10. CJ #2
I cross my arms, turning back toward the grill, but my shoulders are tense again.
I feel outnumbered—cornered, even. Ryder and Hawk both clearly trust her.
Now Sam’s laughing like they’ve been friends forever.
She’s weaving her way into our circle, one interaction at a time, and I’m the only one left standing against it.
“You volunteering to cook next time?” I snap at Ryder.
He holds up his hands, grinning. “Hell, no. Burned burgers suit me just fine.”
Marcy looks at me, a quiet challenge in her eyes. I can practically hear her thoughts: she’s here, and she’s not going anywhere, no matter how much I want her gone.
“CJ,” Ryder says calmly. “Everything good?”
I exhale slowly. “Great.”
“CJ?” Hawk’s voice carries a note of caution. “About the holidays?—”
I wave a hand dismissively. “We’ll talk later.”
The truth is, I can see it plain as day. When it comes to Marcy, I’m outnumbered. Ryder’s protective of her now, Hawk’s firmly in her corner, and even Sam’s got stars in his eyes whenever she’s around.
She’s weaving her way into our lives faster than I can stop her.
I grip the spatula tightly, flipping another burger and ignoring the uncomfortable truth that maybe—just maybe—I’m fighting a losing battle.
I flip another burger onto a plate, glancing up just as my gaze collides with Marcy’s. She’s watching me, a faint smirk tugging at her lips, and instead of quickly looking away, like most would, she holds my stare. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t back down.
Damn if I don’t grudgingly admire it. She’s got backbone, I’ll give her that.
Hawk clears his throat, drawing everyone’s attention. “So, Thanksgiving,” he begins, leaning back in his chair. “We sticking to tradition, or do we want to mix it up?”
I grunt, turning my focus back to the grill. “Tradition’s good. People need something familiar right now.”
Marcy tilts her head. “You know, I still don’t get it. Aren’t you guys supposed to be anarchists or something? Isn’t tradition kind of against your whole thing? And here we are, planning Thanksgiving.”
Hawk snorts, Ryder chuckles softly, but I whip around, pinning her with a sharp glare.
“Don’t even joke about that. The MC is our family. Not that I expect you to understand.”
She meets my gaze again, eyebrow arching slightly, refusing to look away. The silence stretches, thickening between us, before Ryder clears his throat, stepping in.
“Easy,” Ryder says calmly, placing a firm hand on the back of my chair. “She’s joking, CJ. Relax.”
I bite down on my retort, grunting instead, but I notice the quiet appreciation in Ryder’s eyes as he looks at her. Hawk’s openly amused, leaning back like he’s watching the best show in town.
Sam giggles, oblivious. He steals a chip from Ryder’s plate. “What’s an anarchist?”
Marcy smiles at him, leaning forward conspiratorially. “People who don’t like rules, basically. Like your dad, but cooler.”
Sam’s eyes widen. “Oh, like pirates?”
Marcy laughs brightly. “Exactly like pirates.”
I shoot her another glare, but she just smirks back, completely unfazed. Hawk coughs to hide his laugh, and Ryder looks suspiciously amused. Sam beams at her, already won over.
Despite myself, I feel the corner of my mouth twitch. I stamp it down immediately, turning back toward the grill, my jaw tight.
She’s trouble, no doubt about it. But she’s good at standing her ground. I’ll give her that much.
“So, the usual menu?” Ryder asks, redirecting the conversation smoothly.
Hawk nods. “Yeah, plus whatever else Marcy thinks we need.”
Marcy’s eyebrows shoot up. “Wait… you’re putting me in charge of the menu?”
Ryder smirks. “Why not? You’re clearly running this place already.”
She laughs, warm and genuine, and dammit, even I feel something loosen in my chest.
“Fine,” I mutter. “Just don’t go too crazy.”
She raises a brow at me, lips curling into a wicked grin. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Hawk stands up, stretching lazily, and nods toward the back door. “We’ll grab the condiments from the fridge.”
Ryder follows suit, pushing back his chair. “Don’t burn anything else while we’re gone.”
I flip him off, but the asshole just chuckles, shaking his head as he trails Hawk into the house.
The screen door slams shut behind them, leaving me alone with Marcy and Sam.
I watch her interact with Sam. She leans forward, elbows on the table, her full lips curved into an easy smile as she listens to him.
“So, what kind of pie are we having?” Sam asks her eagerly, bouncing in his seat. “We usually just get pumpkin, but that’s so boring.”
Marcy taps her chin, pretending to think deeply. “Well, we could do apple pie… or pecan. Oooh, maybe even chocolate cream pie.”
Sam’s eyes widen like Christmas just came early. “Chocolate cream? Can we do that?”
She shrugs lightly. “I don’t see why not. Holidays are about breaking the rules, anyway, right?”
“Yeah!” Sam cheers. “See, Dad? Marcy gets it.”
Marcy looks directly at me, lifting one eyebrow, her challenge clear. “Hear that, Dad? Tradition with a twist.”
The way she meets my gaze head-on, her eyes bright and defiant, almost makes me want to smile. Almost. It takes effort, but I manage to keep my expression neutral, pretending to inspect the label on my beer bottle.
Yet, I can’t deny the strange feeling easing through my chest as I watch them together.
Marcy is smiling now, relaxed and genuinely at ease.
Her blond hair catches the last golden rays of sunlight, framing her face softly.
There’s a natural warmth to her, a glow that has nothing to do with money or status or influence.
She’s laughing at Sam’s excited rambling, leaning in like every word he says matters.
Dammit, I don’t want to like her. But seeing Sam laugh so freely, so happily… it reminds me how rarely he gets moments like this.
Marcy glances up again, catching me staring. I hold her gaze for a second too long before looking away.
I step away from the grill, unable to stomach another second of Marcy smiling like she belongs here. She’s sitting with Sam, both of them laughing, acting like she’s always been part of this place. Like she isn’t the daughter of the man who nearly destroyed us.
I storm toward the kitchen, ready to knock some sense into Ryder and Hawk. What the hell are they thinking, bringing Marcy Hollingbow into our world like this? It’s reckless, dangerous, and completely fucking unacceptable.
I’m halfway down the hall when their voices drift from the kitchen, low and serious. Something about their tone makes me slow down, and I instinctively quiet my footsteps.
“CJ’s not gonna let this go,” Ryder mutters, his voice strained with tension. “You saw how he looked at her just now. He’s about ready to blow.”
Hawk sighs. “Yeah, well, maybe it’s time he got over it. She’s not her father.”
I clench my jaw, my fists tightening at my sides. Hawk has always been stubborn, but this blind spot is dangerous.
“She’s trouble,” Ryder acknowledges, voice gruff. “But fuck me, man—I can’t get her out of my head. I don’t even want to try.”
Hawk chuckles darkly. “Yeah. Same.”
A tense silence fills the space between them. Then Ryder speaks again, quieter this time. “You good with this? You and me, both getting involved?”
My gut tightens, dread seeping into my bones as Hawk answers slowly, “I don’t have a problem if you don’t. Hell, maybe she’s exactly what we need.”
“We can both handle it?” Ryder’s voice carries uncertainty.
“I think we can.”
Something inside me snaps. They’ve both lost their fucking minds. I thought their jealousy, their possessiveness, would bring them to their senses. That the idea of sharing Marcy would be a line they wouldn’t cross. Instead, they’re making fucking plans.
The original plan to bring her on board was to extract all the info about her father out of her and leverage it. But the opposite is happening. She’s not just distracting them. She’s tearing them apart, and the worst part is that they don’t even see that.
“I’m willing to risk it,” Hawk says.
Ryder doesn’t respond immediately, but when he does, it’s measured. “Yeah. Me too.”
My gut tightens painfully, anger boiling up inside me until I’m nearly shaking with it.
I step back quietly, careful not to make a sound, and turn away from the kitchen, stalking down the hall, away from the hushed voices of my best friends, men I trusted with my fucking life.
Men who are now blind enough, foolish enough, to let Marcy Hollingbow slide in between us, poisoning everything we’ve built.
I shove the door open harder than necessary, stepping onto the porch, inhaling deeply to calm my racing pulse. Outside, Sam is kicking a ball around the yard, laughter drifting up on the breeze. I force myself to focus on the kid, on the one damn thing that matters most.
Because Ryder and Hawk are wrong. Dead wrong.
Marcy Hollingbow isn’t innocent, and she sure as fuck isn’t safe. She’s here because of Jake, one way or another. She’ll drag us down, twist us against each other, destroy everything the 12 Devils MC stands for. Everything my father built.
And if Ryder and Hawk won’t end this, I fucking will.