Joker wants blood.
Saber shuts it down. “Not yet.”
“Viper, I need to know which businesses they’ve hit and what they said. If Nitro’s building a supply line through our backyard, I want the full picture before we tear it apart.”
Viper lifts his chin in an answer.
“If this goes to war, we lock down. All Old Ladies, members, prospects. Everyone stays at the clubhouse until it’s handled.” Saber’s eyes land on me. “You called me last night and told me your ex is sleeping under your roof with a kid. That makes her a target.”
“She’s not my Old Lady.”
He gives me a look that says he’s not buying it. “She’s yours, Duke. Whether you’ve said it out loud or not.”
Church breaks. I ride home.
Spaghetti. She made spaghetti.
My kitchen smells like her sauce. The one she used to make at her place on Sundays. She remembered my favorite meal and cooked it in my kitchen while I was gone.
Leo is on the living room floor, banging a wooden spoon against a pot lid.
Violet is at the stove. Tank top. Cutoff shorts. Hair piled on top of her head. She’s stirring the sauce with one hand and scrolling job listings on her phone with the other.
“You didn’t have to cook.”
“You’re letting us stay here. I’m not going to eat your food and not contribute.” She doesn’t look up from her phone. “Sit down. It’s almost ready.”
The president of the Hellborn Kings is the only person who I take orders from. Or that’s what I thought.
Apparently, I take orders from her, too.
Violet doesn’t even look up from her phone, and I’m already in the chair.
Ruined. I’m completely fucking ruined for this woman.
Leo abandons the pot lid. Walks over. Grabs my knee and pulls himself up between my legs. Holds the wooden spoon up to my face.
“For you,” he says.
I take it. He grins, climbs out of my lap, and goes back for the pot lid.
The corner of Violet’s mouth twitches. “He likes you.”
Leo spends the next couple of minutes trading me—pot lid for spoon, and then the spoon for pot lid. Back and forth, many times. Then he’s done. He climbs up into my lap one final time, puts his ear against my chest, and passes out.
Violet turns from the stove. Her eyes are wet, and she blinks it away fast and kills the burner.
“He needs a nap. I’ll take him.”
She lifts Leo off me. The absence of him is physical. A cold spot on my ribs where a two-year-old was breathing.
The kid isn’t mine. But he’s growing on me.
She said they were staying two weeks at the most. And I’m counting every minute. Not because I want them gone. Because I don’t.
CHAPTER 4
VIOLET