Chapter Two
? Jackson ?
After leaving Little Miss High and Mighty behind, the four of us made our way over to the clubhouse.
Mac’s dad had just opened the place a few weeks ago, somewhere for people to go, hang out, and ride if they wanted.
A few of the local community had raised hell when he had proposed what was essentially a motorcycle club, but not many people had the balls to stand up to August Mills and stay standing.
He was the kind of guy everyone liked, and also one who took shit from no one.
People stood up straighter whenever he walked in the room.
A huge sign hung across the shiny new bay doors.
“Steel Saints MC BBQ and Fundraiser.” After parking our bikes out front, Mac wandered off to find his dad.
The second I walked through the front door of the clubhouse, the smell hit me—barbecue, baked beans, something buttery and sweet that made my stomach grumble like it hadn’t been fed in a week.
And over all of it, the unmistakable scent of a lavender-scented cleaner.
Which meant one thing: Hannah Mills was in full-blown event mode.
We made our way down the hallway, past a series of rooms that Mr. Mills hadn’t figured out a use for yet.
“You boys better not be tracking mud in my kitchen!” All three of us stopped just outside the kitchen door, frozen like we’d just gotten our hands caught in the cookie jar.
Dalton peeled off his boots mid-step like his life depended on it, fumbling as he hopped on one foot. “We wouldn’t dare, Mom.”
Diego followed suit but he was smirking at me as he tossed his boots into a room. I did the same, and Dalton closed the door. If we were lucky, we would remember to grab them before she found them. I frowned at Diego. “What?”
“Oh, nothing. Just thinking how you just got your ass chewed by a five-foot, blonde missile.”I rolled my eyes. “Dude, whatever. She should’ve been paying attention.”
Dalton snorted. “You barely missed flattening her. I just wish I’d had popcorn.”
“Yeah,” Diego added, nudging my shoulder. “That ‘princess’ crack really sealed your fate. Nice opener, Romeo.”
I groaned. “Can we not rehash this again?” A pair of hazel eyes flashed in my mind, bright, angry, guarded.
Mac pushed the door open behind us, arms full of folding chairs. He raised an eyebrow but kept his mouth shut, not adding to the conversation he just walked into. Classic Mac—stoic until someone really earned his two cents.
“Hey Ma,” he said, brushing past us into the kitchen. “Dad said you wanted some more chairs in here?”
“By the table” she answered, not even turning.
She was elbow-deep in potato salad, moving like a tornado in an apron.
“And Jackson—I better not hear one more word about you driving like your skull’s full of marbles.
My husband didn’t start this so you could ride through town like your own private demolition derby. ”
“Yes ma’am,” I muttered, casting a side eye at Diego and Dalton who were grinning like a pair of fools.
She paused long enough to give me the patented Mom Glare—the one that somehow combined deep affection with the promise of violence.
“That license of yours didn’t come with a death wish, I should hope.
And if you think for one second I won’t make you spend the entire event picking gum off picnic tables, you’d better think again. ”
I nodded my assent and beat a hasty retreat towards the garage, “Won’t happen again, ma’am.” Not like I would ever see that girl again. Thank fuck for that.
Dalton cackled. “That’s what you get for almost running over the new girl.”
“Would’ve served him right if she kicked his ass,” Diego added, grabbing a deviled egg off a tray as he went through the kitchen and instantly getting smacked with a wooden spoon.
“You’ve got ten fingers, Diego,” Hannah said, cool as anything. “I can take a few if you don’t keep them to yourself. And that bottle of dish soap over there? Don’t think that just cause I ain’t your momma, I won’t wash your mouth out.”
He followed me, grinning like an idiot. “Sorry, ma’am.”
“Hands off until I say so,” she added, then looked back at me just as I opened the door. “And if you ever do manage to speak to that girl again, maybe try leading with something that doesn’t sound like it came from an overweight trucker in the back of a Love’s Truck Stop.”
“I wasn’t flirting,” I grumbled.
Dalton laughed, “You called her princess, man.”
“It’s a word.”
“It’s a death wish,” Diego said. “She looked at you like you were a bug she was debating squashing.”
“She did squash him. She had a hell of a look in her eye,” Dalton agreed. “I liked her.”
“Of course you did,” I snapped. “She hated me.”
“You gotta admit, though,” Dalton said, “she was kind of hot.” He dodged the apple Hannah lobbed at his head and hastily shut the door behind us. Clint, a friend of his dad and the owner of a seriously badass Indian Scout, eyed the rolling apple before giving us an admonishing look.
“Don’t go pissing off Mrs. Mills, you three. You oughta know better than that.” I was about to say something to him when it dawned on me what Dalton had just said.
“Hot?! Dude, she almost bit my head off!”
Dalton slung an arm around my shoulder, all grinning sympathy. “Welcome to Georgia, buddy. Where the girls don’t play and you really shouldn’t try to impress them by almost turning them into roadkill.”
I shoved him off, half-laughing despite myself. “Remind me why I hang out with you losers?”
“Because we’re pretty, and we make you look better by comparison,” Diego shot back.
Just then, the side door creaked open and in walked August Mills, sweat glistening on his brow, clipboard in hand. The whole room shifted like it always did when he stepped in. Not from fear. Just respect. He glanced at us. “Mac in the kitchen?”
I nodded. “Yes sir. He was bringing in those chairs last I saw.”
He bent, grabbed the apple off the floor and tossed it to us. Diego caught it easily, gave it a wipe on his shirt, and took a bite. “Mrs. Mills kicked us out.”
“That’s my girl. You boys stay out of her way unless she asks for you, ok?
Why don’t you go outside? Make yourselves useful.
See if Silas needs help.” He gave Dalton a squeeze on the shoulder as he passed.
The kitchen door closed behind him and the sound of Hannah’s delighted squeal echoed around the room.
I couldn’t help but smile. Those two were always messing with each other.
Outside, I could hear the deep rumble of bikes pulling in, kids laughing, someone blasting Lynyrd Skynyrd a little too loud. The fundraiser was in full swing, and this—this kitchen, this chaos, this family—was the heart of it.
And for all the teasing, all the yelling, all the clatter and sass and barking orders…
I couldn’t help but feel like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
Even if one blonde girl with a razor tongue had wrecked my pride in a parking lot.
Whatever. Not like she’d crossed my mind again or anything.
I mean, seriously. What was her problem?
If she hadn’t went freaking mental, I would’ve just apologized and went on my way.
Probably. But “man child with small dick syndrome”?
Like hell was I just going to sit down and take that shit.
Diego interrupted my thoughts, bumping his shoulder against mine. “Thinking of her again, lover boy?”
“Shut up, man.”
Mac came up behind us. “Come on, leave the guy alone. Not his fault some strange chick destroyed his fragile ego.”
“Fragile?!”
Dalton laughed. “We better go find something to do before Dad comes back out here. But it’s a good thing that was a one-off thing. Not sure you could take another hit.”
I gaped at him, then threw myself at him. We wrestled for a bit, Clint and a few others hollering at us for being idiots, before Mac pulled us apart. “All right, all right. Dalton was right. We gotta go help.”
Fragile. Fucking fragile. Those damned hazel eyes flashed in my mind again. There had been an odd look to them. And it suddenly dawned on me what it was.
Fragility.
She had been crying.