Chapter 8
Sloan stepped into the kitchen, ignoring the dozen curious eyes that immediately swung in his direction as if everyone was waiting to see who he was going to bitch out. He didn’t bother correcting the assumption. Let them wonder.
His gaze locked on Becky at the sink, sleeves rolled up, elbow-deep in what looked like a poultry massacre. He headed straight for her.
“I was looking for you,” Sloan murmured as he came up behind her, bracing one hand on the counter and nudging her gently forward. He pressed a slow kiss to her neck, not giving a single damn that half his men were probably watching.
He glanced into the sink. “Why does it look like you murdered a flock of chickens?”
Becky shot him a grin over her shoulder and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Getting ready to show Sid how real fried chicken is supposed to taste.”
“Sid challenged her to a fried chicken cook-off,” Jared called from one of the tables. “I’m taking bets. You in, boss? It would look pretty bad if you don’t put up for your woman.”
“I’m a guaranteed win,” Becky declared loudly, holding up a dripping piece of chicken like a trophy.
Sid rounded the corner at that moment, arms full of plastic containers stacked up to his chin.
“Becky,” Sid announced dramatically as he set them down with a thud, “do you know what is most requested in my kitchen?”
“Yeah,” Becky said without turning. “Reservations somewhere else.”
A ripple of laughter went through the room. “Damn, she got you on that one.” Damon’s deep chuckle cut through the room.
Sloan glanced at Sid, who was staring at Becky, and narrowed his eyes as if daring Sid to say anything nasty to Becky.
“Okay, fuck,” Sid finally said with a growl. “That was a good one. I’ll give you that, but you are going down, Becky. And Sloan, this is serious shit. If you can’t take seeing your woman lose or me giving her shit to mess with her without killing me...please leave.”
“And shit just got serious,” Jared said, whistling, as everyone waited to see what Sloan would say.
“Put a thousand on Becky for me.” Sloan broke the tense silence in the room.
“What?!” Becky gasped, dropping the chicken she was washing as she turned to face Sloan. “Sloan!”
“Holy shit!” Steve finally shouted from across the room. “For that kind of money, Becky’s chicken better taste like it was blessed by Colonel Sanders himself.”
“Who the fuck is that?” Damon asked with a grunt.
“Seriously, Damon?” Steve stared at Damon with wide eyes. “The Colonel? Kentucky Fried Chicken? The old grandpa-looking dude in the white suit with the creepy-looking goatee?”
Damon didn’t answer, just stared at Steve as if he were an idiot, but that didn’t stop Steve.
“You seriously need to get out more, man,” Steve said, shaking his head with deep disappointment. “To live as long as you have and not know who Colonel Sanders is? That’s tragic. That’s like… basic American history. The dude’s face is on buckets.”
“Sloan, don’t you dare bet a thousand dollars on me,” Becky warned, cutting Steve off without looking his way.
“Yeah, you’re definitely going to walk out a thousand short, boss,” Sid added with a cocky grin.
“Shut it, Sid,” Becky growled, still locked on Sloan.
“I’ve had your fried chicken and Sid’s.” Sloan winked at her. “Yours is far superior.”
“Yeah, and you have to say that,” Sid snorted, glancing back at Sloan before smirking at Becky. “We can call it off if you’re afraid of losing your man’s hard-earned money.”
Behind them, Steve muttered, “Man… Colonel Sanders. The white suit. The tiny string tie. He looked like a ghost accountant who moonlighted as a chicken pimp. How do you not know that guy?”
Blaze walked in, took one look at the room, and frowned. “What’s going on?”
“Sid and Becky are having a fried chicken cookoff,” Steve announced like a proud sports commentator. “Hey, you know who Colonel Sanders is, right?”
“The old chicken guy?” Blaze asked, brows climbing. “Yeah. Why?”
Steve pointed dramatically at Damon. “He doesn’t.”
Blaze stared… then shrugged. “So what?”
“So what?” Steve repeated, eyes going huge.
“The man basically invented chicken fame. Buckets of chicken. Worldwide obsession. That white suit? Iconic. The string tie? Fashion statement. He turned eleven herbs and spices into a damn empire. The guy went from running a gas station to becoming the Elvis of poultry, dude. The. Elvis. Of. Poultry. He’s actually on my list of people I’d like to meet. ”
“Steve… he’s dead.” Jared rolled his eyes.
“Ah, yeah, I know.” Steve waved a dismissive hand. “But legends never really die.”
Damon finally looked up, expression flat as stone. “If you’d like to meet him, I can arrange that.”
Steve’s eyes widened slightly, then he sighed. “Doesn’t it get old threatening my life all the time?”
“No,” They all said at the same time, even Sloan chimed in.
Steve finally shut up about the damn chicken guy as Sloan leaned back and watched Becky.
Damn, she was beautiful, but Sloan noticed her pale skin.
She had been sleeping a lot lately and not as lively as usual.
He knew something was going on, even questioned her multiple times, but she would tell him she was fine.
Sloan even went so far as to try to get her to see Slade, but she refused, saying she had her own doctor, whom she followed up with regularly.
Sloan had let it go... for now, but he had talked to Slade about his concern for Becky, and Slade said he would observe her. So far, nothing had come of it.
Charger walked in and headed straight for Sloan, purpose in every step. “You got a minute?”
Damn it. Sloan nodded and pushed to his feet, shooting one last look toward Becky, whose hands were moving confidently over the chicken, hair slipping from her clip, oblivious to how badly he just wanted five more minutes with her. Of course, the universe couldn’t give him that. It never did.
He followed Charger out of the kitchen. Once the door swung closed behind them, Charger turned.
“Kane contacted me,” he said without preamble.
“That was fast.” Sloan crossed his arms, though fast usually meant good. In their world, it could just as easily mean the opposite.
“Yeah—too fast.” Charger’s expression confirmed it. “Looks like Griffen felt the heat and unloaded the logistics business Monica worked for.”
Sloan cursed under his breath, dragging a hand down his face. “King is going to lose his shit.”
“Well, all isn’t lost.” Charger’s tone shifted. “Seems Griffen’s already moved on. Got himself a new operation. Antique imports and exports for the wealthy.”
That snagged Sloan’s attention. “Local?”
Charger nodded. “Yep. And that’s not even the best part.” A half-grin tugged at his mouth. “Kane may have his hands full with this one.”
Sloan raised a brow. “What now?”
“Griffen put someone else in charge. A guy named Neil Farrar. He showed up last night, practically begging Monica to come back to work. Says Griffen insisted she return.”
Sloan felt the suspicion roll in like a cold front. “How the hell is Kane supposed to get on the inside?”
Charger let out a short laugh and shook his head. “Oh, that’s the best part. Kane is Monica’s bodyguard. He will be straight-up glued to her ass. We have to set up a whole new persona for him because they definitely want a background check on him.”
Sloan frowned, eyes narrowing. “And this Farrar guy fell for it?”
“Yeah, well… time will tell on that.” Charger thumbed through his phone. “Kane’s damn good, but he usually slips into one of his established personas. Playing ‘bodyguard with a new name’ wasn’t exactly on his menu.”
Sloan grunted with a nod. It took a special person to go undercover. Kane definitely seemed like the man for the job.
“I heard Duncan’s the best at fake identification,” Charger added, still scrolling.
“He is,” Sloan confirmed. “He’s on patrol. How fast do you need it?”
“Yesterday.” Charger didn’t even blink. “I’ve got Jinx handling all the digital footprints. Once he’s done, Noah Reid will officially exist.”
Sloan lifted a brow. “That’s the name he’s going with?”
“Yeah. Any of his old aliases would’ve blown the bodyguard angle.” Charger looked up as the kitchen doors swung open and Warriors poured out with the smell of fried chicken.
Before Sloan could respond, Jared strolled out like he owned the place. “Sid kicked us out and told me to find you. Says he wants you front and center when he wipes the floor with your mate and takes your thousand bucks.”
Sloan didn’t even spare Jared a glance as he looked through the closing kitchen door to see Becky.
His mind was still partly on Kane, but mainly on Becky, who looked beautiful with flour on her cheek, sleeves rolled to her elbows, and her brow furrowed in that focused way that somehow fucked him up more than lingerie ever could. Damn.
He looked back at Charger as the door closed completely. “I’ll call in Duncan. Someone else can take his patrol.”
“Appreciate it.” Charger gave a quick nod. “I’ll keep you updated.”
As Charger walked off, Jared leaned in. “What was that all about?”
Before Sloan could answer, Sid burst out of the kitchen, his gaze instantly falling on Sloan.
“Perfect. You’re here. Figured you hightailed it back to your office.
” He pointed at Sloan with a grin too smug for his own good, then looked at everyone else.
“Paper and pencils are on the tables. Chicken is labeled A and B. Taste, decide, and vote.”
The hallway was filling up fast with off-duty Warriors and mates trickling in, all drawn by the smell of fried chicken like it was a dinner bell.
“You take this shit way too seriously,” Jared muttered, brushing past Sid.
“Who’s he challenging this time?” Jax asked as he walked up with Caroline.
“Becky,” Steve announced, then jabbed a thumb toward Sloan. “And the bossman here threw a grand on her.”
Jax let out a low whistle. “Damn, that’s one hell of a bet. Hate to tell you this, boss, but Sid’s fried chicken is the best I’ve ever had.”