Chapter 3
THREE
JINX
Fucking Marty’s daughter. The hell.
I glance up from mindlessly scrolling my phone and steal a look at her. Kyra frowns intently at the computer before her, thumbnail pressed against the bow of her lips. Her full fucking lips. Lips, I’ve watched wrap around a striped milkshake straw before she—
“You’ve made me late,” Mariana announces as she erupts through the open door. “Here.”
She slaps an identical pale brown envelope to the one folded in my back pocket on my chest. I pull her report out and hand it over, noting the sudden flurry of fingers over a keyboard behind me.
Mariana intimidates Kyra, and I don’t blame her one bit. I’ve seen men who’d run into a bar fight without hesitation cower in this woman’s presence.
The realtor’s flawless eyebrows pinch as she stares down at the ugly crease that runs the length of the paperwork. “Thanks.” Shrewd eyes flick toward Kyra, a complaint poised on her glossy lips.
“Don’t.” I shift to the side, using my body to block her line of sight. “It’s her first week.”
A sigh is all the response I get before Mariana whirls and charges out the door to her double-parked, still running, Jaguar. A cloud of aromatic perfume resides in her wake. I pity the fool who’s about to meet her.
“Thanks.” The softly spoken word pulls my attention away from the hurricane speeding off from the curb to where Kyra stopped typing behind me.
“No sweat.” I glance out the open door at the sunny day beyond, then back to where the woman fusses with God-knows-what on her desk. I should get back on the road, but… “Where are you staying now that you’re back?”
“With my parents.” Her shoulders hitch toward her ears when she sets her elbows on the desk before her. “I’m on the lookout for a place of my own, but it’s kind of hard when there’s, like, two agents in the town who are any good and she’s one of them.”
A chuckle catches in my throat. “True that.”
“Anyway…”
Anyway. The whole fucking interaction should be awkward enough given she’s Marty’s daughter, but the gut-twisting anxiety triples each time she parts her lips to wet them with the tip of her deep pink tongue.
Yeah, I remember who she is. Or at least, who she was.
Kyra wasn’t such a smoke-show back then.
She was a timid bird content to watch the world go by, perched in the quiet corners of the school hall, waiting to be startled into motion.
Yet no matter how hard she tried to blend in, to hide, my gaze somehow always managed to find her.
She piqued my interest back then.
She has me fascinated now.
“Do you need anything else?” Expectant brown eyes watch me, a hint of trepidation in their depths.
“Nope.” I lift the correct paperwork between us in a kind of wave. “Thanks.” Then bolt toward the door like a pussy. This isn’t you. “Actually…” I stall and slowly turn on my heel.
She hasn’t moved.
“What are you doing after work tomorrow?”
Swear a rose blush enters her cheeks. “Why?”
“Well, when you show up after a decade and give me more questions than answers, it seems as though we’ve got some catching up to do.”
Her tongue touches her lips again as she drops her gaze to the desk and idly moves something with her right hand. “We were never friends back then, Jinx. Why act as though we are now?”
I take a step toward her. “Because you’ve already proved some things can change, Kyra.”
Her gaze lifts to mine, then to the ceiling and the walls, as she draws a deep breath. “You really think it’s a good idea? You think my father would think it’s a good idea?”
“You still take orders from your daddy?” I fold my arms.
Her gaze sweeps across my shoulders. “No. But I still respect him. Especially when I’m back under his roof.”
I slowly nod. I mean, I get it. My father’s an asshole too, but he’s the man responsible for putting food on the table while I grew up and for setting me up with a second family I consider closer than blood, so I still respect him, even if nobody else does.
“One drink. That’s all I ask. You think he’d deny you that? ”
Her nostrils flare, lips rolling together. “Non-alcoholic.”
Interesting. “Make it coffee at the Daily Grind Cafe, and yours can be how you like.” I can always rely on Theresa to add a dash of whatever I want to dirty up my brew.
Kyra smirks, folding one arm across herself to grab the other. “Deal. I get off at four-thirty.”
“Meet you right here.”
A beat passes where I don’t care to look away, and neither, it seems, does she. Fuck me. Kyra goddamn Green. As I live and breathe.
Who would’ve thought that an already pretty flower could bloom into something so goddamn breathtaking?
With a quick hitch of my eyebrow, I turn and head for the door, somewhat slower this time. Yeah, I do know most people around these parts, and for a while there, she was the one I cared about the most.
Even if she represents the epitome of the taboo for a lawbreaker like me.
I shift the property plans inside my shirt once I reach the bike to keep them safe during the ride, and tug on my helmet. How long has Kyra been back? Why haven’t I seen her before now? My phone vibrates in my pocket, so I tug it out and find a message from Chaos.
You far away?
On my way back now. Why?
I’d like you to be here to hear this shit, too.
Interesting.
See you soon.
My gaze lifts to the municipal building as I slip the device into my pocket.
Throwing Kyra to the wolves by letting the club know she’s back leaves a queasy knot in my stomach, but it wouldn’t be long before they found out anyway.
If I said nothing, it’d raise eyebrows and questions over why I’d chosen to keep a pivotal connection to the Sheriff a secret.
Shit’s been messy around here lately, what with the arson at our loading dock and then the fucking bullshit with Vanessa’s God-complex stepfather putting his fucking nose where it doesn’t belong. Having someone in our back pocket who can sweet-talk Marty in our favor is invaluable.
But it’s a no-brainer why the idea doesn’t sit well with me.
A decade may have changed Kyra, but I’d bet my life savings that the girl inside is still the same timid, people-pleaser she was back then.
High school wasn’t kind to her. Easily taken advantage of, the vultures preyed on Kyra’s conflict-avoidant personality and leveraged her for everything from paying peanuts for completed homework assignments to cheats for the next test. A bike club would chew her up and spit her out.
Still—it’s not every day you get handed a fucking inside line to the Sheriff’s private life on a silver platter. A few minutes of casual conversation can reveal a lot, and if we want to keep one step ahead of the zealous asshole, I need to know more about the man behind the militant mask.
What’s his motivation? Back story? What are his biggest fears?
How do we exploit his weakness?
Who better to flesh out those answers than his treasured daughter?
Fuck. I punch the starter and then lean back in the saddle, drawing a deep breath.
A wise man would take heed of Kyra’s warning about her father and make some bullshit excuse to bail on our coffee date.
Stay the fuck away from certain trouble.
But I’m no ordinary man, and the existing conflict with the Kings is the whole fucking reason why I like the idea of stirring a little shit with Marty in the process.
Checking the way is clear, I tap into gear and then pull out onto the road.
My gut feels off, and I check my mirrors repeatedly, looking for the thing that puts me on edge.
But I won’t find it there. Not when the needling worry isn’t related to anything physical.
It’s knowing that even if I keep her to myself, it wouldn’t be long before the club would muddy the waters between us.
And once she finds out her relationship to the local law takes precedence over any feelings I might have for her, the thought of Kyra’s hurt and confused face is what makes my stomach twist now.
I’ve never given much of a fuck what people think of me or my actions before.
But I give a fuck what she thinks about them.
Unlike some people I’ve known, I’ve never wanted to hurt Kyra.
Never wanted to let her down. I’ve always felt a pull to shield her from the harshness of the world, and how do I expect to do that when I am the harshness of the world around her?
I hold loyalty and responsibility to the patch that heats my back as I cruise down the main street.
A duty to take one look at the situation and ask myself how this can benefit the Kings of Anarchy before I consider my own needs and wants. Let alone hers.
Why does the girl I want have to be Marty’s daughter? The shy, straight-A student whom I always hoped for a glimpse of on the days I actually showed up at school.
Off-limits for so many damn reasons.
Fuck.
I shake my head as I ride, wind making the wisps of hair at my nape tickle my skin.
Gone is the straight, bleached hair she had.
Gone are the pointy collarbones beneath her shirt.
Gone is the modest duck of her chin when spoken to.
Nope. In its place is a curvy, dark-haired siren with the kind of confident smile I always wanted to see on her.
Damn, she looks good.
Seems fitting that when I discover the perfect girl does exist, she’s the same one I’m not allowed to have.