Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Hatchet was annoying on a good day. All hopped up on sugar after spending the afternoon with Kenna?
Irritating as fuck. I bristled as he babbled about their little downtown excursion and espresso chocolate cake she’d said was better than sex.
The way he grinned made me want to put my fist through a wall.
What pissed me off more was that he’d left her alone in that parking lot. I could barely keep my voice level as I snapped, “You were there to protect her.”
Hatchet just rolled his eyes. “Jesus, Merrick. I was like, ten feet away. I was there with my gun in his face within seconds.”
“Both of you, shut the fuck up,” Reaper cut in. “You bicker like an old married couple. We need to figure out what the hell we’re doing about this situation before someone gets hurt.”
He wasn’t wrong. The city was getting dangerous—more desperate people without jobs, choosing crime as a way to fill their wallets. Not that we weren’t criminals, but we didn’t go after women.
“They’re escalating,” I growled. “It’s not just our women who are in danger. It’s every woman who drives into the city.”
Reaper raised a brow when I referred to “our women” but let it slide without comment. He leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. “The ladies have been planning their self-defense class. I know a few of you have been volun-told to help teach it.”
I grunted. “It’s a start. But I don’t want anyone going into the city by themselves. Or being left alone in a car so we can run personal errands.”
Hatchet shot me a look, but for once, he didn’t argue. Maybe he finally understood. Or perhaps he was just tired of hearing me bitch.
“It’s a solid PR move, too,” Thane said, rubbing a hand over his graying goatee. “Eva’s good at making us look like the good guys.”
“We keep the prospect on Kenna’s house, too. My gut says she’s a target. They’re looking for the payday they think she’ll be. All they had to do was Google the name on her driver’s license to see who her family is.”
Thane waved a hand dismissively, like he didn’t want to continue the debate. “Sure. Whatever you want. Linc, any update on the rat situation?”
Linc leaned forward, pulling up a file on his laptop. “System flagged that the CI met with their handler yesterday. Danny’s dead, so it wasn’t him.”
Thane slammed his fist on the table. “We need to figure out who’s fucking us over. Did you check into Dixon?”
Linc shook his head. “The meeting took place in Houston. I pinged his phone. He beelined for the Empire City Casino right after finishing up his contract, and he’s been there ever since.”
Reaper studied the names on Linc’s screen. “What about Tyler’s buddy, Roger? He’s been sniffing around. Asking a lot of questions.”
“Maybe. You think Roger’s borrowing Tyler’s credibility to get closer to all of us?” Reaper asked.
I rolled my shoulders, attempting to release the building tension. “Let’s keep an eye on him. Maybe feed him some false intel about a deal.”
Reaper nodded. “Roger just started working for me. I’ll let him overhear a phone call. I’ll make something up, maybe mention the warehouse on the east side. It’s empty, so no big deal if the feds raid it.”
As the room emptied, I lingered. I rubbed my temples, a headache brewing. I let my gaze linger on the faded club patches lining the wall. Each one represented a brother who’d bled for the club.
Trust was the foundation of everything we built, and loyalty was the Maverick’s currency.
If I didn’t find the rat soon, we’d all pay the price.
An early morning text from Kenna drew me away from scheduling out the next month’s shifts for Maverick Security.
Kenna:
Can we meet today to plan the next self-defense class?
Me:
I’m free right now. Breakfast?
Kenna:
Brisket and I are about to go for a run. Join us if you think you can keep up.
Me:
Be there in 15.
I grabbed my gym bag and fired up my Harley to head to Kenna’s house.
She greeted me at the door, hair up in a high ponytail, sports bra and shorts leaving little to the imagination. “You won’t be able to keep up with me wearing that,” she jeered, lips quirking into a challenge as she pulled Brisket away from her door.
I held up the bag, and Brisket balanced on two paws as he sniffed it like he searched for contraband. “Just need to change. I wasn’t about to ride my bike in shorts.”
She giggled, the sound quick and bright, and I felt something shift in my chest.
As I changed into a pair of gray gym shorts and a moisture-wicking shirt, I found myself checking the mirror—something I hadn’t bothered with in years. Tight jaw. Scar on my temple. Thin lines around my brown eyes reminding me I neared mid-life, if I was lucky to outlive this lifestyle.
“You ready yet?” she yelled impatiently.
I opened the door to see her stretching in the kitchen, her high ponytail swinging. My gut tightened at the sight of her long, bare legs on display.
“You’re pretty eager to be left in the dust,” I said with a smirk as I tied my running shoes.
Kenna flashed a cocky grin over her shoulder. “It’s on.”
We set out on the trail, the early light glinting off dew-soaked grass. She and Brisket immediately sped ahead, a competitive streak I didn’t know she had beginning to show.
“Is this a race I didn’t sign up for?” I called after her as I closed the gap.
“Only if I win.” Her laugh drifted through the humid air. Brisket barked once, like he was in on her joke.
I let her keep the lead for a moment, admiring the curve of her ass, and then picked up the pace, falling in easily beside her. My eyes scanned the trees and benches, automatically cataloguing potential threats and routes.
“So how long have you been a runner?”
She sidestepped a tree root and glanced at me.
“Since high school. I volunteered at a center for women and girls. They had a running club. My mom thought it would be a good extracurricular for college applications. Those women had been through hell—abuse, trafficking, shit I didn’t think happened to people in my world.
I loved how running gave them control. Something to do as they rebuilt their lives. ”
“But it sounds like it was more than just a résumé builder.”
She upped her pace. “After my dad died, my mom married this lawyer. Things got ugly fast. It showed me how easy it is for everything to fall apart.”
I glanced at her, waiting. She didn’t look back, eyes fixed forward on the trail ahead.
“I started running races and marathons to raise money for victims of domestic violence and human trafficking.”
I strode beside her, admiring her compassion.
“What about you?” she asked. “You seem to be keeping up just fine.”
I huffed a short laugh. “I haven’t run much since getting out of the Army,” I admitted, a bit more breathless than I’d expected. “Did enough miles to last a lifetime back then. I usually spend my time in the boxing ring instead. Sometimes it feels good to smash Hatchet in his pretty face.”
She snorted, shaking her head, but her stride faltered. I noticed then how her lips pressed flat, a flash of discomfort tightening her jaw.
“You all right?” I slowed with her, tamping down the urge to reach out.
“I’m fine,” she said, a little too fast, picking up her pace again before wavering, breath catching.
“Kenna.”
She let out a frustrated sigh, turning her face away. “It’s just—cramping. Really bad, out of nowhere.”
“Maybe we should have eased into it,” I offered, running down the list of potential injuries in my head.
She huffed out a laugh, humor thin but grateful. “Not those kinds of cramps.”
“Oh,” I said, understanding finally dawning as I gave her a sidelong nod. “Got it. You want to head back?”
She blew out a breath. “Yeah. Since you’re here, do you mind going into town with me? I have a couple of errands I need to run.”
We circled back to hers at a slower pace, the morning sun breaking hot through the trees. She unlocked the door and gestured toward the hallway. Brisket flopped onto the cool tile, tongue lolling.
“You can shower first. Towels are in the top cupboard.”
I muttered a thanks, closed the door behind me, and stripped off my sweat-soaked shirt. The water pounded against my neck and back as I tried not to think about Kenna. A hot desire I hadn’t felt in years stirred inside me.
Every inch of me strained, hard and wanting.
I glanced down, biting back a curse. I stroked my cock once, letting out a ragged breath.
Spending time with Kenna was sweet, yet wildly frustrating.
It wasn’t just her looks getting to me. It was how she was equal parts steel and wildflowers, sharp yet sweet.
The more I pictured her—the swell of her breasts straining against her sports bra, her hips, her sweet lips—the faster I moved, desperate for relief and hoping the water muffled the sound of my strokes.
I groaned quietly, but my release left me unsatisfied, amplifying my craving for her.
I stood for a moment, letting the hot spray wash away my guilt. This wasn’t supposed to happen—not here, not now—but Kenna had a way of getting under my skin that I couldn’t shake.
“Hey, do you want a smoothie?” Kenna yelled through the door, voice bright and oblivious, cutting hard through the thick air inside the shower.
I cleared my throat, scrubbed a hand over my face, and called back, “Yeah, sure. Sounds good.”
“Strawberry or blueberry?” she asked.
I turned off the water. “Surprise me.”
Her laugh echoed faintly down the hallway.
I toweled off fast, heart still drumming beneath my ribs, and yanked on my clothes, determined to look less rattled than I felt. When I walked into the kitchen, Kenna was already pouring a pink smoothie into a tall glass. She shoved it across the island toward me.
I took a long, cold gulp, letting it tamp down the fire still burning under my skin. “Thanks. Go grab your shower. I’ll clean up in here.”
She lingered, pushing a sweaty strand of red hair behind her ear, eyes glinting with something playful. “Should I wear jeans? So we can take your bike?”
I cleared my throat. “Yeah,” I said, trying not to picture exactly how her legs would look poured into tight denim.
When she emerged ten minutes later in tight, dark-wash jeans and a black tank top edged with lace, I almost choked on the last of my smoothie.
My cock thickened instantly, straining against my zipper.
I turned away, attempting to distract myself from the rush of desire coiling in my gut.
“Almost done loading the dishwasher for you.”
“Thanks,” she chirped, oblivious to my turmoil. She kissed her dog on top of his head. “Be a good boy. No parties while we’re out.”
I smirked, shaking my head at how she spoke to her dog like he was a small child.
Outside, I shrugged on my cut and tossed her a helmet before swinging my leg over the bike. She climbed on and pressed her chest to my back, arms circling tight.
“Where we heading?” I asked.
“Library first. Then the pharmacy.”
I slammed my visor down as I revved the engine, feeling the warm line of her body—every shift, every press, every damn curve—fuse with me through leather and denim.
The ride was short but every stoplight felt like torture.
Halfway there, I reached back, brushing my knuckles along her thigh, a quick check to make sure she was settled.
Her fingers squeezed my side, a silent answer that nearly undid my control.
At the library, she slid off behind me. “Do you read for fun, or just stick to motorcycle manuals?”
I chuckled. “I read. Mostly war biographies, old history stuff.”
She wrinkled her nose in mock disgust. “You sound like my grandpa.”
I nudged her shoulder playfully. “Careful. I was already building my first bike when you were just learning how to read.”
She rolled her eyes and shoved me gently as we walked inside. She made a beeline for the true crime section, fingers trailing over the spines.
I lingered nearby, arms crossed. “What is it with women and true crime?” I asked curiously, voice low enough not to get shushed.
She pulled out a thick paperback with a bloody cover. “Morbid curiosity. Why do some people cross the line?”
“Sometimes they have no other choice.” The answer slipped out, heavier than intended.
Her head tilted, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “Sounds like you speak from experience.”
I met her sharp gaze. “Life experience teaches you a lot about the line. Where it is, how easy it is to blur, and how fast things get complicated after.”
Kenna tucked the book under her arm, studying me. “So, hypothetically speaking, what would make you cross it?”
I shrugged, glancing down the row of battered paperbacks. “Depends on what’s at stake. Some things are worth the consequences. Saving someone you love. Protecting the innocent. Retribution.”
A beat of charged silence stretched between us. Then she smirked, stepping close enough to bump her shoulder into mine. “Something tells me you’ve got stories that’d fit right in on this shelf.”
“Some stories are best kept off the record.”