread all over to make it happen. That’s how it was out west in the heart of Raiders territory too. The men were bonded. A brotherhood. But the women? Not a chance. Every girl for herself. It’s how I’ve lived my life. No attachments, no loyalties.
Having women in my life I can actually talk to is strange. A good kind of strange. One that maybe I’m wishing I could hang on to. Even if it’s only for a little bit.
Bex:
Don’t tell me you’re in the back of another cruiser.
Me:
How the fuck does everyone know about that?
Bex:
Small town, babe. No secret is safe.
My stomach drops.No secret is safe.That’s… comforting.
A sudden clanging noise startles me. With a sharp breath in, I scan the sea of parked cars and scrap metal crowding the back of the lot, searching every dark corner, looking for the culprit. A chill crawls up my spine and my limbs tingle, telling my body to get ready to run, that there’s a threat.
Keegan wouldn’t dare come to the clubhouse. He may want to scare me, torment me, drag this out until I’m running, but there’s no way in hell he’d risk showing up here. An enemy sneaking into Sinner territory is one thing, but walking through their front door? He might as well hand them a knife and point to where he wants it. The festival last night was already a huge risk. He might not have been wearing his patch, but he’s easily recognizable. A Sinner tags him, and it’s game over. They’d fucking kill him. Slowly. In the same way he wants to kill me. My punishment for killing his VP. His brother.
I quicken my pace, heading for the clubhouse. I’ve almost reached the group of bikers gathered outside the front door when my phone vibrates in my hand, startling me so fiercely that I nearly jump out of my skin.
Heart racing, I clutch it to my chest. But when I register the name flashing on the screen, I stop dead in my tracks. I almost don’t answer, but knowing that’ll only make shit worse, I suck in a deep breath, swipe up, and press the phone to my ear.
