Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
When Kenna texted the group saying she needed to visit downtown for an appointment, I volunteered first to shadow her. Of course, part of it was pure selfishness. I wanted her attention, and the thought of one of the other guys spending the day with her shot a pang of jealousy through my gut.
I’d never been the settling-down type. Never thought I’d want to be. But Kenna? She’d made me wonder if I could one day be the type of guy who committed for more than a night.
On top of it all, I was cursed with a competitive streak. Every man in the club looked at Kenna like she was the grand prize. I wanted her to choose me, even if I didn’t know what the hell I’d do if she actually did.
Kenna walked out of her house in a sundress as I pulled up on my Harley, twirling keys in her hand. “We’re taking my car.”
Disappointment coursed through me at missing the heat of her body pressed against mine on the back of my bike. “Will you at least let me drive?”
She considered it for a moment. “Nope,” she said, popping the P. “We have to pick up some kids’ games for the party.”
I shrugged off my cut and folded it, gently placing it in the back seat before jumping in shotgun. Kenna settled in the driver’s seat and started the engine.
I knew from the file Linc pulled together before she started working for the club that she’d never worried about scraping together enough money to pay for rent or groceries.
Her trust fund meant she’d never need to work a day in her life.
It was a parachute she could pull at any time if things got too rough.
Me? I’d been free-falling my whole life.
No safety net, no backup plan. Just a fucked-up life fueled by hustle and desperation, always one bad call from losing it all.
Part of me wanted to resent her for it. For having everything handed to her.
For never having to fight for a damn thing.
But she never acted better than any of us.
If anything, it seemed like she was searching for connection in all the chaos.
“Where are we headed?” I asked, toggling through her playlists on the screen.
“First, I need to pick out paper for the invites, and then the best part of the day—cake tasting.” Contagious excitement rolled off Kenna in waves.
I raised a brow. “This feels oddly like wedding planning. I’m going to regret volunteering for this, aren’t I?”
Kenna giggled. “I’m surprised you’ve ever thought about planning a wedding.”
“I haven’t, but I’ve heard about when some of the old ladies planned theirs.” I fake shuddered.
Kenna stayed quiet for a beat. “Do you think you’ll ever settle down?”
Her loaded question gave me pause. “Maybe the right woman will come along. Become my old lady.”
She wrinkled her nose. I reached across and I tapped it with my finger.
“What’s that look for?”
“The old lady thing. I don’t get it.”
“Well, when a man and a woman love each other very, very much—”
She smacked me on the arm and laughed. “Seriously. Do you really believe a woman is property?”
“Ah, so it’s not the old lady thing that bothers you. It’s the property patch.”
“Yeah, it’s not the early 1900s. We have rights now, you know?”
I rubbed a hand over the back of my neck. “I’ve never had an old lady, so I’m speaking purely from an outsider’s perspective. I’ve watched my brothers meet theirs, and they’ve never seen them as property in the sense you’re thinking.”
She glanced at me curiously as I continued.
“Look at Reaper. Have you ever once seen him treat Eva in a way that made you cringe?”
She considered it for a moment. “No, Reaper is head over heels in love with her.”
“Right. The guys don’t treat their old ladies like they’re less-than. The property patch is a commitment, just like an engagement ring. By giving them the title and a cut, they’re telling the world that they’re committed to making sure she’s safe, secure, and happy.”
Kenna chewed on her lip as she contemplated. “Do you want that? Someday?”
I shrugged. “Maybe, but I’m not in a rush. Waiting for the right girl, I guess.”
Kenna blushed. I reached across casually to intertwine my fingers with hers as she drove. I didn’t let go until Kenna pulled into the parking lot of her first stop. The attendant strolled out as she popped the back hatch, ready to load up the backyard games.
“The kids are going to lose their goddamn minds,” I commented, looking at the slip-n-slide.
Kenna ripped open a nondescript cardboard box and tipped it toward me. Squirt guns in every color and size filled it.
I picked up a large super-soaker in neon green. “I call this one.”
Kenna giggled. “Why do I have a feeling I am going to regret this decision?”
“Because you will.” I slung the strap over my shoulder like it was a rifle. “There will be no safe zones. Anyone entering this party signs an unspoken waiver.”
She arched her brow. “Even me?”
“Especially you. No one escapes the purge.”
“Great. Remind me to pick up some waterproof mascara.”
“You think the makeup’s going to save you? You’re target number one.”
She jabbed a finger into my chest. “Bring it, biker boy. I had one of these as a kid, and my aim was deadly.”
Kenna shut the hatch, wiped her hands on her dress, and we got back into the Range Rover. A few blocks later, she parked in front of a boutique window, and I began to laugh.
“What?” she asked.
“I didn’t know there was even a place that only sold paper.”
“They have an antique gold paper that will be perfect for the invitations. And it’s not just paper. They sell gifts, too.”
I gave her a skeptical glance as we walked in, my hand brushing her back as I ushered her through the door.
“I’ll be back at the paper bar. It shouldn’t take long if you want to browse.”
An entire goddamn store for paper. Journals, cards, and crafts.
Shit I’d never imagined, like measuring spoons in the shape of tulips and cat-themed coasters.
I listened as she and another woman debated different weights of paper and whether she should go with the cotton or shimmer, whatever that meant.
I picked up a small plush fox. Its red fur reminded me of Kenna’s vibrant auburn hair. I carried it to the cashier, pulling out my wallet.
“I don’t need a bag,” I said as I ripped off the tag and held the small toy behind my back.
Kenna approached with a stack of wrapped paper. “Ready to go?”
“Yeah, I wasn’t able to find the perfect journal to write all my feelings in,” I joked. “Too bad.”
She laughed as I followed her back to the parking lot. Once she settled in the driver’s seat, I grinned at her. “I have a surprise for you.”
Her eyes widened as I pulled the small fox from behind my back.
“It’s so cute!” Her voice heightened as she took the plush toy into her hand. “Thank you.”
“It reminded me of you. Small. Clever. Red fur.”
“I do not have fur.”
I raised a brow suggestively. “Good to know.”
She giggled as she set the fox in the corner of her dash. She opened her purse, fishing out a small pill packet, and popped one into her mouth.
“You OK?” I asked.
She grimaced. “Yeah, I can just feel a migraine trying to break through. I get them about once a month. I’m fine, though. This should stop it.” Kenna punched the address to the bakery into her GPS and pulled away from the paper store.
“Why aren’t we having Maisie bake the cakes for the party?”
“Maisie is bringing cinnamon rolls and donuts, but she doesn’t make custom cakes. And this cake is going to make a statement.”
“What does that even mean?” I groaned.
Kenna laughed. “To be honest, I don’t know. The baker is going to show us what she came up with today.”
She parked outside a bakery, pausing to pat the toy fox on its head. “Should I leave the window cracked for him?”
I chuckled. “Probably best you don’t. Not with the Jackals slinking around. And if my cut gets stolen, Thane will skin me alive.”
“Sorry, little guy.” She apologized to the toy before glancing at me. “Could I get a tiny fox-sized cut for him? He could be the little Mavericks mascot.”
“We’ll have to check with Rhetta on that one. She handles the orders for cuts and patches.”
The bell clanged as we walked through the bakery door. A wall of cool air hit us, countering the midday Texas heat.
A tall brunette came around the corner, wearing a white apron streaked with colored frosting. “Are you two here for a wedding cake tasting?”
I wrapped an arm around Kenna. “When is our wedding, doll?”
Kenna smacked my arm and laughed. “We’re here for the Mavericks Motorcycle Club appointment.”
“Ah, yes,” the woman said. “Please, take a seat. My name is Maria. I’ll bring the samples and sketches out.”
Kenna and I sat at a small table in the corner as Maria brought out fifteen mini cupcakes, labels placed below them to indicate the flavor. She set a fork and a plate in front of each of us.
“Here are a few sketches that you can look through as you taste. Because the fiftieth anniversary is the golden milestone, I’m proposing a three-tiered cake with buttercream and gold leaf.
The gold motorcycle you showed me would look great on top.
You can pick a flavor for each tier. We could add sheet cakes as well, depending on how many guests you’ll have. I’ll be back to check on you in a bit.”
Kenna carefully cut a cupcake in half. “Let’s start with the lighter flavors, and then we’ll eat the chocolate ones last.”
“We’ll be heading back to the clubhouse with paper and diabetes,” I joked.
We tasted each flavor, each better than the last. Kenna released a sexy moan when she tried the final one—a rich espresso fudge cake with a whipped cream topping. “This is definitely my favorite. It might be better than sex.”
I laughed. “You must not be having the right type of sex.”
She snickered as she reached to wipe a crumb from my beard. “To be fair, it’s been a long time, and cake is all I have right now.”
I caught her hand and held it for a moment before Maria cleared her throat. Kenna pulled her hand away as she looked up at the baker.
“Any thoughts on the sketches? Have you chosen the flavors?”
Kenna smiled. “They look great. The tiered cake can be the chocolate whiskey, salted caramel, and the orange chocolate flavors. And then we can have sheet cakes of vanilla, lemon, and the espresso fudge. To be honest, the espresso fudge might not get served. I’ll take it home and eat it for a week. ”
“You should get Funfetti, too,” I suggested. “Kids love that shit.”
“I knew you were here for more than just eye candy.”
“After all that cake, I don’t think either of us needs any candy,” I muttered.
We left the bakery with the windows down, the air thick with sticky Texas heat and the lingering smell of buttercream. Kenna hummed under her breath, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. I’d never seen anyone take dessert so seriously, and I had to admit, she had good taste.
I spotted the parts store as she headed back toward her house. “Hey, can you swing in there?” I asked, pointing to the next turn. “Need to grab a clutch cable.”
We pulled into the lot, gravel crunching under the tires. “Be right back,” I told her, already halfway out the door.
She hummed in agreement and turned up the music.
The store was quiet, just a baseball game playing on a small TV near the register and the faint hum of a fan. I found what I needed in two minutes flat.
That’s when I heard the yelling.
I glanced out the window, and my stomach dropped. A skinny man wearing a green bandanna stood at Kenna’s window, shouting through the glass. Fear shone on her face from across the lot.
I threw cash on the counter, grabbed the part, and hit the door at a run. My hand went straight to my holster, fingers closing around the grip of my Beretta.
He didn’t spot me until I was almost at his back. “Hey!” I barked.
The man turned, startled, and I realized he couldn’t be older than sixteen. He wore the same colors as the bastard who’d attacked Kenna downtown. My blood went cold. He might be a child, but he was clearly a member of the Jackals.
“Back. Off,” I growled, every word slow and clear. He squared his shoulders and tried to look tough as I leveled the gun at his chest.
“Get away from her. Now. I have no problem putting a bullet hole or two in you.”
His eyes darted from me to the gun, then to Kenna. Her eyes shone with relief. For a second, I thought he might do something stupid. But then he bolted, stumbling over his own feet as he took off across the lot. I lowered my weapon after he disappeared behind a row of battered trucks.
I holstered the pistol and knocked on the window. Kenna gripped the wheel, still frozen with fear. “Unlock the door,” I commanded.
I heard the click and opened the door, taking in the pale sheen of sweat across her forehead.
“You OK?” I asked, voice softer now.
She nodded, but her eyes were glassy and her breath short. I wanted to say something to make her feel safer, but words felt useless. I reached for her hand and squeezed it.
“Let’s get you home.”