Chapter Three.
Jinx stepped into the clubhouse, the familiar scent of leather, motor oil, and cigarette smoke wrapping around him like an old coat. At the bar, Frost sat leaned back, quiet as always, nodding to the sweetie behind the counter as she poured him his whiskey—his drink of choice.
Twyla stood behind the bar, her spiky black hair framing her face. She had dark brown eyes that were always sharp and alert. Years of her being one of the chapters chickee’s, she knew how to keep the boys entertained.
There was nothing wrong with the girl he thought as he walked towards the bar. Jinx watched as she moved around the bar making sure, she gave Frost a show of her nice ass and shapely legs.
She’d honed her moves, making sure she came across with the kind of casual confidence that drew the glances without asking for them.
As she bent over to grab a beer from the cooler, her dark eyes flicked up at Jinx. A faint smirk tugged at her lips, just enough to say she noticed him noticing—but she didn’t linger.
Frost didn’t even glance her way. Controlled.
Observant. He didn’t speak unless it mattered, and when he did, people listened.
But Jinx caught the tiniest shift in his posture—a subtle tightening of his shoulders, the faintest flicker in his light eyes—enough to know that Frost had noticed Twyla’s smirk.
He didn’t comment, didn’t react, but his awareness added another layer to the quiet tension in the room.
Over the past year, Jinx noticed Frost had been hanging around the Broke Bastards West Texas chapter more and more, watching from the edges.
Observing the chapter, the people, the way things moved.
He thought Frost might be considering a change in status, maybe pushing to become a full chapter member, instead of a nomad.
And he thought about Constance and the food bank back in town.
Maybe the chapter could help her out. A thought came to his mind.
If he talked to Undertaker and Maddog maybe the Prez and the VP would agree to help Constance out.
He’d pitch Frost for security. The saying two birds one stone came to mind.
He was sure Frost could handle the enforcement side without turning the place into a war zone. That was the tricky part—protecting someone without making the people you were trying to help feel trapped under your shadow.
If Undertaker and Maddog approved, Jinx thought, they might be able to give the place a fighting chance.
Maybe—just maybe—they could give Constance a chance to run her operation without fear hanging over it like a storm cloud.
He’d have to bring it up at church, lay it out.
And if they weren’t willing to help the people in their own neighborhood, who were they there to protect?
Sliding onto the bar stool, Jinx nodded at Frost, who lifted his glass in a quiet acknowledgment.
“Seen you around a lot lately,” Jinx said, testing the waters, pointing out that Frost had been hanging back, observing.
Frost raised a brow. “Got nowhere else to be,” he said simply.
Jinx smiled faintly. “Twyla, can I get a beer, darlin’?” he asked, nodding to her as she bent over once more.
Her smirk deepened slightly, and she gave him a quick, teasing roll of her eyes before sliding the bottle toward him.
Frost’s gaze flicked just long enough to register the interaction—no comment, no smirk, no acknowledgement—but that small recognition told Jinx everything he needed to know about how sharp the man really was.
Tipping back his beer bottle, Jinx saw his phone light up on the bar top. “Always when you least want an intrusion.” He mumbled reaching for it, the number wasn’t one he recognized. Still, he answered.
“Talk.”
“Jinx, this is Constance from the food bank.”
He could hear it in her voice; something had gone wrong after he left. That tone set his teeth on edge. “What’s wrong?”
“Did you mean what you said about helping me?” she asked, voice tight.
“Yes,” Jinx replied, cutting straight to it. “Now tell me what happened.”
“Two of those jerks came back after you left. They destroyed the meals.”
“I’m headed back.” No hesitation. No second-guessing.
“They came back threatening me again.” She told him in a rush.
“What are they threatening you with?” he asked, rising from his stool. Knowing every second counted.
“They said I need to pay protection money to them.”
“Lock the door, Constance. I’m on my way back.” He told her commanding, not a suggestion.
“We’re closed. I let my volunteers go home already. It’s just me here now.”
“Stay inside.”
“Okay.”
Hanging up, Jinx was pissed, harassing a food bank for protection money? Pure assholes.
Frost watched Jinx heading for the door. He could tell something serious had happened. Instincts kicking in. Always alert.
“Hey, Jinx. You need some backup?” he called out, setting his whiskey down.
“I’m not sure, but I wouldn’t say no to some backup,” Jinx called back. Admitting you might need help wasn’t weakness, it was smart.
Frost shoved off the stool, pulled his bike key from his chain, and followed after Jinx. Finally, some action. He wouldn’t mind mixing it up with some assholes. It’d been a while since he’d thrown down. Time to stretch some muscles. He thought.
Outside Jinx straddled his bike, checked over his shoulder seeing where Frost was and saw the brother was already ready to ride. Firing up his bike he shied into gear and rolled away from the clubhouse with Frost on his six.
Half a mile down the road they passed a few of the brothers, unbeknownst to Jinx, Frost had signaled for them to turn around and ride with them.
He realized it when he checked his mirror and saw them coming up fast. Shit he didn’t need half the chapter rolling up to the food bank. Settling in, Jinx figured maybe the show of force was something that would get mentioned around town. And inadvertently back to the people harassing Constance.