Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 59146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
He hauled the sacks two at a time, one over each shoulder, and gently set them by the mixer. Bastard wasn’t even breathing hard as he went back for the last sack.
“Thanks,” I said, unable to meet his gaze.
He leaned against the counter and watched me while I worked. When the sun came up, pale and thin through the front windows, Inferno straightened.
“I should head out,” he said. “Shop opens at seven?”
I wiped my hands on a towel. “Yes. Late for a bakery, but one day a week I give myself a break. It was my one rebellion against my grandmother’s strict guidance.” I smiled to myself at the memory. “Thanks for the help.”
He looked like he wanted to say something but thought better of it. Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him. The morning continued like any other. Customers came and went, and I worked decorating cakes in between rushes.
At ten, I’d brought out a fresh batch of blueberry muffins while Georgia, my temp, rang one up for a regular. I glanced out the front window. A motorcycle was parked down the block, chrome catching the sun. Nashville had motorcycles everywhere, so it shouldn’t stand out. I was probably hyper aware now that I’d actually ridden on one. I shrugged it off and finished the transaction, going back to the kitchen.
At noon, I took the trash out to the dumpsters in the alley. The bag split on the way, dropping wet coffee grounds and paper towels at my feet. I swore under my breath before getting a dustpan from just inside the door, scooping up the mess and tossing it into the dumpster.
I noticed a truck parked behind the dumpsters. Normally I wouldn’t have even noticed, but I recognized the truck. I was pretty sure I’d seen it at the Kiss of Death clubhouse. I was half-certain I’d seen the same truck yesterday, now that I thought about it.
When I came back inside, I checked the front window. The motorcycle was still there. Was it the same one? I couldn’t be sure, but I suspected I knew what was happening. Inferno’s interference didn’t really scare me, exactly, but this wasn’t what I wanted.
At two, I told Georgia I was going out for lunch. I walked a block down the sidewalk to my favorite sandwich shop. In the parking lot across the street from the shop, I noticed another motorcycle. A guy sat under a tree, eating a sandwich while he leaned against the seat of his bike with his legs crossed in front of him. He didn’t look my way, but there was no chance all of this together was a coincidence.
I crossed the street. He saw me coming but pretended not to until I was too close for him to pretend any more.
“Hey,” I said. “You’re the bartender at the Kiss of Death place. Right?”
“I’m Zero.” He gave me a friendly smile and held out a bag of crinkle-cut fries he’d been eating with his burger, totally not answering my question. “Fry?”
“No, thank you.” I tried to look stern, but it was really hard. “How long have you been following me?”
Expecting a lie, I formulated what I intended to say to him. Instead, the guy shrugged. “Since yesterday morning.”
I did the math. Yesterday morning was Sunday. Inferno had called me at one a.m. on Monday. He’d had his club watching me a full day before I ever said yes to anything.
The morning’s good feeling curdled in my stomach like bad milk. I stood there in the parking lot with the sun on my back and the kid on the bike in front of me, and I didn’t say another word. Just turned around and walked back to my car.
I let Georgia off early and closed the shop. I thought the few minutes it would take to do that would cool me off. It didn’t. The drive to the Kiss of Death compound took twenty minutes, and I used every second of it to get good and fucking mad.
I pulled up to the gate and, surprisingly, they parted and a man waved me through. I parked next to a row of bikes in the same building I’d been to before. I didn’t get out for a long moment, caught between being mad enough to spit and scared stupid. What the fuck was I doing?
Finally, I got out of my car, marching toward the big warehouse. Two women waited by the steps. Darby leaned against the railing with her arms crossed, one boot propped on the bottom step. Another woman stood beside her, hands in her jacket pockets, watching my car with patience and stillness.
“Hey, cupcake,” Darby said as I approached. “You look like you’re about to break something expensive.”
“I might.” I stopped a few feet from them. “Did Inferno send you out here to run interference?”