Chapter 6
Chapter Six
CLAY
Karina laughs at something the florist says and touches his shoulder.
It's nothing. A casual gesture, the kind of easy warmth she shows everyone. Her hand stays there for maybe a second before she pulls it back and returns to checking off items on her clipboard.
One second. And I want to rip the guy's arm off.
I grip the folding table hard enough to dent the metal.
It's been twenty-four hours since I kissed her against her front door, and I've lost my fucking mind.
She smiled at a vendor this morning, and I had to take a walk outside to cool off.
Now she's touching some asshole's shoulder, and I'm calculating how long it would take to cross the room.
This isn't me. I’ve never been jealous over a woman before: I keep my emotions locked down tight where they can't make me stupid.
“You're going to break that table, Prez.”
Viper appears beside me, arms crossed, smirking.
“I'm fine.”
“Sure you are.” He lowers his voice. “Got an update on our friend Chet Morgan.”
I force my attention away from Karina and the florist. “Talk.”
“He's been moving money. Small amounts, they’re all spread across multiple accounts. Nothing that triggers automatic flags, but it adds up. I've traced about forty grand so far.”
Forty grand. Stolen from people who thought they were helping their community.
“Can we prove it?”
“Almost. I need access to the charity's main accounts to connect the dots. Another couple of days.”
The event is in two days.
“Get it done now,” I say. “I want everything locked down before this thing goes live.”
Viper nods and heads out. I turn back to the room and find Karina watching me. She waves, that sunshine smile aimed right at me, and my heart knocks against my chest.
The florist is gone. Good. I might have done something stupid. She bounces over to me, clipboard clutched to her chest.
“You look grumpy.”
“Cupcake, I always look grumpy.”
“I mean… grumpier than usual.” She tilts her head, studying me. “Everything okay with your club stuff?”
“Fine.”
“Very convincing.” She pats my arm, and even that small touch sends heat up my spine. “You know you can talk to me, right? I'm a good listener. It's part of my charm.”
Her fluffy pink sweater is sliding off one shoulder, revealing tiny freckles that I want to trace with my tongue. Her eyes are full of warmth and trust.
I should tell her right now.
Chet Morgan, your boss, is a con artist. Your charity is a front and I've known since the day we met.
Instead, I say, “Come to dinner tonight.”
She blinks. “Dinner?”
“At my place. I'll cook.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Wait. You cook?”
“Don't look so surprised.”
“I'm delighted.” She clutches her chest dramatically. “The scary MC president can cook. Be still my heart.”
Is she flirting with me? “Is that a yes?”
“That's a hell yes.” She's already bouncing on her toes. “What time? Should I bring anything? Do I need to go home and change first? I should walk and feed Dolly—”
“Eight. Bring nothing. You look fine.” Better than fine. She looks gorgeous. “Feed the dog first.”
“Dolly will be disappointed she doesn't get to growl at you.”
“She'll survive.”
Karina grins and stretches up on her toes to kiss my cheek. It’s quick and casual; the kind of easy affection that probably means nothing to her.
It sends searing heat down to my already hard cock.
“I’ll see you at eight, Chef Clay. Send me your address.”
She bounces back to her clipboard and her vendor calls, humming to herself. I stand there like an idiot, heart pounding. When did I become the kind of man who falls apart over a kiss on the cheek?
Ty hasn't set foot in the community center once. He must be smart enough not to show his face around a group of bikers who might carry a grudge. Every time Karina mentions him, it's the same excuses: he has donor meetings, or he’s on a conference call.
He's using her. When this falls apart, she’s going to be crushed.
I should tell her. Every time Karina looks at me with those trusting eyes, the words burn in my throat. But if I tell her now, she'll confront him. She'll march into his office and demand answers, and Chet Morgan will vanish with whatever money he's already stolen.
I need proof first. Solid evidence that takes him down and keeps her name clean.
I stop at the grocery store on my way home. I don't cook for company, I cook for myself. In my spare time, I watch YouTube videos and teach myself new meals. But I find myself buying fresh pasta, good parmesan, and the fancy olive oil that costs three times as much as the regular stuff.
Once I’m home, I try to see it through Karina’s eyes.
White walls, no art. Functional furniture; a leather couch, big TV and a functional kitchen.
There’s nothing soft or pink here. She's going to walk in and see exactly who I am: a man who keeps everyone at arm's length because it's safer that way.
I could make an excuse and cancel. Keep this thing between us in neutral territory where I don't have to show her the empty spaces in my life.
I pull out my phone and text her my address, then start chopping garlic.