Chapter 2
Chapter Two
June
“Well, well. If it isn’t my favorite neighbor,” I hear the second I step out the front door of my building.
Smiling, I glance down at Mr. McAbee sitting in his usual spot.
He’s got a tall glass of sweet tea sweating on the sidewalk beside him, and a folded newspaper in his lap that I know he’s probably already read twice.
His freckled, dark caramel skin is weathered from decades spent out in the Florida sun.
“How are you doing today, Mr. McAbee?” I plant my hands on my hips, waiting to hear what he’s got to say.
He spreads his arms wide, palms to the sky. “Can’t complain, baby girl.” He gestures upward at the cloudless blue. “The sun is shining, and I woke up to see another day.”
Something about the simple gratitude in his voice makes my heart soar. I wish I could bottle this man’s energy and sell it.
“Where you off to?” he asks, picking up his tea.
I thumb over my shoulder toward the end of the building. “Sugar Shack. Grabbing a coffee with my friends.”
“You tell Miss Carolyn I said hello, and that she still owes me a slice of her coconut cream pie.” He winks.
I laugh, giving a mock salute. “Yes, sir.”
The Sugar Shack is less than a minute walk, and I push through the door with a little more bounce in my step, nearly plowing straight into a wall of leather and muscle.
“Whoa!” I stumble back a step, my eyes going wide and hands flying up when I see the Kings of Anarchy MC logo.
The wall turns around and arches a blonde brow. That’s when I see the patch over his heart.
Prospect.
His dark eyes sweep over me with zero interest before flicking past me to scan the street outside. Then he steps aside without a word and repositions himself in front of the door.
“June!” Stella’s soft hand wraps around mine and yanks me forward.
“Ow—hey! I have joints, Stells.”
Ignoring my plea, Stella pulls me in line and glances behind us, her gray eyes shooting daggers at the biker who’s now leaning against the wall by the entrance.
“Who is that?” I whisper, leaning in.
Stella’s jaw tightens. “Bax. He’s an asshole.”
Brooklyn snorts from in front of us, her wild dark purple hair bouncing as she shakes her head. She’s in a tank top and cutoffs, her tattooed arms crossed over her chest. “Journey’s got that baby biker following her around.”
“He followed me to the bathroom at the boutique,” Stella hisses. “The bathroom, June.”
I press my lips together to keep from laughing, because if I laugh right now, Stella will murder me and hide my body where no one will find it.
“Next!” the barista calls.
We step up to the counter and I rattle off my usual—iced vanilla latte with oat milk and fat-free whip. Stella gets her caramel macchiato. Brooklyn orders a plain black coffee, the psychopath.
Before anyone else can reach for their wallet, Brooklyn slaps her card down on the counter. “I got it.”
“B, you got it last time.”
“Shut up and let me buy my friends coffee.” She flashes a smile that doesn’t quite reach her jade-green eyes.
Stella and I exchange a glance, but we both know better than to argue with Brooklyn Jackson when she’s made up her mind.
“Thank you, B,” I say, squeezing her arm.
“Love you,” Stella adds.
We grab our drinks and make our way to the corner table.
Stella drops into her chair and blows on her macchiato. “Okay. What’s new with everybody? Distract me from my prison sentence.”
I perk up, wrapping both hands around my iced cup. “Okay, so you know how my content has been trending on Tokker?”
“Four weeks straight,” Stella says proudly.
“Well—” I hold up my hands for dramatic effect. “—if I can keep it going for twelve weeks total, I win the Beauty Trend Setter Award. It’s this plaque that Tokker gives out, and it comes with a five-thousand-dollar cash prize.”
“Oh my God!” Brooklyn’s eyes light up. “That’s awesome.”
“That’s amazing.” Stella reaches across the table and grabs my hand. “You’re going to win. I already know it.”
The warmth that floods my chest is almost embarrassing. “I’m trying, you guys. I really am.”
“What about you, B?” I take a sip of my latte and turn to Brooklyn. “What’s new in Brookie World?”
She shrugs one tattooed shoulder. “Nothing. I’m boring.”
Stella and I snort. “No, you’re not,” we say at the same time, then look at each other and laugh.
Brooklyn rolls her eyes but smiles. A real one this time.
I soften my voice. “How’s your daddy doing?”
The smile fades. Brooklyn wraps both hands around her mug and stares down into the black coffee.
She dropped out of college a few months ago—left everything behind—when her dad was diagnosed with lung cancer.
Moved back to Odin with her two-year-old son, Maverick, and into her dad’s house by the marina so she could take care of him.
“He’s got his good days and bad days,” she says quietly. “But the oncologist thinks the chemo’s working. His last scan showed some shrinkage in the tumor, so…” She lifts one shoulder. “We’re hopeful.”
“He’s tough,” Stella says firmly. “Toughest man in Odin.”
“He really is,” I agree.
Brooklyn nods, blinking a few times like she’s fighting the sting behind her eyes. She clears her throat. “Anyway. I’m fine. The club keeps me busy.”
She means Pretty Kitties—Anarchy’s strip club on the edge of town.
Brooklyn took the job to help cover her dad’s medical bills.
It’s not what she planned for her life, but she’s never been the type to sit around feeling sorry for herself.
She does what needs to be done. I admire the hell out of her for it.
“Speaking of the club,” Stella starts, “how’s that going? Everything cool?”
Brooklyn’s mouth does this thing—this little pucker, like she’s holding in the words she’s not sure she should say out loud.
Stella narrows her eyes. “Secrets don’t make friends.”
“Yeah, what’s that face?” I prop my chin on my fist.
Brooklyn sighs, her green eyes sliding to Stella. She hesitates for a beat.
Stella pats her cheek innocently. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Because.” Brooklyn sets down her mug. “I have my own biker problem.”
Stella and I lean forward, our brows raised. “Oh, you gotta tell us now,” I laugh. “We need details.”
“That asshole, Gator,” Brooklyn says flatly. “He keeps running off all the big tipping clients.”
Stella’s gray eyes go wide. “WHAT?”
“Shhhh!” Brooklyn reaches across the table and clamps a hand over Stella’s mouth, glancing toward the counter where the baristas are pretending not to look at us. “Would you keep your voice down?”
“Sorry.” Stella giggles behind Brooklyn’s hand. Brooklyn releases her, and Stella lowers her voice to a whisper. “I just can’t picture it. Gator is so sweet.”
“Sweet?” Brooklyn’s nose scrunches. “He’s a smartass. Last night this guy tipped me a hundred-dollar bill, and Gator ‘accidentally’ spilled a pitcher of beer in the guy’s lap and told him the club was closing early.”
I choke on my latte.
“It was nine-thirty, June. On a Friday.” Brooklyn shakes her head. “The club doesn’t close until two.”
I wipe oat milk off my chin, trying not to laugh. “Okay, that’s kind of—”
She points at me accusingly. “Don’t you dare say cute.”
I mime zipping my lips.
“What about you, Stells?” I ask my bestie, trying not to laugh at the disgusted look on Brooke’s face. “What’s new?”
Stella waves a hand. “Same ol’ same ol’.
Work and school.” She takes a long sip of her macchiato.
“I picked up extra hours at Deziree’s to get out of the apartment, and my classes are kicking my butt, but it’s fine.
I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” She flashes a bright smile, but I can see the exhaustion she’s trying to hide underneath it.
“You got this, babe,” I promise as my phone buzzes across the table.
New message from user:9928113
The tips of my ears warm. Is this a new account?
I tap it open.
Pink looks hot on you. But you already know that, don’t you? That little tank top you’ve got on... I like it.
The café tilts. The chatter, the espresso machine, Brooklyn’s voice—it all goes muffled and distant, like someone shoved my head underwater.
I glance down at the pink tank top I’m wearing, then to the picture windows. Anyone could be out there. Anyone could be looking at me, right this second, and I’d never know.
“June?” Brooklyn’s voice cuts through my racing thoughts. “Are you okay?”
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Stella adds, her brows knitting together. “And I mean that literally. Your face is white.”
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. I turn my phone around and hold it up so they can see the screen.
I watch their expressions change. Brooklyn shifts her gaze to the biker standing outside the coffee shop door. Stella’s eyes go wide, then narrow, then dart to the windows just like mine did.
“How long has this been going on?” Brooklyn asks, her voice shaky.
“This is the third message,” I manage. “Well, fourth, counting the one from earlier today.”
“Four?” Stella leans across the table. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“I thought if I ignored them, they’d stop. I blocked the accounts, but they just keep making new ones.”
Brooklyn glances around like she’s expecting someone to jump out and yell BOO. “We should go upstairs,” she says, already getting to her feet. “Take our coffee up to your place.”
“Agreed.” Stella grabs her cup and loops her arm through mine. “Let’s go.”
I don’t argue. My legs feel like jelly as I stand, clutching my iced latte with both hands to keep them from shaking.
We file out of the Sugar Shack, and Bax peels himself off the wall the second Stella appears.
“Where you going?” He rumbles.
Stella flips him the bird over her shoulder. “Upstairs.”
Growling under his breath about bratty little girls needing their asses spanked, he falls in step behind us.
Did he just… I glance over at Stella and see a bright shade of crimson on her cheeks. My brows go up. Well, okay then.
Someone’s got some splanin’ to do.
Mr. McAbee eyes us as we walk by, but he doesn’t say a word. “You can stay out here.” Stella snipes over her shoulder to the baby biker as we start up the steps.
“Not on your life, brat.” Bax growls, his heavy boots thudding behind us.
Brooklyn’s wide eyes meet mine as we round the corner to my door—
“What the—” I stop in my tracks.
My door is open.
Not kicked in. Not broken. Just... open.
It’s cracked open about six inches, like someone let themselves in and didn’t bother closing it behind them.
“I know I locked it, I always lock it. I checked twice before I left because that’s what I do now, ever since the first message.”
“Move,” Bax growls, shouldering past us. He takes in the open door, then points a tattooed finger at Stella. “Stay here.”
She narrows her eyes, but doesn’t argue.
Hands shaking, I watch as he pushes the door open with one hand, the other reaching behind his back, and steps inside.
I should wait. I know I should wait. But my legs are already carrying me forward, because this is my home, my space.
“June, wait—” Stella grabs for my arm, but I’m already through the door.
“Oh my god.” I cover my mouth at the destruction as tears well up in my eyes.
My favorite lipsticks are smashed into the floor like someone ground them in with their heel.
Eyeshadow palettes have been cracked open, and powders and pigments are everywhere.
The fairy lights Stella and I hung when I first moved in have been ripped down, and written on my wall in red lipstick are five words.
YOU CAN’T HIDE FROM ME.
“Oh my God,” Stella whispers, covering her mouth with her hand.
“What is it—” the words die on Brooke’s lips.
Standing frozen to the spot, we watch Bax move through the apartment. “Clear,” he says after a moment. “Whoever did this is gone.”
Standing here, trying to wrap my head around why someone would do this, reality crashes into me.
My filming equipment. My shot at the Trend Setter Award. All of it. Destroyed.
“June.” Stella’s hand finds mine and squeezes. “I’m calling my brother.”
I should tell her no, that I can handle this on my own, but I don’t. The bright red threat on the wall is proof that this has gone way past harmless messages.
“Okay.”