Chapter 27
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN
KING
Leaving Shawn, which goes fucking against everything I have inside of me, I head back to the clubhouse. I want to take her with me. It feels like I should take her with me, but I know she’s got to bake her cupcakes early in the morning, and I have to do a bunch of bullshit late tonight.
Deliveries.
That’s what I have to do tonight.
I thought I was done with these since I’ve been working on getting all the brothers their CDL licenses, which has taken up all of my time. But Atomic has been busy doing whatever the fuck he’s been doing, so it’s up to me to get everything handled, considering he’s overbooked fucking everyone.
Everyone.
“How many deliveries tonight?” Clink asks.
“Six,” I murmur.
In reality, it’s not that many. We should be able to finish in just a few hours. However, when you’re not used to doing any, it feels like a lot. Plus, we have some other collections as well. Tonight isn’t just about deliveries.
Looking around the bar, I jerk my chin toward Atomic, who is bellied up, a beer in one hand, a shot glass in the other. I don’t ask him why. I know it has to do with Ryan. When he gets trashed, it always has to do with her.
And he’s already fucking trashed. I watch as Poison saunters up to him, her entire body completely nude as she moves toward him. Except she’s not looking at him. Her gaze is focused on me and only me.
This bitch is going to be goddamn trouble.
I knew it when that fight started between her and Shawn, but I was hoping that she would follow the rules. The ones she knows about. Especially the one where she doesn’t talk to an old lady. Hell, she isn’t even supposed to be seen by an old lady.
Atomic swings his head around to look at her, and I think he’s going to push her away, but he doesn’t. Surprisingly, he wraps his arm around her waist as he spins on the barstool and lifts her to his lap.
Turning away from them, I jut my chin out toward Clink. “I’ve seen both of them have sex enough to last me a lifetime. You ready?”
He grunts, jerking his own chin toward the door before he spins on his heels and begins to walk away. I follow behind him, my clipboard of all our stops in hand, my phone with the list of all the undocumented pickups along the way.
Clink and I make our way to the delivery truck. He climbs into the driver’s seat, and I take my place as bitch on the passenger side. I need to do the paperwork part of this shit while he drives. The accountant has to see legitimate bullshit, and I gotta make it look real as fuck.
He reverses the truck and turns it around, heading straight out of the compound. We’re silent until he speaks.
“You think hooking up with Shawn Cotton is a good idea?” he asks.
Turning my head, I look at him. I know Clink is younger than me, but I don’t think he’s as young as Shawn is. I don’t answer immediately. I wait, wondering if he’s going to finish his thought because right now if he leaves it at just that, I might punch him in the face.
He doesn’t say anything, so I ask. “What the fuck does that mean?”
Clink shrugs a shoulder, and I watch him, hoping he doesn’t piss me off any more because the punch to the face is going to happen while he’s driving, and we’re going to get in a wreck and ruin a bunch of beer in the process, all of which would not be good for the club.
“It means I know her brother and her father. That family is fucking trouble. I mean, I don’t think Shawn is. She seems sweet as fuck. Cupcakes are to die for. But they got a bad fucking string of bullshit behind them with that last name.”
“Don’t think I care too much, although she’s never mentioned a father.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, I’m sure she hasn’t. He bounced early on. That mother is a fucking piece of work, but just because he’s bounced doesn’t mean he isn’t fucking trouble.”
“What the fuck are you trying to tell me?” I demand.
“I’m telling you her father is the president of the Nomad Kings MC.”
Thank fuck he’s driving because I think I would have swerved off the road and into a fucking ditch at that news.
“You shitting me?” I ask. “How the fuck do you know all of this?” I ask.
He chuckles. “She doesn’t remember, but I lived next door to them when we were little. I hung out with her brother a little until he pissed me off. But I remember her dad. Remember that cut, and then remember my dad talking shit about him. When he left, my dad was happy to not see him any longer.”
Nomad Kings is an MC that’s been around for about as long as we have. We don’t mix with them. They work in skin. Not something we’ve ever dabbled in.
“Except we do in our own way with our clubwhores,” I murmur.
He chuckles. “Not the same, brother. I’m talking about girls that literally stand on the street corners and barter.”
“In Pineville?” I ask.
I almost laugh because this is a small town in deep East Texas. We literally have a downtown street and a few neighborhoods. That’s about it. I’m not even sure where these street whores would be hanging out.
Clink shakes his head. “Drives them out to truck stops. Lot lizards.”
“Fuck,” I hiss. “Seriously? And this is her father’s operation. She know this?”
Clink snorts before he clears his throat and continues this little story, something he probably should have fucking told me before I made this bitch my old lady, although I’m not sure I would give much of a fuck.
Shawn is different. There’s no way I would just let her walk away from me, especially not after that first fuck.
“She doesn’t know shit. He left before she could understand what was happening. Doubt she’s ever even met him.”
“But you’re telling me all of this because?” I ask.
Clink doesn’t reply right away. Instead, he stares straight ahead for a long moment, then he decides to grace me with his reasoning.
“I’m telling you this because it could become a problem.
They’ve been rumbling. They’re going to be an issue eventually for us, especially when they figure out that we’re growing. ”
“Then we’ll deal with it then.”
He presses his lips together, rolling them a few times, but doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t get the chance because we pull up to the first bar. We get our shit in gear, and we work. Then, we collect once all the kegs are dropped off.
It’s a full goddamn day that turns into an evening.
The entire time, I think about the fact that the woman I’ve fallen for is the daughter of the Nomad Kings.
She’s not just anyone. She’s their goddamn princess, too.
Clink is right. If her father finds out that I’ve claimed her, along with the fact that we’re building and growing our club, he’s going to come and start shit.
I decide this might be a little bigger than I can handle. So, I do the only thing I can think of. I make a phone call. It rings three times before the person on the other end answers. I call the only man I know who, without a doubt, will shoot me completely fucking straight.
“Hey, Dad.”
SHAWN
Standing in my bakery kitchen, I think about Atomic’s offer of using their badass kitchen instead of being here, but something about that feels wrong.
This is where I am meant to be. I felt it the moment I walked in the door.
And there’s no way around that. No fucking way.
This is home. It’s the only place I’ve ever felt could be a home. Where I belong.
There is silence as I begin to make a cake. I was able to take a bus to the grocery store to get supplies. I have everything I need now. While everything isn’t exactly the way I had it, my new bowls aren’t as pretty as the ones my mother broke, but they are functional, and that’s all that matters.
Turning up the music app on my phone, I sing as I use my whisk to whip up my chocolate cake.
I just hope that nobody walks in and trashes the place like the last time I made this cake.
I smirk to myself, wondering what exactly Elvis said to my mother and brother when he went to their place to warn them away from me.
I can’t deny that I like that.
He protected me, stood up for me, defended me. It’s sweet. For all the doubts I had last week, he fucked them out of me. Smiling, I continue to whisk, then pour the batter into the prepared pans already lined with parchment paper.
The bell above my door rings just as I slip the pans into the oven. Before I opened the doors, I made sure to bake a few dozen cupcakes and cookies. It is not a full case by any means, but for a shop that has zero customers, it’s good.
Making my way into the front of the shop, I call out a hello before I arrive. There is a woman with a small child standing in front of me. Curving my lips up into a smile, I ask how I can help them.
I wait for her to ask directions to the play place a few doors down, but she doesn’t. “We had some of your vegan cupcakes at the farmers’ market, and I promised my son another one.”
Smiling, I can’t believe that this is happening. My heart slams against my chest in an exciting way. I could scream with joy in this exact moment. I don’t, though. Instead, I show them which options I have.
“These are vegan but also gluten and grain-free,” I explain as I point to the chocolate ones with peanut butter frosting and little chocolate sprinkles on top.
“Are you serious?” the mother asks. “No corn?” she asks.
“No corn and no soy.”
I don’t know what’s happening because she bursts into tears right here in the middle of the store. I move around my counter as quickly as I can and wrap my arms around her, instinctually giving her a hug of comfort and support.
She lifts her arms and wraps them around me as she sniffles, then we release one another, and I watch as she wipes her tears away. Her toddler stands quietly beside her, and I can’t help but smile at him.
“I’m sorry. I’m such an idiot. I’m crying about a cupcake.”
“Hey, I’d rather you cry over cupcakes than men,” I say with a wink.
She laughs, shaking her head a couple of times. “It’s just that, since being diagnosed with an autoimmune disease and being on an anti-inflammatory diet, I haven’t been able to buy much in a shop, let alone a dessert.”
“I use honey for the sweeter, too,” I whisper.
Her tears flow now. “I just can’t believe it. My son can’t have dairy, so I just came here for him, but…” she pauses, then her gaze flicks to the case. “I want a dozen cupcakes and a dozen cookies.”
I almost laugh, but my heart slams against my chest with excitement. I can’t believe she’s just ordered two dozen items from me. Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, I decide that I can’t take advantage of her.
“I make fresh every day. You don’t have to order that many,” I whisper.
She shakes her head. “I want them. I’m going to take them home for dinner and just eat the whole box myself.”
Laughing, I make my way back around the case and collect six dairy-free cupcakes and then six of the grain, gluten, and soy-free. Then, I package up thirteen cookies. When I ring her up, I give her a discount and tell her it’s because she came from the farmers’ market.
“Will you be there next month, too?” she asks.
“I will,” I reply with a smile because there is no way in hell I’m missing out on that kind of income again… ever.
“Then we’ll see you there,” she says, picking up her treats.
I thank her and watch as she walks out of the bakery.
For the first time since opening, I feel a newfound sense of hope.
Sure, the farmers’ market helped, but this is different.
This is someone coming into my bakery and buying something without looking horrified.
This is someone who wept because I had something that she could eat.
My world is finally starting to look up. Instead of feeling dismal depression as I always have. I think that for the first time in my entire life—I’m happy.
I know it isn’t just the farmers’ market or the bakery. It’s Elvis, too. I have fallen for that man even though I know it’s risky. Not just risky; it’s downright dangerous, but I can’t stop myself. I can’t help myself.
I’m falling in love with him.