Chapter 11
“Ow, shit.” Wincing, I yank my finger away from the steaming vat of hot chili and press it to my lips.
“Told you it was hot.” Triss shoves a giant box of bagged sandwich rolls into my arms, then shifts her attention to the crowd gathered in front of our vendor booth.
According to her, this is the busiest week of the summer. The South Bay Feast Fest.
It explains the sudden influx of people into my small hometown over the last twenty-four hours.
South Bay’s waterfront has been overtaken by a small army of festivalgoers.
The crowds are thick, the roads are lined with cars, and every restaurant and coffee shop is packed with people.
There’s a travelling midway with rides and carnival games, a giant Ferris wheel overlooking the boardwalk, and rows upon rows of street vendors and food trucks.
As the name suggests, Feast Fest is all about eating. Street tacos, ribs, gourmet burgers, barbeque. The local bakery is selling donuts where you can pick your own filling, and the Beavertails next to us have been blasting my nostrils all night with a heavenly mix of sugar and cinnamon.
The Sinners are raising money for South Bay Sec’s football team. Triss says they do a lot of fundraisers. Much more than Jimmy did when he was prez. Axe has been trying to clean up their image. Prove that the Sinners are more than just the scary outlaws at the west end of town.
We’re selling pulled pork sandwiches with slaw and smoked brisket on a bun.
And chili, of course. Jack made it all the time when I was a kid, and the smell of it alone pulls up all sorts of memories.
Sunday dinners at the clubhouse, middle of fall, the building filled with a thick, delicious aroma of spices, garlic, and onion. It smells like home.
Triss rests her hands on her hips and sighs. “I think we’re gonna run out of food. I seem to have underestimated the popularity of smoked meat.”
Brow arched, I drop my attention to her chest. Like me, she’s wearing a tight black tank top that sits high on her midriff and low on her breasts. Between the four of us working tonight, we’ve got more cleavage on display than any other vendor here.
“That’s not the only thing making us popular.”
Triss folds her arms over her stomach and glares at the two other women with us.
Bex, a punk-rock chick with tattoos, bleach-blond hair, and a small, sleeping baby strapped to her gigantic chest. And Kat, Triss’s pretty dark-haired younger sister and Axe’s old lady.
The three of them have been arguing on and off about the tank tops all night.
“That face doesn’t work on me,” Bex says as she gives a handful of change and a sandwich wrapped in foil to an ogling man with a mustache.
“I’m tired of you two always squeezing me into something ridiculous. First the fucking dress, now this,” Triss says.
With a roll of her eyes, Kat slops a spoonful of dripping pork onto a sandwich roll. “Move on from the dress. It’s my wedding. I decide what you wear.”
“It’s not appropriate for a church,” Triss snaps. “It’s too tight, Kat. None of my bits are covered.”
“So? You’ve got good bits.”
“Doesn’t mean I want to flash them to the entire club. Or to the minister.”
Sighing, Kat packs up the sandwich and then tosses it to Bex. “You’re the only one complaining.”
“Yeah? Well, Jade’s a stripper and Bex isn’t exactly modest in the chest department. Her tits are hanging out, like, all the time.”
Bex absentmindedly pats her baby’s bum as she hands out another sandwich. “Can’t help it. You know I’ve gone up two cup sizes since I started breastfeeding?”
“A little hard not to notice.” Triss huffs out a breath and tugs at her tank top. “I’d really like it if we could negotiate on the dress.”
“There’s nothing to negotiate. It’s decided. Which reminds me.” Kat nods at me. “Should I add you to the guest list?”
“Oh. Um…” I trail off, busying myself with the bun restock.
In the absence of my bike, product, and cash, my plans to vacate South Bay have been put on hold. My bike seems to be missing, which Triss says is code for it’s being held up as a way to irritate us. The police do shit like slowing down paperwork to put pressure on the Sinners.
Though my bike is literally missing.
Motorcycle woes aside, hanging out at the clubhouse this week has been kind of nice.
It’s busy and loud, the nights filled with eighties rock and too many tequila shots.
Chaotic, but in a good way. Triss has tried extra hard to make me feel at home, and Kat let me raid her closet, so I don’t have to continue rotating through just the few pieces of clothing I hastily packed before fleeing Raider territory.
It’s been years since I’ve felt this. A sense of home, of belonging. Of family.
If I don’t think about all the other stuff—the threatening texts from the man hunting me, my history with a rival MC, and Decker, with his leverage and those chiseled abs I can’t get out of my head—I could almost say I enjoy being back in South Bay.
But there’s no use getting too attached. Just like Jimmy did all those years ago, I made a choice. One I knew would permanently sever me from the Sinners, from my family. Meaning I can’t keep this.
I clear my throat. “I’m not sure if I’ll be staying,” I say to Kat. “I’m not really a one-city kind of girl, you know?”
“Bit of a nomad, huh?”
A low laugh escapes me. “You make it sound a lot sexier than it is. More like only owning a couple outfits and a lot of couch surfing and crappy apartments.”
“That’s my nightmare,” Triss says with a shudder. “Just think about it, okay? Would be nice to have you around a little more. I think Jack would like that.”
“Sure, Triss,” I say, forcing a smile.
She tilts her head. “You and Jack… talk much today?”
No, we haven’t. Other than our small altercation in his kitchen, we haven’t spoken much at all.
Jack doesn’t want me here. Maybe I shouldn’t be so hurt by that.
It’s not like we’re close anymore. I’m not na?ve enough to think we’d pick up where we left off, that I’d have a ready-made family waiting for me after ten years of very little contact.
But maybe I thought he’d be a little more interested in getting to know me again.
“Jack had club business this morning,” I say. “He left before breakfast.”
“You know men,” she says as she busies herself with another box of buns. “They shut down when they get emotional. You being back here is probably drudging up feelings.”
I hold back a scoff. “Feelings?”
She opens her mouth to respond, but exhales loudly, as if thinking better of it. With a shrug, she finally says, “He’s just not used to having you around. How about I make breakfast at the clubhouse tomorrow? You two can catch up then.”
I shoot a look at Kat, who snorts. “Don’t take offence to this,” I say to Triss, “but I’ve been warned not to eat anything you cook.”
The death glare she throws her sister would strike fear into most grown men. “You bratty little bitch.”
Kat belts out a laugh. “Why do you assume it was me? Everyone knows to steer clear when it’s your turn to cook.”
Triss throws up her hands and lets out an irritated breath.
“Fine. Then you’re not invited,” she says to her sister.
“But don’t come crying to me in the morning when you’re hungover and in desperate need of some bacon grease and those pancakes you love so much.
” She rounds on me, softening that icy look slightly.
“I’m good at breakfast. It’s my thing. All right? Ask anyone.”
I laugh. “Okay. I’ll be there.”
With a satisfied smile, Triss continues with her stock rummaging.
I get back to work too, unpacking the sandwich rolls, glancing out at the crowd as I go.
I’ve been on alert all night.
You really thought I wouldn’t find you?
He hasn’t contacted me again. Decker, on the other hand, seems to be texting nonstop.
Decker:
The pillows and cushions had zippers, Grace. Did you really have to cut them all open?
My fucking mattress? Really?
I swear to god, woman, this will not end well for you.
Where the hell are you? I’m dragging your ass back here to clean up this fucking mess.
Grace. Answer me.
WHY THE HELL DID YOU brEAK MY DISHES? THIS IS INSANITY.
They keep coming, but other than the odd kissy face emoji, which seems to really set him off, I haven’t responded.
I’ve now got two pissed-off men gunning for me. Staying calm, cool, collected, and out of trouble , as Axe commanded, feels more impossible with each passing minute.
My neck prickles as I’m tossing empty bags into the trash. Breath catching, I look around and study the clusters of people nearby, scanning faces, searching for the threat that’s got my body on alert. When I lock eyes with a very large man, I freeze.
Shaved head, mean-faced, taller than everyone else.
He smiles. Cold and menacing. That promise of violence the men in my life always carry with them.
There’s no insignia on his leather jacket, but I don’t need it to know he’s the enemy.
I know this guy. The Raiders’ enforcer. One of the scariest, most ruthless men on the MC’s roster.
Keegan Bannon doesn’t fuck around. I can only imagine what he’ll do if he catches me.
The anxiety that’s been churning in my stomach for weeks rages as I check for the knife tucked into my boot. Blade is there. Sharp and ready to do what needs to be done. My emotional support weapon and my safety net if shit gets out of hand.
I don’t want to use it. Not again. I don’t want to leave another mess behind, another body for someone else to clean up.
Keegan’s smile widens. He sees my fear, senses the rising panic pressing on my chest. I can’t let him kill me, and I can’t let him take me back. So I need to run. Now.
“Quick bathroom break,” I murmur to Triss as I skirt past her and head out of our stall.
I don’t look at him again, but I sense his presence all the same.
He’s on me, following, hunting. I push through the dense crowd, bumping roughly into bodies as I pass, frantically looking for a place to hide.
The entire area is lit up like a damn Christmas tree.
Dazzling light displays border vendor booths, flashing brightly at me and the mobs of people gathering in front of the carnival games, illuminating every face, every inch of ground.
There are no dark corners, not here.
Fear and panic mount with every step. I look back, and when I see he’s gained ground, dread swamps me. I twist around and pick up the pace, only to slam chest first into a hard and unmoveable mass.
“Shit. Watch it,” I snap, peering up at the offending obstacle.
Like the universe is conspiring against me, I’m met with amber eyes and Decker’s stupid, hot face.
“Linc,” I breathe. “What are you doing here?”
He quirks a brow and points to his uniform. “My job?”
“Oh… right.” I glance over my shoulder, and when I don’t quickly locate Keegan, I spin around.
Shit. Shit . My head is on a swivel as I search the area around the food stalls, over the crowds of tourists, the game booths, behind Decker towards the Ferris wheel.
The guy is a giant. Where the hell did he go?
“You’ve been ignoring my texts,” Decker growls, pulling my attention back to my other problem. “Not avoiding me, are you?”
I let out a huff. My pulse is a loud drum in my ears, my body practically buzzing with adrenaline. “Of course I’m avoiding you. You almost shot me,” I say, unable to keep the shake from my voice.
“If I wanted to shoot you, I’d have done it. And you shot at me first.” Head tilted, he does a slow scan down my body, attention stopping briefly on my chest before dropping lower and then snapping back up to my face. “What’s wrong with you? What’s got you all… fidgety?”
“You. Obviously,” I hiss. “Look, I don’t have time to deal with your shit right now.”
Decker folds his arms across his chest and scowls. “ Deal with my shit ? You think you’re easy to deal with? I’ve vacuumed my entire house a hundred times, and I’m still finding glass in my fucking carpet because of your shit.”
With a roll of my eyes, I push past him.
He grabs my arm roughly. “Gracie,” he warns.
“Let go.” I tug sharply, but his fingers are a vise digging into my flesh. “I’ll make a scene.”
“I’ll arrest you.”
I inhale sharply. There’s an idea. A jail cell isn’t exactly what I’d call pleasant, especially given what I experienced the first and only time I found myself in one, but it’s definitely preferable to anything the Raiders’ enforcer may have in store for me.
Raising a brow, I step into him. Chest to chest. Another test, another stand-off.
Do it. I dare you.
“Careful,” he murmurs, angling closer.
I swallow as I stare up at his chiseled, scowling face.
He’s freshly shaved, none of that scruff creeping up from his jawline.
His dark hair is a little damp, and he smells clean, like shampoo and Old Spice.
Like maybe he just got out of the shower.
Decker in the shower? Not a bad visual. If I wasn’t about to goad him into putting me in handcuffs, I’d sit on that thought for a second.
Skimming my hands over those muscles. His wet skin.
The scar. That trail of hair. What waits at the end of it.
God. I’d bet a naked Lincoln Decker would be a hell of a thing to look at. So it’s a shame, what I’m about to do.
With a smirk, I tilt up my chin, ready to defy the warning he’s about to throw at me.
“If it’s a fight you’re looking for tonight, Grace,” he rasps. “I assure you, you’ll find one. Don’t test me.”
“I’ve always loved a good fight. And you know I’ve got a mean right hook.” I grin. “Where would you like me to hit you this time, Linc?”
Decker lets out a deep chuckle. “Much as I love the foreplay, you throw a punch at me, and I will put you in the darkest, dirtiest cell the PD has and leave you there to rot.”
Even as unease swirls in my gut, I force a smile. “Sounds good to me.”
Steadying my footing, I take a small step back, ball my fist, wind up, and swing.