Page 27 of Reckless

The bakery sits between a florist and an old barbershop that’s probably been there longer than the Strip itself. It has a small frontage, a hand-painted sign, and windows already fogging from the ovens inside.

Not somewhere I’d normally stop.

But today isn’t normal.

A few days ago, Sage mentioned Millie’s opening while we were talking about something else entirely. She didn’t make a speech out of it or ask anyone directly. She said the club should stop by if we had time, then carried on as though the thought hadn’t mattered enough to say twice.

Sage’s meeting at Unsilenced started fifteen minutes ago, so she couldn’t be here herself. She’ll spend the rest of the morning hoping somebody remembered to come. So we did.

The bell over the bakery door rings before any of us have a chance to announce ourselves. Warm air rolls out, carrying fresh coffee, butter, and bread straight from the oven.

Millie is behind the counter, boxing up an order. Flour streaks one cheek, her hair is escaping whatever battle she fought with before sunrise, and the second she looks up and sees half the Las Vegas Defiance MC filing through her front door, she forgets entirely what she was doing.

“You actually came!” She smiles.

No hesitation or second-guessing, just genuinely happy.

“You opened a bakery,” Deek says as he wanders toward the display cabinet. “Like I was gonna miss out on free food!”

Millie laughs as Anchor appears through the kitchen doorway carrying another tray, takes one look at the room full of leather cuts, and just stands there for a second. “I told her you’d all show up.”

“No, you didn’t,” Millie shoots back immediately.

“I absolutely did.”

“You said not to get my hopes up.”

“I said not to build your entire opening day around fifteen bikers.”

“You doubted us?” Deek announces, sounding personally offended. “That’s hurtful, baby brother.”

“I doubted you!” Anchor points directly at him. “You specifically.”

“That’s fair. I did get a call from Cecilia before I came here, so I am giving up perfectly good pussy for your baked goods, Mills!” Deek nods thoughtfully.

Anchor scoffs as Millie grins. “Who the fuck is Cecilia? What happened to… what was her name? Tiff?” Anchor grumbles.

Deek scrunches his face as though he is confused. “Tiff… Jesus, Anchor, get with the program. She was like… what? Three girls ago. You have no idea what is going on in my life!”

Anchor nods his head, wrapping his arm around Millie. “Exactly. I wanna keep it that way.”

The bakery fills around us in the same way the clubhouse always does.

Nobody tells people where to sit.

Chairs scrape.

Helmets land on tables.

Coffee starts appearing almost immediately.

Within thirty seconds, the quiet little shop sounds like home.

Deek spends an impressive amount of time considering the display cabinet before making what seems like a series of increasingly poor decisions. “I’ve got a question.”

The teenager behind the register smiles politely. “Sure.”

“How many pastries become socially unacceptable?”