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)
Juniper watched him go down without a word. The fire framed her face like a Goddamned halo and I found myself wanting to stop and worship her. Instead, I tucked her against my side and ran for the exit.
We made it before the danger from structure fire got too great, but we hadn’t gone a hundred feet before the whole thing exploded, knocking us off our feet with the concussion, and sending debris peppering into us. We ran as far as we could, sweat mingling with ash over our skin. I didn’t let her slow until I knew she’d reached the end of her endurance, catching her when she stumbled.
We were both breathing heavily. Juniper lay limp in my arms, but looking up at me with tired, pain-filled eyes. “You all right?” I asked, my voice raw, my breath growing heavy with exertion on my already damaged lungs.
She looked up at me, eyes bright from the fight. “I will be.”
I studied her for a long moment, expecting to see grief or horror that she’d killed a man. “I promised you’d never be the one to kill Brett,” I said, pulling her to me and burying my face in her neck. “I’m sorry I didn’t keep that promise.”
She met my gaze with a soft one of her own. “I’m not sorry. It’s only fitting he got taken down by a woman. I regret nothing.”
Epilogue
Juniper
I dusted a handful of flour across the table. My shoulders ached from kneading a double batch of dough, but I wasn’t slowing down. If anything, I worked harder, daring the new machine to keep up. The convection oven I’d ordered hummed in the corner, throwing out a steady blast of heat and authority. Fuck you very much to anyone who ever doubted I’d rebuild.
I’d hung my grandmother’s picture at the opening of the bakery in the kitchen above the oven, so every cinnamon roll was baked under her watch. The old recipe box sat on its shelf, battered and proud.
The bell over the front door dinged but I ignored it. There were still twenty croissants to shape. I’d worked too hard over the three months since Brett tried to take away my bakery to let anyone or anything break my stride.
Georgia showed up early, hungover as hell but loyal to the core. She’d been the first one to show up, other than the club, when we started cleaning up the rubble to rebuild. And, oh, my God, could Kiss of Death make things happen when they wanted. It had taken longer to get the building inspected in a timely manner than it had to rebuild. The second the fire marshal had released what was left of the building, Knuckles had contractors from all over the city descending on the place. My new bakery opened in record time.
Once the croissants were in the oven, I stepped into the main part of the store. A man in a fire department polo entered as I exited the kitchen, taking in everything before giving me a nod. Frank Danner ordered black coffee as he greeted me. “Juniper,” he said. “It’s good to see you up and running again.”
I poured the coffee and set the mugs on the counter. “It’s good to be back.”
Across the kitchen, Inferno hefted a fifty-pound bag of bread flour like it was nothing. He set it down beside me, sweat already starting under the fine gray at his temples. “You’re gonna run that oven ragged today,” he teased.
“Depends,” I shot back. “Can you haul another three sacks before you start bitching about your back, Grandpa?”
Grinning, he flexed, just to show off, then got to work hauling the next bag. If you’d told me six months ago that the man I wanted most would end up loading flour and cleaning drains at sunrise, I’d have called you a liar. Yet here we were, running this place side by side. My grandmother would be proud.
The whole place smelled like sugar and yeast, even though the paint on the walls was still fresh. I wiped my hands on my apron, straightened my property vest I hated taking off even when I was working. I loved what the thing represented and I loved the idea the whole club now had my back. Lord knew I’d felt their protection almost from the beginning.
I went to the door, flipped the sign, and stood back as the first customers of my new world crowded in.
* * *
Later that night at Throttle, the smell of whiskey, stale cigarettes, and sex permeated the bar, a sharp contrast to my bakery. The place was packed with members from different friendly clubs in Nashville. Mike the bartender served pitchers of beer from the scarred oak bar, and somebody cranked up Skynyrd so loud my insides vibrated.
I wore Inferno’s property vest with even more pride at Throttle among his peers than I did at the bakery. Inferno couldn’t seem to get enough of looking at me in my property cut. I wasn’t sure I’d ever had anyone look at me so possessively or so clearly proud to have me with him.