Chapter 7
SEVEN
JINX
“Are you sure that’s her?” Chaos leans forward with an elbow to his knee, ass perched on the low stone wall of the public garden opposite the municipal building.
“Why wouldn’t it be?” I flick the flower stem I’d been knotting into the gutter as Kyra steps down the stone steps and into the orange hues of the late afternoon sun. The light catches the highlights in her hair, turning the dark brown curls to a caramelized shade of amber.
“Didn’t think Marty was capable of producing something so…” Our president tilts his head. “Easy to look at.”
“Does Vanessa like hearing you talk about other women like that?”
He smirks at my jest. “All I’m saying is that I figured his kids would be as jaded and bitter as he is. But she’s…” he slides off the stone wall. “Smiling?”
I hashed out the idea with Chaos last night when he finally dragged his love-sick ass back to the clubhouse.
We all went to school together, but unlike me, he never paid much mind to the Sheriff’s daughter.
But it never slipped his memory how I’d talk about Kyra once a few drinks were under my belt, or how I’d sometimes blow off a day of causing trouble with him to go to school and check up on her.
“You sure this won’t get messy?”
I glance to my side and catch him studying the stupid smile that’s twisted one side of my mouth. “You saying you don’t trust me to do a job?”
His mismatched eyes narrow, tone dropping low to grumble, “We still fucking fighting?”
Things have been rough between us since he met Vanessa—since his focus shifted somewhere more pleasurable and he left the day-to-day running of the club up to me.
“It won’t get messy,” I assure him. “Her link to Marty is too valuable for the Kings for me to risk it.”
I return my focus to where Kyra checks that the way is clear and jogs across the street, one hand fisted around the strap of her purse slung over her shoulder.
Loose pants float around her legs as she moves in flat-soled boots, a fitted, pale pink T-shirt with a Care Bear dressing down the otherwise corporate attire.
It’s quirky. And a little bit cute.
“Hey.” Her gaze sweeps over Chaos, who stares at her with his usual brooding intensity. “Hope you haven’t been waiting long.” Her words falter a little under his scrutiny.
The fucker is off-putting enough with his one blue eye and one brown eye. But with his split-dyed hair contrasting those eyes, tattoos adorning the visible parts of his skin, and club insignia proudly worn on his back, he sends the message without needing to utter a single word.
The Kings are not to be fucked with.
“Didn’t wait long at all.” Close to fifteen minutes, but I didn’t want to risk her walking out the door and thinking I’d bailed if I was late. I lift my chin at Chaos. “Catch up with you later.”
“Sure.” He gives me a knowing look that lingers a split-second too long, then turns toward the main street to run errands. More secrets he refuses to talk about.
“How was your day?” I guide Kyra toward the cafe.
“Do you mean, did I give anyone the wrong shit again?”
I chuckle at her subtle dig about our interaction yesterday. “I meant, how was your day. Nothing more. Nothing less. Was it good?”
She shrugs. “It was a day. Not great, but not bad either, so I can’t complain.” She glances behind her at Chaos as we walk, her hand still tightly fisted on the strap. “He’s a lot, isn’t he?”
“He’s not so bad once you get to know him.”
“I get the feeling he doesn’t want to know me.” She chuckles awkwardly. “I don’t remember him being so… him in school.”
“Probably because he was hardly ever there.”
“How did he ever graduate?”
I smirk. “Some people are just born gifted.” Or geniuses—however you want to look at it. Something lingers in the shadow of her downturned gaze, but it’s too early to push things that hard, so I let it lie. “Care Bears, huh?” It’s about re-establishing trust, first. If I ever had that.
Kyra glances at the worn cotton stretched across her chest, which only succeeds in drawing my focus to her breasts, also.
“Don’t ask me why.” She lets out a nervous laugh.
“I never liked them when I was a kid, but there’s something about them now that appeals to me.
Their bright colors? The way they all seem so happy? ” She hesitates. “It’s silly, I guess.”
“You’ve got to hold on to the things that bring you joy in life, right?”
Her chin tilts up in my periphery. “Yeah. You do.” I damn near spook when her hand brushes the side of my cut. “I guess you don’t have much room for self-expression when you have to wear this day in and day out.”
“You’d be surprised.” I steal a look at her while we wait to cross a side street. “Some of the brothers find ways to express themselves, but it’s more about keeping a clear and uniform appearance when we’re all out together than it is about denying self-expression.”
“The big, bad men all wearing black, huh?” Her boot scuffs as she steps off the sidewalk, and I reel in the urge to take her by the arm to steady her balance.
“Black is easier to hide stains.”
“I hope you talk about oil and grease, there, mister.”
“What else would I be talking about?”
She glances up at me, and our eyes connect with a knowing intensity.
She’s grown up in a law enforcement household; she’s no stranger to the whispers and rumors about our club.
She probably knows more than the majority of Temperance does about what we’ve managed to keep out of the media spotlight over the years.
“So,” I say with a gentle clap of my hands. “What made you come back, Kyra?” I offer her a smile that assures her we aren’t here to talk the dirty stuff about our history. At least, not yet. “You were one of the few who managed to escape the clutches of this town. Why return?”
“Mom’s sick.”
The easy smile melts off my face. “Shit. I’m sorry.” I figured it would take a while to get her to open up about the inner workings of Sheriff Green’s home, but she cut straight to the chase and fucking made an asshole out of me in the process.
“It’s okay. There’s no official diagnosis, so it’s not as though I can say ‘oh, she has this or that’.
She’s just…” Her face contorts as she searches for the right words.
“She’s not herself anymore. Like, if you took a photo of her five years ago and placed it beside one from today, you’d think they’re related but not the same person. ”
“Sounds hard.”
“It is when she refuses to acknowledge it properly.” A heavy exhale passes her lips. “Anyway. You didn’t invite me out to hear all about the troublesome things in my life, so how about you?” She glances up at me as we walk. “Why did you stay?”
Fuck her. I did not expect to be rendered speechless this early on. She’s gone and flipped the table on me with effortless ignorance of the game at hand. How the hell do I reply to a question I can’t answer myself? “It seemed easier.”
“And was it?” She studies me as we slow to a stop outside the cafe.
I turn to face her, yet stare over her head as I talk. “Ironically, it gets easier the longer I’m here.”
Her gaze tracks mine toward the townsfolk who openly stare at us from across the street. “But, you’ve never been anywhere else to have anything to compare it to?” Kyra words the question carefully, peering up at me from beneath her brow.
“No. I haven’t.” I grab the handle of the door and pull it open before she can continue the current line of questioning. “After you.”
“Thank you, fine sir.” Kyra walks ahead, providing me with a clear view of just how well her pants fit her ass despite how loose the legs hang. It’s like the straight fall of fabric was designed to accentuate the curve of her lower back into the round swell of her butt. Fuck.
“Do you want to grab a table or order first?” She spins on the spot to survey the modest establishment.
I tip my head left and lead her toward where the guys always sit.
Sure enough, Theresa isn’t far behind.
“Kyra Green,” she singsongs. “I’d heard you were back. How come I haven’t seen you until now? And what are you doing letting this ruffian keep your company?”
Marty’s daughter spreads a well-practiced smile as she takes a seat at the round table to my left. “Well, I haven’t been hiding. I came in last week, but you were occupied out back. A lovely lady I didn’t recognize served me.”
“Vanessa.” Theresa tuts. “You could have told her to call me up, and I would have come right out to see you. How have you been?”
“Aw, you know. Busy settling in again.” Her smile falters. “I didn’t think it was worth disturbing you over, what with how popular this place is. Dad tells me you’re a cornerstone in the town, now.”
I lean back in my seat, one elbow slung over the back. I’m seriously impressed by how quickly Kyra managed to swing that awkward conversation starter into a glowing compliment that has stone-faced Theresa blushing and caught off guard.
“That’s awfully kind of him to say.” The older woman fusses with the rings of her notepad in the small pocket of her apron.
“Your dad didn’t say much about what you’ve been doing after you left for college, though.
You back to lend us your expertise?” Theresa’s tone suggests she fishes for exactly what Kyra’s done over the past few years.
It doesn’t go unnoticed with the Sheriff’s daughter. “Looking for a change, actually.” Her careful smile turns full Stepford Wife as she tilts her head a little.
Theresa bristles, taking a half-step back. “Oh. Well, that must be nice. What with your family close by.”
“Sure.” Kyra picks up the menu card and drops her head to study it with more intensity than needed.
I catch Theresa’s eye and lift an eyebrow. “Coffee to start?”
“Of course.” The ex-club bunny’s gaze flickers over my companion again before drawing stone hard when it settles on me. “Usual?”
“For me. Kyra can have hers however she takes it.”
“Black. One sugar. Thanks.” Her warm brown gaze doesn’t leave the menu card.
“And anything to eat?
“Not sure yet,” I hedge. “We’ll let you know later.”
Theresa nods and backtracks toward the front counter through the narrow annex that connects the cafe’s central area to this smaller, conservatory-style room.
Kyra sighs, setting the menu down to take stock of the plants sitting on the floor or hanging from various hooks on the walls.
“Well. That was horrible.” She slides off her chair and crosses to one with red flowers that droop from small, dark green leaves.
“I think you did okay shutting her down politely.”
She shrugs. “I hate when people ask what I’ve been doing. Even more when they not so subtly point out how little Dad speaks of me.” Her tongue peeks out to wet her lips, and she draws a slow, deep breath as she catches her reflection in a painted mirror.
I figure a change of subject is in order if I don’t want her to shut right down. “You like houseplants, huh?”
Kyra’s head snaps around as though she’d been in a daze, a shy smile on her lips while she moves back to her seat.
“I lived in a small apartment before, and there was only one good window that got morning sun. But it was near the cooktop, so anything I tried to grow either withered with the heat or suffered without enough daylight.”
“But you hope to have a few once you get a place of your own?”
“Yeah.” She sets her elbows on the table, fingers flexing between one another. “Hoping.”
I shift my gaze from the cloud blue tips of her nails to the small tattoo of a butterfly inside her wrist. “Any luck with the search?”
“I gave it a rest last night.” She draws back, leaning against her seat to set her hands on her lap. “Visited my grandmother and tolerated that line of questioning instead. You know, because it’s so much more fun than facing my problems head-on.”
Her dry humor has the corners of my mouth curl. “You think she would have been a cop, too, if it had been as welcoming to women in her time?”
“More like a P.I. Anything that puts her in anyone else’s business but hers.” Kyra smiles. “I’m sorry. I’m so damn bitter today you’d think I was sucking lemons all afternoon.”
An unwarranted vision of her sucking something flitters through my mind. “Not at all. Change is hard.” I shrug. “Probably why I never did it.”
Damn straight, why I never did. I’d hardly call myself conflict-avoidant, but I never felt I had an argument strong enough to take to the old man about why I couldn’t join the club.
It wasn’t my dream—it was his. But when I had no grand fantasy of my own, there seemed no point in avoiding the path he’d laid out for me.
“What do you plan to do now that you’re back?” I press. “Council work can’t be exciting enough to return to Temperance for.”
She huffs a small laugh. “No. It’s not.” Elbows to the table, she reaches for the menu card again and fusses with the frayed edges. “I have an income stream. It’s just… impossible to do while I’m here.”
“How so?” Do her parents not support her career? Did her employer not offer a transfer? What the hell could be the reason for giving up her source of income?
“It’s kind of hard to explain.” Her gaze flicks to me and then back to her hands. “It’s just online stuff, but I can’t do it now that I’m back in my parents’ house. No way.”
I glance at the plants surrounding us, the lush green foliage that makes her a fraction happier, and it clicks.
“Why don’t you do your work from here?”