Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Britta
By the next afternoon, my apartment felt less like my apartment and more like some strange mix between a biker safe house and the world’s least relaxing recovery center.
Tempi was there.
Twister was there.
Rev, Wheels, and Magnum were there too.
And Swift, of course, was right where he always was now—close enough that if I turned my head, I could find him without trying.
The guys had spread out through the living room, boots on my floor, voices low, all of them somehow managing to be both relaxed and ready for a fight at the same time.
Twister was leaning against the far wall like he owned it.
Wheels had taken over one end of the couch, talking to Rev about something under his breath.
Magnum stood by the window for a while, then paced toward the TV and back again, like sitting still offended him personally.
Tempi and I had escaped to the kitchen.
Or at least that was how I looked at it.
Because as much as I was getting used to bikers taking up space around me, there was still something about a whole room full of patched men that made my apartment feel approximately seventy-five percent smaller.
Tempi leaned one hip against the counter and looked me over while I stood by the coffee maker, pretending I was only focused on making coffee and not on the fact that Swift was ten feet away in my living room, looking like trouble wrapped in broad shoulders and dark denim.
“You good?” Tempi asked.
I glanced at her over my shoulder. “Physically or mentally?”
She snorted. “Let’s start with physically since that answer is probably less unhinged.”
I rolled my shoulder slowly, testing the dull ache there. “I’m okay,” I said. “Sore. Tired. Mildly offended that being shot didn’t magically make me more interesting in a mysterious, glamorous way.”
Tempi laughed. “Girl, you already are interesting. Getting shot just made your week shittier.”
That was fair.
I grabbed two mugs from the cabinet and set them down with my good hand. “I’m fine,” I added, quieter this time. “I mean… I’m as fine as someone can be when her friend’s bar got torched, she got shot, and then the hot biker living in her apartment got shot at outside her building.”
Tempi’s brows rose. “Oh-ho. Look at you just dropping the phrase hot biker in there like that.”
I groaned and reached for the coffee pods. “Don’t start.”
“Oh, I am absolutely starting,” she said, grinning. “Because I have eyeballs, Britta. And I have been watching the two of you dance around each other for days now.”
I shoved a pod into the machine harder than necessary. “There is no dancing.”
Tempi let out a laugh that said she thought I was a liar. “Uh-huh.”
I turned and pointed at her. “There is not.”
“Then why are your ears turning red?”
I slapped a hand over one ear automatically, which only made her laugh harder. “Tempi.”
“Britta.”
I narrowed my eyes at her.
She just crossed her arms and leaned more comfortably against the counter, fully settling in like she’d just been given premium gossip and intended to enjoy every second of it. “You have your own biker now,” she sing-songed.
“No.”
She blinked dramatically. “No?”
“No,” I repeated. “I do not have my own biker.”
Tempi tipped her head. “Really? Because from where I’m standing, that man sleeps on your couch, watches over you like a grumpy guard dog, and looks at you like he’d happily ruin someone’s whole family tree if they touched you wrong.”
I opened my mouth.
Then closed it, because annoying as she was being, she wasn’t exactly wrong.
She saw it in my face and pounced. “Oh my God,” she said, her voice dropping into a delighted whisper. “Something happened.”
I turned back to the coffee machine like it was the most interesting thing on earth. “Nothing happened.”
“Britta.”
I sighed. “We were going to kiss,” I muttered.
The kitchen went quiet for half a second.
Then Tempi slapped a hand over her mouth and made a muffled squeal. “You were what?”
I glared at her. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you.”
“No, no, absolutely not, you do not get to drop that on me and then be annoyed that I’m reacting.” She straightened and jabbed a finger at me. “Continue immediately.”
I stared at the coffee dripping into the mug. “We were on the couch,” I said. “Watching TV. Kind of.”
“Kind of,” she repeated, eyes bright.
I ignored that. “And we were talking and then not talking, and it just…” I let out a breath. “It got weird.”
Tempi’s mouth twisted. “Not weird bad.”
“No,” I admitted. “Not weird bad.”
“Interesting.”
“Dangerous,” I corrected.
That made her grin wider. “Even better.”
I rolled my eyes. “He said if we kissed, it was going to change everything.”
Tempi’s expression shifted a little then, the teasing still there but softened around the edges. “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“So what happened?”
I grabbed the creamer from the fridge and poured some into the mug because my hands needed something to do. “I said maybe I wasn’t ready for things to change.”
Tempi’s brows lifted. “Yet?”
I shot her a look. “Maybe.”
Her grin came right back. “Oh, girl.”
I groaned. “Please stop being delighted by my emotional instability.”
“I cannot,” she said. “This is my favorite thing that has happened in weeks, and my bar was literally set on fire, so I need this.”
I laughed despite myself.
She sobered just enough to ask, “Did Swift get mad?”
That answer came easy. “Of course not.” No hesitation. No doubt. “He was nice about it,” I said. “He said it was fine or whatever.”
Tempi studied me. “And do you regret it?”
That one took me a second. I leaned back against the counter and crossed my arms loosely. “My body regrets it,” I admitted.
Tempi barked out a laugh so loud that Wheels glanced toward the kitchen.
I pointed at her. “You asked.”
“I did, and thank you for your honesty.”
I shook my head, smiling even while I felt heat crawl up my neck. “But I know I made the right choice,” I added. “At least I think I did.”
Tempi’s expression softened again. “Then you probably did.”
I nodded once.
Then the smile fell a little as the other thing crept back in.
The less fun thing.
“Swift thinks Tyson had something to do with the shooting.”
Tempi’s face changed immediately. Not shocked. “You know something.”
She exhaled and rubbed her palm over her jeans. “Twister said the same thing.”
I stared at her. “What?”
She lifted both hands. “Not in an accusing-him-forever kind of way. Just… the timing looks bad, Britta.”
“I know it looks bad,” I said quickly. “But Tyson didn’t do it.”
Tempi nodded right away. “I know.”
I blinked. “You do?”
“Of course I do,” she said. “He’s your brother. He’s a pain in the ass, but he’s not that kind of pain in the ass.”
That made me snort a little. “Good description.”
She smiled. “Look, Twister and the club are trying to get to the bottom of all of this. They’re going to look at every angle, every person, every possibility. That doesn’t mean they’re going to go around hurting anyone they think might be part of The Ledger.”
I looked down at my shoulder and rolled it slowly, trying to work out the stiffness. “So I shouldn’t worry?”
“You can worry a little,” Tempi said. “It’s your brand. But don’t spiral.”
Too late for that.
“When do you go back to the doctor?” she asked.
“Tomorrow,” I said. “Stitches out. Check-up.”
“How do you think you’re doing?”
I thought about it. The lessening heaviness in my body.
The way I wasn’t as wiped out after walking to the bathroom or standing in the kitchen for ten minutes.
The fact that I was actually starting to sleep at night instead of just lying there trying not to focus on pain.
“I think I’m healing okay,” I said. “I’m less tired every day.
And I’m starting to sleep better at night. ”
Tempi smiled. “That’s good.”
“Yeah.”
I was just reaching for the sugar when Twister’s phone rang out in the living room.
Neither of us paid much attention at first.
Phones rang. Guys answered. Life moved on.
But then Twister answered it and barked, “What?!”
Tempi’s head snapped toward the living room. “Oh God,” she muttered. “Now what the hell is going on?”
We moved out of the kitchen together, and the whole mood in the apartment had shifted by the time we reached the living room.
Twister was standing now, phone pressed to his ear, his free hand clenched on his hip. Wheels had gotten off the couch, and Swift looked ready to attack at Twister’s command. Rev and Magnum were both watching him with the kind of attention that meant they already knew this wasn’t good.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
Twister didn’t answer me.
“When?” he barked into the phone.
Pause.
His face darkened.
“We haven’t even started working on it yet.”
Everybody in the room exchanged looks.
I had no clue what was going on, and judging by the faces around me, nobody else did either.
Then Twister said, “I’m on the way, Gramps,” and shoved the phone into his pocket hard enough that it was a wonder the damn thing survived.
He dragged a hand through his hair.
“What the hell is going on?” Wheels asked.
“Gramps is at Saint’s Smash,” Twister said, “and he just got handed a fucking wad of red tape that we are going to have to wade through.”
“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” Rev said. “What the hell red tape can there be?”
Swift was up off the chair near the window now, all of his focus locked in. “Gramps got all of the permits and shit we need.”
Twister grunted. “Yeah, well, it seems the city found a few permits he forgot to pull, and now they have shut us down indefinitely.”
“Fucking hell,” Magnum muttered.
“That is the same shit they pulled with the clubhouse,” Wheels said.
Twister nodded once, sharp and angry. “I gotta head to Saint’s Smash now and see if I can talk some sense into this inspector before they leave.”
“I’ll come with,” Wheels said immediately.
“Me too,” Tempi added. “Maybe I know the inspector and can help.”
“Fine,” Twister said. “I want you next to me all the time anyway.”
Wheels let out a chuckle. “I hope you were talking to Tempi and not me.”
Rev laughed. “You wish he was talking to you.”
Wheels flipped him off.
Twister didn’t even crack a smile.
“You guys head back to the clubhouse and just stand by in case we need anything,” he told Magnum and Rev. “Hopefully, we can get this bullshit figured out.”
“I can’t believe these assholes are playing this card again,” Swift said.
“The Ledger?” I asked.
Twister’s head snapped toward Swift, and I could see immediately the annoyance—sharp and hot. He looked like he wanted to throttle Swift for telling me about The Ledger.
Swift didn’t budge. “She’s in this shit as much as we are, Twist. You really think I wasn’t going to tell her?” He nodded toward Tempi. “Tempi knows.”
“Because Tempi’s bar was vandalized and set on fire,” Twister snapped.
I raised my hand. “And I was shot in Tempi’s bar.”
Tempi pointed at me. “Touché, girlfriend. You have as much of a right to know what’s going on as these guys do.”
Twister shot her a flat look. “You wanna be the Prez now, baby? Because right about now, with all of this shit, I am more than willing to hand the reins over to you.”
Tempi flattened her lips and shook her head. “Uh, no. I would not like that position at all. I am rather fond of being your ol’ lady and just blabbing away when I feel like it.”
That got the smallest twitch from the corner of Twister’s mouth, but it was enough to see the shift in him.
He moved toward the door and held out his hand to Tempi. She took it naturally, like it was the easiest thing in the world. Then she leaned toward me as they passed and whispered, “I love him even when he’s grumpy.”
I smiled despite everything.
I didn’t blame her.
The way Twister looked at Tempi, the way his whole posture changed when she was near, the way she never hesitated to step right into the middle of his storms, it was all right there in front of anyone with functioning eyes.
You’d have to be blind not to see the love between them.
The apartment emptied fast after that.
Magnum and Rev headed out first, still muttering about permits and city inspectors.
Wheels followed, already pulling out his phone like he was going to call Gramps before he even got downstairs.
Tempi gave me one last squeeze of my hand before Twister tugged her gently toward the door.
Then it was just me and Swift.
The apartment felt quieter instantly.
Bigger somehow.
Or maybe that was just because everyone else’s energy had left and his was the only one still pressing into the room.
I looked at him. “Is everything going to be okay?”
He nodded once. “It will be.”
I wanted to believe him. The annoying part was that most of me did. “What is Saint’s Smash?” I asked.
He shifted his weight and hooked his thumbs through his belt loops. “It’s the rage room.”
I blinked. “The what?”
A little grin touched his mouth. “Exactly what it sounds like. People come in, gear up, and pay to smash the hell out of stuff.”
I stared at him for a second. “You’re serious.”
“Very.”
I looked toward the door the others had just gone through, then back at him. “So that’s what all this permit drama is over?”
“Yeah,” he said. “The Ledger is just trying again to run the club out of town by making it hard for us to work on Saint’s Smash.”
Petty, expensive, rich-people villainy. Very on-brand for the names I’d heard.
I blew out a breath and went back to the couch, lowering myself carefully onto it. The TV was still on with some game show host yelling about bonus prizes.
Swift walked to the window and cracked it open enough to keep watch and smoke.
Of course he did.
I tucked my legs under me, picked up the remote, and turned the volume down a little.
Outside, Madison kept moving.
Inside, Swift stood guard.
And I tried to pretend that watching TV was enough to keep my mind off everything else.