Chapter 28
Hannah
That girl is a cunt. Not sorry.
As Ellie leads me to the start of the breakfast line, it dawns on me just how much I have to fill her in on since we last talked—and how much she probably has to unload on me too. She’s still glued to Gizmo’s side, which tells me that situation is... thriving.
The place is buzzing. All kinds of people come here; apparently, anyone can wander in for pancakes and chaos. Kids sprint between tables playing tag, women cluster together cackling like hens, and the men stand around smoking and grumbling like it’s a sanctioned sport.
“So,” I say, bumping her hip, “spill it. What’s the latest with our favorite prospect?”
Ellie gives me a big Cheshire cat grin, then rolls her brown eyes to the sky like she’s suddenly bashful. Nice try, this woman couldn’t do “shy” if someone taped the instructions to her forehead.
“You could say things are going well,” she sing-songs, then drops her voice into a giggle that screams trouble. “I stayed at his place last night. Which, apparently, is here.” She motions around us.
I blink. “Wait. He lives at the clubhouse? Like... full-time bunk beds and communal toothpaste?”
She snorts. “More or less. He does have his own room. It’s not like we had an audience.”
“Well, thank God for that,” I laugh.
We shuffle forward in the breakfast line, and I finally take a full look around. The place is way nicer than I expected for a biker compound.
There’s a big gravel lot out front crammed with bikes and a few cages, low chain-link fence, grass that’s actually been mowed, and a handful of those heavy-duty cement park benches scattered everywhere.
Half the tables are already full of men of all ages shoveling pancakes like someone’s about to yank their plates away.
Honestly? It’s kind of adorable in a rough-around-the-edges, don’t-touch-my-bike kind of way.
“I guess most of the single ones live here at the clubhouse. The guys with families go out and get their own places,” Ellie says, noticing me looking around.
Reaching out, she grabs a paper plate and a fork, and I do the same.
I follow her down the line of folding tables.
“He says he wants me to be his Ol’ Lady,” she blurts, then immediately bites her lip hard.
“Which I guess in badass biker language means he wants us to be exclusive.”
I nearly drop my plate. I haven’t seen her this twitterpated over a guy since... well, ever. She looks genuinely happy, and it warms my heart.
Gizmo isn’t someone I would have expected Ellie to go after. Her type is more the rugged mountain-man type. Kind of like Bear. The type of men who look like they should always have on a flannel shirt and an axe over their shoulder.
With his shaggy dark hair, black skinny jeans, silver chain around his neck, and black muscle tee, Gizmo has more of a grunge or emo aesthetic.
“It seems like he makes you happy, El. I love that.” I bump her shoulder with mine. “But if he hurts you... let’s just say motorcycles aren’t fireproof.” Cocking my head, I raise my brows at her, only half joking. If this man puts so much as a crack in her heart, I will cheerfully commit arson.
“You should worry more about me hurting him than the other way around,” she snorts. “I’ll be fine. But enough about me—” she hip-checks me, “—I see you’re here with Sarge. You rode in on his bike, but have you gotten to ride the biker?”
She wiggles her eyebrows like a menace while dropping two pancakes on her plate.
We reach the front of the line, where an older man in a Saints of Hell vest stands proudly behind the tables. He grins at us. “Bacon or sausage, ladies?”
“Both, please,” Ellie chirps, and I nod in agreement.
I smile at the woman at the end of the table, who is offering coffee and juice. Choosing the all-mighty roasted bean tea, I follow Ellie toward the picnic benches before finally answering her question.
“If you must know... yes.” Heat rushes up my neck, and I try to hide it by shoving an entire forkful of pancake into my mouth. Holy shit, these are delicious.
Ellie gasps dramatically, eyes going wide. “I knew it,” she gloats. “You have that post-orgasm glow.”
I choke on my pancake and smack my chest. “Would you shut up?” I hiss, fighting a smile. “There are children present.”
“Oh, please. Like they haven’t heard worse out here.” She mock-fans her face. “I don’t know if it’s just because it’s been so long since I’ve had sex that it made it seem that much better, but damn, Gizmo knows his way around a woman’s body.”
I raise a brow. “So we’re both ruined now. Good to know.”
“Mm-hmm,” she hums, taking a huge bite of pancake. “Totally, gloriously ruined. And I am not mad about it.”
I try to play it cool, but the memory of Sarge’s hands, his mouth, the way he said my name... yeah. If Ellie thinks she’s ruined, what does that make me?
As if on cue, Sarge drops onto the bench beside me, his lean, muscled thigh brushing mine. “You ladies enjoying the food?” he asks.
My body reacts immediately to his closeness, traitor that it is. I focus on my plate instead. “Yes, these pancakes are amazing. IHOP, who? They’ve got nothing on these. Who makes them, anyway?”
Sarge chuckles. “That’d be Chef. I’ll introduce you after we eat. He’ll love the compliment. He takes a lot of pride in these weekly breakfasts. Gives him something to do and raises money for the club to fund charity events.”
“What kind of events do you guys do?” I ask, now curious. “I can’t say I’ve seen you around.”
Not that I get out much...
“We do a yearly toy drive around the holidays,” he says, tone easy, matter-of-fact.
“We donate school supplies at the start of every school year for kids who might not be able to afford them, and we donate to survivors of domestic violence. Each charity got brought up and voted on years ago, and we’ve just stuck with them. ”
He says it so simply—no bragging, no ego—just... truth.
I know a lot of motorcycle clubs give back to their communities, but this is pretty damn impressive. “Wow,” I say, brows lifting. “You guys are real philanthropists, huh?”
He shrugs. “Sure, you could say that. But it’s more like a lot of us know what it’s like to have nothing, or not much of anything, so we like to give back.”
And just like that, the man in the vest with scars and a magical tongue somehow gets even harder not to fall for.
The moment is cut short by a saccharine-sweet female voice behind me. “Hey, Sarge. Speaking of charity... Who’s your friend here?”
She pops her hip out, one hand planted there while the other waves in my general direction like I’m an item on a shelf and not an actual person.
Scarlett.
This cannot be happening.
“Scarlett, this is Hannah. Hannah, Scarlett. I believe you two met the other night,” Sarge says, annoyance threading through his tone.
“Mmmm, yeah. Don’t remember her.” Scarlett’s gaze slides over me like I’m a smudge on glass. Then she turns fully to him. “Whatchu you say you and I get out of here, huh, Sarge?”
She bites her bottom lip like there’s no one else around but the two of them.
My hand tightens around my fork. This bitch.
Ellie’s mouth hangs open as she takes it all in, eyes darting from me to Scarlett.
I would have filled her in on the whole Scarlett drama, had we had more time to catch up. It’s a rare sight to see Ellie so speechless.
Sarge lets out a short scoff, shaking his head before looking back up at her. “No,” he says, voice flat. “I’m gonna stay right here with my woman and eat my food.”
Gizmo cuts between Scarlett and Sarge, unaware of what’s unfolding, balancing two overloaded plates. One he sets in front of Sarge, the other he keeps for himself.
Scarlett’s head jerks back like she’s been slapped. “You’re what?” Her nose scrunches, lip curling. “You’ve got to be kidding. This isn’t your woman.”
“Huh.” Sarge looks over at me, completely unbothered. “That’s odd. Could’ve sworn she was.”
Before I can process that, his head turns, and he captures my mouth with his, in a deep and claiming kiss. Nothing subtle about it. He doesn’t hold back, bringing one hand to my throat and the other snaking along my neck into my hair. He’s putting on a show, and we both know it.
A surprised sound escapes me, but I melt into it, into him.
His hands slide to my hips, and in one smooth motion, he lifts and turns me, settling me astride his lap.
Heat floods my cheeks, but I can’t resist. My fingers glide into his hair as I roll my hips just the slightest bit against him, adding the metaphorical salt to Scarlett’s very real wounds.
Let her watch.
I hear her angry footsteps retreat, but I don’t bother breaking the kiss. The way his lips move against mine is intoxicating.
“Excuse me, ma’am. Are you gonna stop sucking face long enough to tell me who the hell that was?” Ellie asks, snapping me out of my lust-filled haze.
Sarge is the first to respond, “That would be Scarlett,” he says, passively wiping his mouth with his thumb.
“We went to school together. She’s been trying to get into my bed for years.
The level of crazy that girl puts off is way beyond my tolerance.
It’s never gonna happen between us, but she doesn’t give up. ”
“That girl is a cunt. Not sorry,” is all Ellie says before digging back into her food.
Sarge barks out a laugh. “Yeah, you’re not wrong there.”
Thankfully, the rest of breakfast is uneventful. It feels so natural to sit and talk as a group of four that my brain immediately jumps to a double date. The thought is both exciting and a little intimidating.
Collin never liked my friendship with Ellie; he always acted like any time I spent with her was stolen from him. Because of that, we never did the all-together group thing.