Chapter Six
There’s power in the chapel.
It thrums under my skin, heavy and electric, coursing through the air like a living thing.
The executive board sprawls around the long table, chairs tipped back, boots outstretched, bodies draped in that languid posture that fools the clueless and unnerves the wise.
Every man here is a weapon. Every single one.
My club brothers are volatile as hell when provoked, but right now they’re loose, easy, trading sly smirks and lazy glances.
It’s almost laughable, considering the collective body count lounging in this room.
We’re fucking insane. All of us. Still, we’d be the first bastards to strip the shirts from our backs if someone truly needed it.
Maybe that’s why my little shadow never feels out of place in my mind. Hell, if they ever show themselves, they’d fit right in with this crew.
No answer ever came to my letter. I didn’t expect one. I just need to know who the hell it is. There’s a restless coil in my gut, tight and sharp, warning me that when I see their face, my whole world will detonate.
Thoughts of my stalker yank Marigold into my head. My fists clench on my thighs before I know it. Muscles tense, fingers curl, jaw locked tight.
So close. Christ, I was so damn close.
Four years of tension, heat, and near-misses, and that night was the closest we’ve ever been. I still feel the air between us sizzling, dense and suffocating, pressing on my chest until I could barely breathe.
One breath. I was a single fucking breath away from finally making her mine.
Like clockwork, the second shit tipped from playful to real, she withdrew.
Before I could process it, her warmth vanished, heat to ice in a blink, like someone flipped a damn switch inside her.
My chest constricted as confusion hit. She couldn’t even respond when I asked her straight up if she wanted me.
I won’t stay where I’m not wanted. Every time she pulls back, the sting makes it harder to keep trying.
No matter how much I care, I’m done with the whiplash.
One moment she’s staring at me like she wants to crawl inside my skin, the next she’s shoving me away like I’m poison.
The shift always fucking wrecks me and leaves me hollow.
That shit is too messy. Too unstable. Too out of control. I don’t do unstable or out-of-control.
Sure in the fuck don’t do relationships. Never have, never planned to. Then Marigold swaggered into town like she owned the damn place and demanded a job at Nauti Nibbles with that fearless, unbothered state of hers. Told us we’d regret saying no.
Ballsy little menace. Surrounded by rough bikers, she didn’t flinch.
Yeah, her body caught my eye first. No sense pretending otherwise. She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. But it was her reckless, zero-fucks-given energy that hooked me deep. Few people stand before that much danger and make demands, but she did.
I saw it that day. That flicker. That hint of darkness tucked behind those eyes.
Can’t really say I love Marigold.
Love is a foreign language I never picked up. Watching my brothers and their partners, it looks more like a condition more than an emotion—messy, consuming, irrational. It hijacks your brain and laughs while you lose control.
I don’t like shit I can’t control.
But I care about her deeply. Dangerously. More than anyone else in my entire damn life.
I’m no fool. I won’t waste breath chasing after a woman hellbent on staying out of reach. Marigold wants me. I’ve seen it flare in her eyes, felt it sear between us. Yet something always drags her into the shadows.
She guards her secrets fiercely. Until she slays whatever demon’s gripping her mind, all I can do is respect the line she draws between us.
Friends.
Hell, it’s not like I’m lacking options. There’s a line of women ready to step in, but that does nothing for the itch under my skin or the knot tightening in my chest.
“Right. How’s the ports looking, Joker?”
Pope’s voice cuts clean through my thoughts.
I snatch up my pen and notebook. Their familiar heft steadies me. Ink and paper—my anchor when everything else feels unsteady.
“Everything’s running smoothly. There were some unfriendlies off the coast. Their boats seemed to have some issues, but we got them fixed. Gave them some sightseeing options before leaving,” Joker says, mouth curving with that wicked smirk.
Sightseeing.
Yeah. Meaning those dumb bastards and their boats got a guided tour of the ocean floor. Satisfaction flickers. Violence always brings relief, even if it’s just a little.
Nice.
“How’s the negotiations with Ghost? Have we heard anything from him yet?” Pope asks, moving down the list.
“Nothing yet, Prez,” Malice answers, voice flat with irritation. “Fucker likes to live up to his name.”
“If we don’t hear anything by next week, we’ll find him. Kaiko wouldn’t have recommended him unless he could get us what we need.”
Ghost.
We’ve only crossed paths with the bastard once.
It was last year, before everything with the Steel Slayers went nuclear.
The Castellano Cartel handles our weapons without issue, smooth and reliable, but we’d been hunting for a new drug supplier.
Kaiko had stepped forward when we needed options, calm as hell, telling us he knew someone who could deliver.
Kaiko doesn’t get doubted. Not after Mad Dog vetted him.
If Mad Dog hadn’t cleared him personally before we lost him, there’s no universe where we’d have trusted Kaiko with club business. Mad Dog didn’t miss shit. The man had instincts like a damn bloodhound. When he and Gavel stamped someone safe, that was it. Done. No arguments.
Kaiko earned his spot fast. It still floors me that he hasn’t prospected yet. He was our first driver when Claspers Logistics was just a wild idea and a gamble. Now the trucks never sleep, hauling freight for anyone with enough cash and a pulse.
There are rules. Not many, but the ones we have are ironclad.
We don’t traffic people. Hard fucking limit.
No one uses our businesses for that either.
Not Claspers Logistics. Not Nauti Nibbles.
Not The Body Shop. Nothing tied to the Saint’s Outlaws.
The idea alone sends a low, ugly irritation crawling under my skin.
“Where do we stand on opening the gator farm in the swamplands?”
I pull the folder from my stack and flip it open, paper whispering beneath my fingers.
“The land cleared yesterday. Pretty Boy handled the closing costs. The deed’s buried under shell companies so deep it’d take a damn miracle to trace back to the club.
Cypher said they’d have to be smarter than him to break through his walls, and no one is. ”
Pope takes the paperwork, eyes scanning, mouth curving slowly. “Let’s get our contractors out there.” He passes the papers back to me. “Anyone have anything else they want to bring forth?”
“Snow.”
Butcher’s head snaps toward me so fast his chair groans, his grin collapsing into a vicious scowl. I don’t even bother looking at him.
“All of us have tasted what she makes. It’s really fucking good.
Sells out constantly. Marigold says there are days they’re wiped clean before the doors even fully open.
” My pen taps once against the folder. “Snow doesn’t have enough kitchen space in the diner.
She’s baking out of her cottage and hauling everything in. ”
Pope’s gaze settles on me, lazy and assessing. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying we’d be idiots not to invest in a bakery and let her run it.”
Pope nods slowly, eyes drifting to the ceiling as he balances his chair back on two legs, as if gravity is optional for him. The damn thing wobbles beneath his size. Big ass man. Small ass chair. Physics itself must be sweating bullets.
He drops back down with a solid thud and looks towards Pretty Boy. “We have the money to make it work?”
Pretty Boy’s fingers fly over the keyboard and mousepad before he looks over the top of the screen. “We’re good. Ran the numbers from Nauti Nibbles. It’d be a solid investment, Prez.”
“Find us a location,” Pope tells me.
“Will do.”
“If that’s it, we have our families waiting for us in the common room, brothers.” Pope pushes to his feet after banging the gavel and stretches like a damn predator waking from a nap. “What do you say we go spend the day with them?”
Chairs scrape, and boots hit the floor. Voices rise as we file out of the chapel. I lose myself in conversation with Ducky, content for a moment, then I hear it.
That laugh. Soft, bright, and unmistakable.
Her laugh weaves through the chaos of the common room and curls around my spine like warm hands. My head snaps toward the sound before I even think, drawn by a pull that borders on obsession.
And there she is. Marigold. She leans against the wall next to Birdie, looking like she owns every breath in the place.
My pulse skips, then slams against my ribs with a force that leaves me breathless.
Her shorts hug her golden thighs, denim frayed to perfection, every worn edge a temptation.
A white T-shirt knots at her hip, fabric taut, revealing a sly flash of skin that hijacks my gaze before I can stop it.
Black combat boots bristling with spikes armor her feet, making my lips twitch with pride.
I gave them to her for her birthday, and she’s barely taken them off since.
A fierce, possessive heat twists low in my gut at the sight.
Her eyes snap up, locking onto mine. For a heartbeat, something wild and predatory flickers there, a shadowy glint that vanishes as quickly as it came.
In its place, that playful sparkle returns, bright and teasing, as if the darkness was just a mirage.
Marigold grins, slow and wicked, wiggling her fingers at me before turning back to Birdie.
As if she hadn’t just stolen the breath from my lungs.
As if she hadn’t just set every nerve ending in me alight.
Things haven’t changed since that night at her place.