“Is everything alright?” Her dad asked as he heard weird noises on the other end of the call.

“Yeah,” she groaned again, fighting with her car door trying to get it closed and locked.

All she heard was a sigh coming from her father as she finally slammed her car door shut. “Just promise me that you won’t end up living with the cockroaches in this stupid adventure of yours.”

“Papa,” she started walking towards the diner, “the day I see a cockroach anywhere close to where I sleep, is the day Vittorio will come pick me up in a sports car and drive me back to your beautiful mansion.” 

He laughed at her, “okay baby. Hopefully the cockroaches come soon then, so you can stop with this stupid idea.” 

Her father was one of the most well known people in the criminal underworld, he knew everyone, and somehow everyone owed some kind of favor to him, and in their world that made him important. That was the world she had grown up in, and it was the world she decided she wanted to separate from, and that was how she found herself in the middle of nowhere in California.

The back door to the diner creaked as she pushed it open, letting her coworkers know she just walked in. “I need to go to work, dad. Thanks for the support,” she said sarcastically. 

“Good luck with the waitress thing,” he told her before hanging up. 

As soon as she had punched in and had found a working pen she was on the floor, taking people’s orders and sweet talking them into leaving bigger tips. 

She had been working at Charming’s diner for a couple of weeks now, which meant she started to get to know the regulars and getting to know them is how she knew something was off as soon as the bell on top on the door rang with new customers. Some of the chatter died down as the sound of heavy footsteps rang through the diner, and footsteps went straight to her section of the diner.

The booth closer to her was now filled, with three men all dressed in leather. An older man with greying hair and a goatee, a man with shaved head and tattoos on either side of a short mohawk, and a blonde man that sat to the side, a stark white patch adorned his leather vest, “PRESIDENT” spelled out on the patch.  

“Hi guys, how are you today?” She asked them as she approached the table.

“We’re great darlin’, how about you?” The blonde one smiled at her.

“I’m good. What can I get for you guys?” She asked.

“We’ll take three beers and some fries, sweetheart,” the Scottish man ordered.

She wrote their order down, “alright, I’ll be right back.” As she turned around to ring in their order she could feel their eyes on her back.

All three men watched as the new waitress walked away, “didn’t know there was a new lass workin’  here,” Chibs was the first one to break the silence.

“If I knew I would be eating here all week,” Juice laughed, his eyes still on the waitress. 

“Yeeah,” Jax agreed, his eyes still trained on her. Chibs noticed how Jax was looking at her. There was lust in his eyes, sure, that must have been the prettiest girl that had walked around Charming in a long time, but there was also a curious look in the president’s eyes.

“You alright there Jackie?” Chibs laughed and Jax finally turned from the waitress, who was now at another table, to his friends.

“Yeah, I was just-,” Jax started but not even him knew why he was so mesmerized by the waitress. 

“It’s okay man,” Juice said, “she’s really hot,” he arched his brows and looked at her again.

“Yeah,” was all Jax said.

A few minutes passed by and the bikers were back to discussing their plans for the next run. Until the waitress walked to their table again. 

“Here’s your fries,” she said as she put the plate on their table. Jax’s attention went to her hand as it lowered the plate on the table, a tattoo of a back snake wrapped around her wrist. 

“Nice ink,” he gestured toward her wrist. 

“Thanks, it’s a family thing,” she told him. “You guys want more beer?” 

“We have family ink too,” Juice happily told her.

“Yeah, more beers please sweetheart,” the blonde told her.

“Nice,” she responded to Juice before walking away.

Chibs arched his brows and laughed at his brother, “Really Juicy boy?”

“What?” Juice shrugged his shoulders while still smiling, “nothin’ wrong with relating to a pretty girl.”

With a shrug of his shoulders Jax smirked, “he ain’t wrong,” he agreed with Juice, taking a sip of his beer.

The bikers' eyes followed her until she was behind the counter, counting money, putting orders in or doing wherever else waitresses do when they’re not talking to customers. Jax was really intrigued by this waitress, she really had to be one of the most beautiful people he had ever seen, what the fuck was someone like that doing in Charming? 

 One of the other waitresses approached her behind the counter. “Are they hitting on you?” Tracy asked.

“Not yet. But you know how men are,” she shrugged her shoulders while she typed her other table’s orders in, “but it’s nothing I can handle.” 

“Be careful with them, they’re Sons,” Tracy warned her colleague.

She looked back at Tracy confused, “sons of who?”

“Sons of Anarchy,” Tracy rolled her eyes, “it’s a motorcycle gang from town,” she said as if it was obvious, “I can’t believe you don’t know about them.” 

“Of course the town I chose to move to is a gang town,” she spoke, but more to herself than with Tracy, “just my luck,” she whispered.

The rest of her shift was normal, the bikers went as quickly as they came, and the diner filled up with customers as the day went on. Working was never something she had to do before coming to Charming, and even though she had known her life was not normal before, it was like her brain couldn’t comprehend how tiring a real 9 to 5 could be until she had started working at the diner. When the end of the day came she didn’t even feel tired anymore, all she felt was desire to go home, but her crappy car had other plans.

As she pulled on her door handle the it moved with a weird noise but the door stayed closed. She huffed, setting her stuff on the roof of the car, then she gave the door another tug. “This fucking door. First you won’t close now you won’t open,” she spoke angrily at her door. She tried again, this time with both hands on the handle, she gave another hard tug.

“Jesus darlin’,”she heard a familiar voice behind her, “you need some help with that?” Once she turned around she saw the blonde biker from earlier, but this time he had two kids with him, he was holding one of the kids in one arm while the other boy held his free hand.

 “Back so soon,” she gave the door one last pull, and it finally gave in. “She’s just temperamental,” she pats the door, giving the biker her full attention now.

“The boys wanted milkshakes,” he explained as he lifted the little boy’s hand that he was holding. “And if you want help with the door, you can come by the garage tomorrow,” she gave him a confused look, “we have a repair shop on Radford ave, take the car there tomorrow,” he smiled at her. The waitress had been all around the world traveling and meeting people, but she had never met someone with a smile like this biker’s.

She smiled at him, “thanks, but no thanks. I may have spent more than I should this month, maybe I’ll splurge on the stupid door next month,” she tossed her stuff on the passenger seat.

“If it's just something that’s caught up on the door we won’t charge anything for it,” he told her as the little boy in his arm blabbered something incoherent. 

“You should go get them their milkshakes,” she sat on her driver’s seat. “Can he even have milkshakes?” She looked at the younger of the boys.

“A sip won’t kill him,” he laughed, “I’m Jax, by the way,” he finally introduced himself, the charming smile never left his face.

“Nice to meet you Jax,” she waved at him and the boys before she drove off.

It was a hot day in Charming and thankfully Teller-Morrow Automotive wasn’t that full, but the patio that the garage shared with the club house was crawling with people. The Sons of Anarchy were celebrating one of their brothers getting out of prison, and coincidently some members of another charter were in town, so everyone knew that this would be one of their biggest celebrations this year. 

Juice was sitting on a picnic table while he watched the prospects carry boxes of alcohol and some food inside of the club house, he was their self appointed supervisor, which meant he watched and drank beer. His attention left the prospects when an unknown car pulled up into the repair shop, the blue sedan stopped closer to the garage office and the passenger door opened, to Juice’s surprise the pretty waitress from the diner hopped off the car. Short shorts and a loose shirt and suddenly she was prettier than ever. Just as Juice jumped off the table Jax walked out of the club and his eyes immediately found the waitress and a smirk found its way into his face. 

“Holy shit,” Jax said as he walked by the picnic table, his eyes never left the girl, who was now inside of the garage talking to a mechanic. 

“Have we ever been this lucky?” Juice asked Jax.

“Not luck brother,” he patted Juice on the back, both of them still looking at her, “I told her if she needed help with her car we could help her.” Jax’s playful tone told Juice exactly what he needed to know. “I got this,” Jax gave him a knowing look and started walking towards the garage. 

In the garage, she had just finished explaining to the mechanic her door problem when both of them heard heavy steps behind them. The man behind them called the mechanic’s name which made both of them turn around and look for the caller.

There he stood, a lazy smile, hand in pocket and those eyes, the eyes that wouldn't leave her. “Hey Jax,” the mechanic greeted him.

“Hey Carl. My friend told you the problems she’s been having with the car?” The president asked and the mechanic nodded.

Carl knew Jax enough to know that the president wanted him out of the conversation as soon as possible, so he took the car keys from her, “I’ll take a look at your door,” with which he walked away from the two. 

There was one thing that stayed the same, in her old world of money and meetings with important people, or in this new simpler world she had chosen: the lengths men would go to to impress a beautiful woman. And this was no different, but at least Jax was not bad to look at, and she wouldn't have to pretend to be interested. She really had been trying to live an honest life, one where she didn’t have to depend on anyone, but she figured it wouldn’t hurt to take the hot biker’s offer and get her car fixed. 

“I was startin’ to think you wouldn’t come to get that fixed,” he pointed out.

“I was just taking my time, thinking your offer over,” she smiled at him.

 “You know, you never told me your name,” Jax told her.

 Her name was like honey to his ears just like her smile was something else, “thanks for taking a look at my car. The door was starting to really piss me off.”

Jax laughed at her honesty, “don’t worry darlin’, we’ll fix your door.” He moved closer to her, her name leaving his mouth sweetly, “y’know, we’re having a party at the club house later today,” he motioned to the club house, with his head, “if you wanna come, meet new people.”

She looked at the leather clad man walking around, clearly getting the place ready for later. “Celebrating someone getting out of prison?” Jax’s eyes widened at how accurate  her guess was, but he nodded, there was no point in lying. She laughed at his reaction and started walking backwards towards the exit, “thanks, but I promised my dog I would hang out with her today. Maybe some other time,” she looked at the club house and the man walking around, some of which were looking at her and their president, “with less people,” she smiled again before turning around and walking out of the parking lot. 

🐍 Tig Trager

Tig noticed the shirt.

Of course he noticed the shirt.

It was one of his favorites… black, soft from years of washing, hanging low enough on you that he'd spent most of the morning looking smug every time you walked past.

“My shirt looks better on you.”

“You say that every time.”

“Because it's true every time.”

You rolled your eyes and kept walking.

That should've been the end of it.

Except when you passed him again a few minutes later, Tig reached out, caught you around the waist, and dragged you backward against him.

You laughed.

“Tig-”

“What?”

His mouth found your neck.

“You keep parading around in my shirt, sweetheart. I'm allowed to appreciate it.”

“Parading?”

“Mhm.”

His hands slid down your sides.

Over your hips.

Then one disappeared beneath the hem.

And stopped.

Completely.

You bit the inside of your cheek.

Behind you, Tig went unnaturally quiet.

His fingers shifted once against bare skin.

Just enough to confirm what he'd apparently convinced himself couldn't possibly be true.

“Oh.”

You lost it.

A tiny laugh escaped.

Tig slowly lifted his head.

“You think that's funny?”

“A little.”

“Yeah?”

You twisted out of his arms before he could catch you.

Or…

You tried.

You made it approximately three steps.

Then Tig caught you.

A startled squeal left you as he turned you and backed you straight against the wall.

His body crowded yours.

One hand planted beside your head.

The other slid slowly up your chest until his fingers curled loosely around your throat.

Not squeezing.

Just holding.

Your laughter disappeared.

Tig's didn't.

That wicked little grin spread across his face as his thumb traced beneath your jaw.

“There she is.”

“Tig.”

“You've been walking around my house all morning…”

His eyes dropped deliberately down your body.

“…wearing nothing but my fucking shirt?”

Maybe you should've been intimidated.

Instead…

You smiled.

Tig's eyes narrowed.

“You did this on purpose.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about.”

His grip shifted just enough to tip your chin upward.

“Sweetheart.”

His mouth hovered inches from yours.

“You've got about three seconds to stop lying to me.”

You kissed him instead.

Tig made a low sound against your mouth.

Then his free hand found the hem of that shirt again.

And suddenly…

Your brilliant little plan didn't seem quite so funny anymore.

---

🥃 Chibs Telford

Chibs noticed his shirt immediately.

He didn't say anything about it.

Just gave you that little smile over the rim of his coffee.

The one that told you he'd noticed.

And appreciated.

You ignored him.

Made yourself coffee.

Leaned against the counter.

Pretended you couldn't feel his eyes occasionally drifting toward your bare legs.

Eventually he came up behind you.

His arms wrapped around your waist.

His beard scratched lightly against your neck before his lips pressed against your shoulder.

“Mornin', love.”

“Morning.”

You relaxed against him.

Completely innocent.

Mostly.

Chibs hummed against your skin.

Then one of his hands slipped beneath the shirt.

Warm palm against your thigh.

Higher.

And…

Stopped.

Silence.

His thumb moved.

Once.

You pressed your lips together.

Behind you came a quiet…

“…Christ.”

That did it.

You giggled.

Chibs went still.

Then his hand flattened against your stomach and pulled you firmly back against him.

“Ye think that's funny?”

“A little.”

“Aye?”

His mouth brushed your ear.

You could hear the smile in his voice.

“Been walkin' around like this all mornin', have ye?”

“Maybe.”

You took a sip of coffee.

Chibs reached around you.

Took the mug gently from your hand.

Set it on the counter.

“Hey.”

“Ye'll get it back.”

“When?”

His hand disappeared beneath the shirt again.

“Eventually.”

---

☠️ Happy Lowman

Happy had been watching you for ten minutes.

You knew because Happy didn't exactly do subtle.

He sat at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee, eyes following you every time you crossed the room.

Finally…

“What?”

His gaze traveled down.

His shirt.

Your legs.

Back up.

“Nothing.”

“Then stop staring at me.”

“No.”

You rolled your eyes and opened the refrigerator.

A minute later…

“Come here.”

You glanced over your shoulder.

“What?”

“Come here.”

You walked over.

Happy hooked two fingers into the hem of the shirt and pulled you between his knees.

“You're needy this morning.”

His hand settled behind your knee.

“Shut up.”

It traveled slowly upward.

Then beneath the shirt.

And stopped.

Happy stared at you.

You smiled.

His jaw flexed.

Once.

Twice.

“You're an asshole.”

Your eyes widened innocently.

“Why?”

Another flex of his jaw.

Then Happy stood.

You took one step backward.

Then another.

Until your back hit the refrigerator.

Happy planted both hands on either side of you.

“You know why.”

“I really don't.”

He stared.

You stared back.

A beat passed.

“You've got five seconds.”

“To do what?”

“Run.”

Your grin disappeared.

Happy's appeared.

“One.”

You bolted.

---

👑 Bishop Losa

Bishop had his coffee.

You had poor decision-making skills.

It was a dangerous combination.

You wandered past him wearing his shirt and nothing else, fully intending to get yourself something to drink.

You almost made it.

His fingers closed around your wrist.

“C'mere.”

“I'm getting coffee.”

“C'mere.”

You sighed dramatically but stepped between his knees.

His hands settled on your hips.

“Happy now?”

“Very.”

He kissed you.

Slow.

Lazy.

Morning kiss.

The kind that made you forget you had somewhere else to be.

Then his hand moved down your hip.

Slipped beneath the shirt.

Stopped.

His mouth stopped too.

You waited.

Bishop leaned back.

Those dark eyes lifted to yours.

You bit your lip.

Silence.

“…What?”

Nothing.

“Obispo.”

One eyebrow rose.

You tried very hard not to smile.

Failed.

His eyes narrowed.

“You knew exactly what you were doing.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Mmhmm.”

“I'm just wearing your shirt.”

“Mmhmm.”

“It's comfortable.”

“Mmhmm.”

You smiled sweetly.

Bishop stared at you another second.

Then…

Very calmly…

He reached behind you.

Picked up his coffee.

Took one last sip.

And set it down before slowly standing.

Your smile faltered.

“Oh.”

There was the smirk.

“Yeah.”

---

🖤 Angel Reyes

Angel's discovery was not subtle.

His arms came around you from behind while you were making coffee.

“Morning, querida.”

“Morning.”

Kiss to your cheek.

Kiss to your neck.

Hands wandering lazily down your sides.

One slipped under the shirt.

And…

“YO, WHAT THE FUCK?”

You nearly launched your coffee across the kitchen.

“ANGEL!”

He spun you around.

“Baby!”

“What?!”

“You ain't wearing anything!”

You stared at him.

Angel stared at you.

You looked down at yourself.

Then back up.

“I'm wearing your shirt.”

“You know what the fuck I mean!”

You started laughing.

Angel pointed at you.

“No. Don't laugh.”

That made it worse.

“Baby, you can't just be walking around like that!”

“Why?”

“Why?!”

“It's my house!”

“I'm in the house!”

“Yes, Angel. I'm aware.”

He gestured helplessly toward your lower half.

“You can't be walking around in my shirt with…”

He stopped.

Gestured again.

“With that!”

“My legs?”

“You know damn well I don't mean your fucking legs!”

You were openly cackling now.

Angel stared at you.

Then something changed.

“Oh, this shit's funny?”

“Very.”

“Yeah?”

“Angel…”

His arms locked around your waist.

You squealed when he lifted you.

“ANGEL! My coffee!”

“Coffee's canceled.”

“You cannot cancel coffee!”

“Just did.”

“Put me down!”

“Nope.”

“Angel!”

He carried you straight out of the kitchen.

“Should've worn shorts.”

---

🚬 Coco Cruz

Coco noticed the shirt.

He was sprawled on the couch when you walked by, and you caught the smirk immediately.

“Looks good on you.”

You looked down.   “Thanks.”

“Better on me.”

“Debatable.”

“Bullshit.”

You walked past him.

His hand shot out.

Caught your hip.

“Johnny…”

He pulled you between his knees.

Nothing dramatic.

Just his hands settling on your hips while he pressed a kiss against your stomach through the shirt.

You smiled and ran your fingers through his hair.

Then his palms slid down.

Over your thighs.

Under the shirt.

Coco froze.

You froze.

His head slowly lifted.

Those dark eyes met yours.

“…You serious?”

“What?”

“Don't.”

You blinked.

“Don't what?”

“That innocent shit.”

Your mouth twitched.

Coco stared.

You lost the battle and smiled.

He closed his eyes.

Dropped his forehead against your stomach.

“Fuckin' trouble.”

You threaded your fingers through his hair.

“You love me.”

“That ain't the point.”

“Kind of feels like the point.”

Coco looked up.

His hands tightened around your thighs.

“That's the fuckin' problem.”

Your smile softened.

He stared at you for another second.

Then sighed.

“C'mere.”

“I'm already here.”

“Nah.”

He pulled you down to the couch.

“Closer.”

---

💻 Juice Ortiz

Juice broke.

Actually broke.

He came up behind you while you were standing at the counter and wrapped his arms around your waist.

You smiled.

“Morning.”

“Morning.”

His chin settled on your shoulder.

Then his hand slipped beneath the oversized shirt.

And immediately jerked back.

You turned.

Juice stared at you.

You stared at Juice.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Juan.”

“Nothing.”

“Why are you red?”

“I'm not.”

“You absolutely are.”

“It's hot in here.”

You glanced around the perfectly comfortable room.

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

You stepped closer.

Juice stepped backward.

Your eyebrows rose.

He noticed.

“Don't.”

“Don't what?”

He took another step back.

You followed.

“Are you scared of me?”

“No.”

Another step.

Another.

His back hit the counter.

You grinned.

“Looks like it.”

Juice stared at you.

Then…

Something changed.

His hands caught your waist.

You made one startled sound as suddenly you were the one backed against the counter.

Juice leaned in.

Close.

Very close.

Your teasing smile disappeared.

His appeared.

“Keep fuckin' with me.”

You swallowed.

Oh.

“That's what I thought.”

---

🦬 Hank Loza

You were making breakfast.

Hank was reading something at the kitchen table.

Completely normal morning.

Until he came up behind you.

One hand settled at your waist.

A kiss landed against your temple.

“Morning.”

“Morning.”

His hand slipped beneath the shirt.

Stopped.

You continued stirring the eggs.

Or tried to.

Hank looked down.

Then at you.

You refused to make eye contact.

Silence.

Finally…

“Really?”

“What?”

“You're gonna do that?”

You glanced at him.

“Do what?”

Hank stared at you.

You stared back.

Then went back to the eggs.

“Breakfast is almost done.”

Another long silence.

Hank reached around you.

Turned off the burner.

You looked down.

Then slowly up at him.

“Hey. I'm cooking.”

“Not anymore.”

“But…”

He took the spatula from your hand.

Set it beside the stove.

Your eyebrows climbed.

“Hank.”

His hands settled at your waist.

“Should've thought about breakfast before you walked into my kitchen wearing nothing but my shirt.”

“It was your shirt that gave you a problem?”

Hank's mouth twitched.

You grinned.

And that…

Apparently…

Was the wrong thing to do.

---

At first, Lex tried to ignore it.

The grocery store parking lot was busy enough to make that easy.

Shopping carts rattled over uneven pavement. Families drifted between rows of parked cars with children trailing behind them. A teenager wrestled an overloaded cart toward a pickup truck while an elderly couple argued good-naturedly over whether they still needed milk. Engines started. Doors slammed. Someone laughed as a gust of warm wind chased a receipt across the asphalt.

Normal.

Ordinary.

Safe.

Exactly the sort of place that shouldn't have felt dangerous.

She stood beside the open tailgate of Bishop's truck, shifting grocery bags to make room for the last few items while Bishop disappeared back inside.

He'd forgotten something.

Coffee.

Probably.

The man seemed physically incapable of leaving a store without buying more coffee.

The realization remained concerning.

Very concerning.

A warm breeze lifted loose strands of hair from her ponytail, carrying with it the scent of hot asphalt and fresh bread drifting from the bakery entrance.

Lex reached for another grocery bag.

Then froze.

Not physically.

Internally.

Something prickled along the back of her neck.

The old instinct surfaced before she had time to think.

Not panic.

Not yet.

Awareness.

Her grip tightened slightly on the grocery bag.

Her eyes lifted.

Scanning.

Rows of vehicles.

Storefront windows.

People loading groceries.

A woman buckling a toddler into a car seat.

An older man returning a shopping cart.

Nothing.

Everything looked exactly the way it should.

The feeling remained.

Persistent.

Cold.

Wrong.

Across the parking lot, a man stood beside a dark-colored van.

Baseball cap.

Sunglasses.

Phone in one hand.

Entirely forgettable.

The sort of face she'd never remember twice.

Except…

The instant her gaze settled on him...

He looked away.

Too quickly.

Like he'd been caught.

Her stomach tightened.

The man slipped into the driver's seat without another glance in her direction.

The engine started.

The van pulled away from the curb and disappeared into afternoon traffic.

Less than ten seconds.

That was all.

Gone.

Lex remained where she was, one hand resting against the truck, watching the taillights disappear beyond the edge of the lot.

Maybe nothing.

Probably nothing.

Just another person leaving the grocery store.

So why...

Why did it feel wrong?

The familiar voice whispered immediately.

You're overreacting.

You're imagining things.

Not everything is about you.

She hated that voice.

Hated how familiar it still sounded.

A truck door slammed.

She startled slightly before turning.

Bishop crossed the parking lot carrying two fresh bags of coffee and looking entirely too satisfied with himself.

Apparently he'd found what he wanted.

Of course he had.

"You okay?"

The question stopped her.

Not because of the words.

Because he'd noticed.

Already.

Lex forced herself to breathe.

Forced her shoulders to relax.

"Yeah."

The answer came too quickly.

Too automatically.

She heard it herself.

So did Bishop.

He slowed.

His eyes swept the parking lot almost lazily.

The road.

The parked vehicles.

The storefront.

Then settled back on her.

Nothing obvious.

Nothing immediate.

Still…

Something in his expression shifted.

Not alarm.

Suspicion.

Just enough to make her stomach twist.

Eventually he gave a small nod.

"Let's get home."

The moment passed.

Or seemed to.

---

It happened again the following afternoon.

Only this time...

Lex wasn't the one who noticed.

Happy was.

Which turned out to be significantly worse.

For everyone involved.

The clubhouse yard rested beneath the warm afternoon sun.

A handful of motorcycles sat cooling in the dirt lot.

Someone worked on an engine near the garage.

Music drifted faintly from inside the clubhouse, mixing with the occasional burst of laughter and the steady rhythm of ordinary conversation.

Life.

Routine.

Nothing unusual.

Happy sat on the clubhouse steps with one boot planted on the lower stair and a cup of coffee balanced against his knee.

A toothpick rested lazily in the corner of his mouth.

He looked like a man doing absolutely nothing.

Which was exactly why people underestimated him.

The mistake rarely lasted long.

Across the yard, Lex sat beneath the shade structure with her sketchbook balanced across her lap.

Her pencil moved slowly.

Occasionally she paused to erase a line.

Then continued.

Inside the clubhouse, Bishop was almost certainly losing an argument with paperwork.

The afternoon drifted lazily onward.

Until Happy stopped moving.

It wasn't obvious.

Most people would've missed it.

The coffee never paused halfway to his mouth.

The toothpick never stopped shifting.

The only change happened behind his eyes.

Something sharpened.

The predator replacing the observer.

His attention settled half a block down the street.

A white utility van sat parked along the curb.

Plain.

Unmarked.

Forgettable.

Exactly the kind of vehicle no one remembered seeing.

It had been there twenty-three minutes.

Happy knew because he'd been counting without realizing he was counting.

The driver hadn't gotten out.

Hadn't unloaded equipment.

Hadn't made a delivery.

Hadn't looked at a phone.

Hadn't done much of anything.

Just...

Sat.

Watching.

Happy rose without a word.

The abandoned coffee remained on the porch.

The toothpick shifted once.

No one stopped him.

No one asked where he was going.

No one was stupid enough.

Everyone who knew Happy understood one simple truth.

If Happy Lowman started walking somewhere with purpose...

Someone else was about to have a very bad afternoon.

---

The photographer never saw him coming.

One moment he sat adjusting the lens of the camera resting on the passenger seat.

Professional equipment.

Expensive equipment.

The kind of gear people didn't accidentally own.

The next…

The driver's door exploded open.

Hard enough to make the entire van rock.

The photographer lurched so violently he nearly dropped the camera.

"What the?! "

The words died immediately.

Happy stood outside the open door.

Pistol aimed at the guy's forehead. 

Expression unreadable.

Toothpick still balanced between his teeth.

The silence that settled between them somehow felt louder than shouting.

Happy's gaze drifted once.

To the camera.

Long lens.

Professional body.

Already pointed toward the clubhouse.

Toward the shade structure.

Toward Lex.

Toward every person inside the gates.

Then his eyes returned to the man behind the wheel.

The photographer swallowed.

Hard.

"...Uh..."

Nothing.

No response.

Happy simply looked at him.

Not angry.

Not threatening.

Just...

Looking.

The silence stretched.

Each passing second making the photographer visibly more uncomfortable.

Sweat gathered along his forehead.

"I'm a photographer."

Still nothing.

Happy's expression never changed.

The man rushed onward.

"I swear, man, I'm just doing a job."

There.

Interesting.

Happy's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

Not a stalker.

Not obsessed.

Hired.

The photographer realized he'd said too much.

Panic took over.

"I don't even know these people."

The words came faster now.

"They hired me through some third-party contract."

Another mistake.

"They paid cash."

Another.

"I've never even met them."

Happy finally spoke.

One word.

"Who?"

The photographer blinked.

"What?"

Happy didn't raise his voice.

Didn't repeat himself loudly.

Just...

"Who hired you?"

The man looked genuinely miserable.

"I don't know."

Happy waited.

"I swear."

The photographer gestured frantically toward the laptop bag resting on the passenger seat.

"Everything came through email."

Disposable.

Remote.

Layered.

Professional enough to hide identities.

Careless enough to hire someone like this.

"I don't know who they are."

His voice cracked.

"I just take pictures."

Happy believed him.

With the decades of interrogations under his belt… he knew truth when he heard it.

The man was terrified.

Hands shaking.

Breathing too fast.

Sweating through his shirt.

Not a threat.

Just somebody who'd accepted exactly the wrong contract.

Happy leaned farther into the van.

The photographer recoiled instinctively.

Happy ignored him.

Reached past the camera.

Picked up the memory card.

Slipped it into his pocket.

The photographer made a small wounded sound.

Like he'd just watched several thousand dollars disappear.

Happy didn't care.

His eyes settled on the camera.

For one thoughtful second...

He considered smashing it.

The image flashed through his head.

Lens shattered.

Body crushed beneath a boot.

Simple.

Satisfying.

Easy.

Instead...

He straightened.

Following trails had always been more useful than destroying evidence.

The camera remained exactly where it was.

Happy looked back at the photographer.

"Leave."

The man blinked.

"What?"

Happy's expression never changed.

"Now."

No anger.

No threat.

No raised voice.

Just certainty.

The photographer didn't argue.

Didn't negotiate.

Didn't even ask for the memory card back.

He started the engine so quickly it nearly stalled.

Happy stepped away from the van.

Within seconds it pulled hard from the curb and disappeared down the street considerably faster than the posted speed limit.

Happy watched until it vanished around the corner.

Only then did he reach into his pocket for his phone.

His thumbs moved quickly.

A single message.

Simple.

Direct.

Got a watcher.

Contract guy.

Scared shitless.

Got the card.

Tracking.

The reply arrived before he finished putting the phone away.

Careful.

Happy snorted softly.

The bike keys were already in his hand.

The photographer had never been the problem.

The photographer was only the breadcrumb.

And Happy had always been exceptionally good at following trails.

……

Templo felt smaller after midnight.

Not physically.

Just...

Full.

The overhead light cast a warm circle across the scarred wooden table, leaving the corners of Templo in shadow. Coffee had long since gone cold in several mugs scattered among stacks of folders and legal pads. The stale scent of cigarettes lingered beneath the sharper smell of fresh printer ink and dust.

Nobody looked tired.

Nobody looked rested either.

Marcus stood near the window with his arms folded across his chest, staring out into the darkness beyond the clubhouse yard.

Hank occupied one side of the table, broad shoulders hunched as he studied a map spread beneath one hand.

Gilly leaned against the filing cabinet quietly reading through a printed report.

Happy sat in the far corner.

Silent.

Watching.

The memory card rested beside the laptop.

A piece of plastic barely larger than a thumbnail.

Small enough to disappear beneath a fingertip.

Heavy enough to change the mood of the entire room.

Bishop slid it into the adapter.

The laptop chimed softly.

A folder opened.

The first photograph appeared.

The clubhouse gate.

He clicked again.

The parking lot.

Again.

Members working on motorcycles.

Again.

Vehicles entering and leaving.

Again.

Different days.

Different angles.

Different times.

Methodical.

Professional enough to be useful.

Sloppy enough to get caught.

Nobody spoke.

The only sounds came from the quiet tap of the keyboard and the occasional click of the trackpad as Bishop moved from one photograph to the next.

Another image filled the screen.

Lex stepping out of the grocery store.

A paper bag balanced against one hip.

The afternoon sun catching loose strands of hair.

Another click.

Lex outside the clubhouse.

Sketchbook tucked beneath one arm.

Another.

Marcus's barbecue.

Children racing through the backyard.

Lex laughing with Tessa, a soccer ball tucked beneath one arm.

Completely unaware someone was watching her through a lens.

The room remained silent.

Nobody liked what they were seeing.

Nobody liked it one damn bit.

Marcus shifted his weight.

"How long?"

Happy shrugged once.

"A few weeks."

His voice stayed flat.

Matter-of-fact.

The barbecue hadn't been the beginning.

It was simply the earliest photograph the photographer still had.

Which meant there had almost certainly been others.

Deleted.

Delivered.

Or both.

Bishop clicked through another folder.

More photographs.

The clubhouse from different streets.

The gate.

Members arriving.

Members leaving.

Patterns.

Timelines.

Observation.

A surveillance package.

His jaw tightened.

Another photograph appeared.

The grocery store parking lot.

Lex standing beside his truck.

One hand resting against the tailgate.

Looking across the parking lot.

The timestamp glowed neatly in the lower corner.

Same date.

Same time.

Same afternoon.

The timestamp matched exactly.

Bishop leaned back slowly in his chair.

A long breath escaped him.

Controlled.

Measured.

Because suddenly…

He remembered.

The hesitation.

The look on Lex's face.

The way she'd stopped loading groceries.

The way she'd looked across the parking lot.

The way she'd answered too quickly when he'd asked if she was okay.

The realization landed with sickening clarity.

"She knew."

The words escaped quietly.

Almost to himself.

Marcus looked over.

Bishop never took his eyes off the screen.

"At the grocery store."

He clicked back to the photograph.

Lex.

Standing beside the truck.

Looking directly toward the van.

Toward the man who'd been watching her.

She'd felt him.

Happy spoke for the first time in several minutes.

"She felt it."

Not a question.

A statement.

Bishop nodded once.

Slowly.

The room settled into silence again.

A different silence now.

Heavier.

Because everyone understood exactly what that meant.

For months they'd watched Lex struggle to trust her own instincts again.

Watched her question herself.

Watched her wonder whether every uneasy feeling came from trauma instead of reality.

She'd second-guessed herself constantly.

Had asked if she was imagining things.

Had apologized for being cautious.

Had worried that fear was making her see danger where none existed.

Only...

There had been danger.

She hadn't imagined any of it.

Marcus let out a slow breath.

"She's gonna take this hard."

No one misunderstood what he meant.

Not because she'd been wrong.

Because she'd been right.

Bishop understood immediately.

That realization settled like lead beneath his ribs.

For months she'd been rebuilding something Erik had deliberately broken.

Trust.

Not trust in other people.

Trust in herself.

In her own judgment.

In the quiet voice that warned her when something wasn't right.

Now she'd discover the truth.

Every glance over her shoulder.

Every uneasy feeling.

Every instinct she'd argued with.

Every moment she'd convinced herself she was overreacting.

Had been real.

Validation.

And another wound.

At exactly the same time.

Nobody spoke for a while.

The photographs continued cycling across the screen.

Evidence.

Patterns.

Locations.

Faces.

Until another image appeared.

Lex.

Laughing.

Head thrown back.

Sunlight catching the edge of her smile.

Alive.

Healing.

Trying.

Bishop stared at it for several long seconds.

Longer than any of the others.

Then quietly closed the laptop.

The soft click echoed through the room.

Final.

Decisive.

Enough.

Every eye lifted toward him.

Waiting.

Bishop rested both hands against the edge of the table.

His jaw worked once.

Tight.

Controlled.

Inside him, three different parts of himself aligned with startling certainty.

The president.

The protector.

The man.

None of them disagreed.

Not this time.

Nobody watches his people.

Nobody watches her.

Not without consequences.

He looked toward Happy.

"Find out who hired him."

The order came calmly.

Steadily.

Almost conversationally.

Which somehow made it more dangerous.

Happy's toothpick shifted.

The corner of his mouth twitched.

Not quite a smile.

Close enough.

Happy nodded.

No hesitation.

No discussion.

He was already planning the trail.

Already sorting through disposable email addresses.

Payment methods.

Metadata.

Vehicle registrations.

People always left something behind.

Happy simply had a gift for finding it.

Marcus looked once more at the closed laptop.

Then around the room.

"They know somebody's pulling threads."

Gilly nodded.

"So they're cleaning up."

Hank folded the map shut.

"Means we're close."

"It also means they're nervous," Marcus said quietly.

That changed the room.

Not dramatically.

But enough.

Because nervous people made mistakes.

Desperate people made bigger ones.

Bishop reached for the laptop again, resting one hand against the lid without reopening it.

His thoughts weren't on property records anymore.

Or surveillance.

Or photographs.

They were outside the Templo doors.

In a bunkroom where a young woman was finally beginning to sleep through some nights.

Finally beginning to laugh without looking over her shoulder.

Finally beginning to believe that maybe...

Maybe the world wasn't always waiting to hurt her.

Tomorrow he would have to tell her.

Tell her that the instinct she'd spent months trying to silence had been right all along.

That every uneasy feeling had meant something.

That she hadn't imagined any of it.

He already knew how the conversation would go.

She wouldn't feel vindicated.

She'd feel guilty for doubting herself.

Angry for dismissing her own instincts.

Maybe frightened all over again.

He hated that.

More than he could put into words.

Marcus pushed away from the window.

"We'll handle it."

It wasn't reassurance.

It was fact.

The room understood the difference.

One by one the others gathered their folders.

Coffee cups.

Notebooks.

The meeting dissolved quietly into purposeful movement.

No celebration.

No relief.

Only work.

Because now the hunt had direction.

Not certainty.

Direction.

And sometimes...

That was enough.

Happy slipped the memory card into his pocket before heading for the door.

He paused only once.

Looking back toward Bishop.

"They picked the wrong girl."

Bishop's eyes lifted.

Met his.

A slow nod.

"Yeah."

They had.

The clubhouse beyond Templo remained quiet.

Most of the lights had already gone dark.

Most of the people inside slept peacefully, unaware that somewhere beyond Santo Padre, another hunt had quietly begun.

Only this one no longer belonged solely to the Mayans.

Someone else was moving now.

Cleaning evidence.

Covering tracks.

Trying desperately to stay ahead.

They'd realized someone was following the thread.

They just didn't know who was holding the other end.

Not yet.

But they would.

Soon enough.

------

PART 48

The kind Lex had spent months fighting her way back toward.

The kind she'd once believed she'd never have again.

She stood in the backyard with a soccer ball tucked beneath one arm while Tessa bounced impatiently beside her.

"You're cheating."

"I'm not."

"Sure."

Tessa grinned.

Completely unrepentant.

The little menace.

Lex narrowed her eyes.

Then kicked the ball.

Tessa shrieked and took off after it.

The game resumed immediately.

No rules.

No structure.

No apparent objective.

Just chaos.

Children specialized in that.

Across the yard, Santi launched himself into the mix with all the enthusiasm of a small missile.

The collision that followed seemed inevitable.

Lex laughed.

A real laugh.

The sound surprised her less these days.

Still enough to notice.

Not enough to hurt.

Progress.

The realization settled quietly in her chest.

---

On the back porch, Bishop watched from a distance.

Beer in hand.

Leaning against one of the support posts.

Not participating.

Just observing.

The way he always did.

The way presidents learned to do.

Watch the room.

Watch the exits.

Watch the people.

Take inventory.

The habit never really went away.

Tonight his attention kept returning to the yard.

To Lex.

The sight still caught him off guard sometimes.

Not because she was laughing.

Because she'd forgotten to be careful.

There had been a time when every movement seemed measured.

Every smile cautious.

Every step deliberate.

Now?

Now she raced through the grass because Tessa challenged her to.

Now she argued with children over the rules of soccer.

Now she laughed without immediately looking around to see who had heard it.

The difference was impossible to ignore.

And impossible not to be grateful for.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Across the yard, Lex pointed accusingly at Santi.

The boy pointed right back.

An argument immediately erupted.

Neither seemed remotely interested in facts.

Bishop huffed a quiet laugh.

The little bastards never quit.

---

Something prickled along the back of Lex's neck.

The sensation appeared suddenly.

Sharp.

Unwelcome.

Familiar.

Her smile faltered.

Just slightly.

The soccer ball rolled past her feet.

Tessa shouted something.

Lex didn't hear it.

For a second the backyard seemed farther away.

The laughter.

The music.

The conversations.

Everything muffled.

Distant.

Her gaze lifted automatically.

Scanning.

The fence.

The trees.

The neighboring houses.

Nothing.

No threat.

No danger.

No reason.

The feeling remained.

The unmistakable sensation of being watched.

Her stomach tightened.

The old instinct rising before she could stop it.

A remnant.

A scar.

A memory.

She looked again.

Nothing.

The backyard remained exactly the same.

Children running.

Music playing.

Life continuing.

The feeling should have disappeared.

It didn't.

"LEX!"

Tessa's voice cut cleanly through her thoughts.

The little girl stood twenty feet away with both hands planted firmly on her hips.

Waiting.

Impatient.

The picture of outrage.

"You stopped."

Lex blinked.

The moment shattered.

"Sorry."

Tessa narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

Then pointed dramatically toward the ball.

The game resumed.

The feeling slowly faded.

Not completely.

Enough.

Enough to dismiss.

Enough to convince herself it was nothing.

Just nerves.

Just old habits.

Just trauma finding new ways to be annoying.

The explanation felt reasonable.

Comforting.

Wrong.

---

Half a mile away.

Beyond the neighborhood.

Beyond the houses.

Beyond the lights.

A black SUV sat parked on the shoulder of a quiet road.

Hidden behind a cluster of trees.

Engine off.

Windows tinted.

Invisible unless someone knew exactly where to look.

Inside, a man lowered a camera.

The lens alone cost more than most people made in a month.

Professional.

Military-grade.

Powerful enough to capture details from impossible distances.

He reviewed the latest photographs.

One after another.

The backyard.

The children.

The clubhouse members.

Marcus Alvarez.

Bishop Losa.

Several other Mayans.

Then…

Lex.

The image filled the screen.

Laughing.

Hair pulled back.

Soccer ball tucked beneath one arm.

Alive.

The man studied the photograph for a long moment.

Expression unreadable.

Then switched to another.

And another.

And another.

Dozens of images.

Different days.

Different locations.

The clubhouse.

The grocery store.

A gas station.

Outside a coffee shop.

Always the same woman.

Always the same face.

Always the same objective.

A phone rested on the passenger seat.

The screen illuminated briefly.

One unread message.

A single sentence.

Confirm identity.

The man looked back at the photographs.

Back at the image of Lex.

Then typed a reply.

His fingers moved quickly.

Efficiently.

Without hesitation.

Confirmed.

The message sent.

The screen went dark again.

For several seconds the man remained motionless.

Watching.

Thinking.

Calculating.

Then he raised the camera once more.

The lens shifted.

Tracking movement in the backyard.

Past the children.

Past the adults.

Past the house.

Until it settled on the porch.

On Bishop.

The shutter clicked.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

The man zoomed closer.

Studied the way Bishop watched the yard.

The way his attention tracked certain movements.

The way his gaze repeatedly returned to the same person.

Interesting.

The camera clicked again.

A dozen more photographs.

Documentation.

Observation.

Information.

Nothing more.

For now.

Eventually he lowered the camera.

Started the engine.

The SUV pulled away from the shoulder without headlights.

Quiet.

Controlled.

Deliberate.

Within seconds it disappeared into the gathering darkness.

Gone.

Leaving nothing behind.

No evidence.

No warning.

No indication anyone had ever been there at all.

---

Back at the Alvarez house, the evening carried on.

Dinner was served.

Children argued over dessert.

Music drifted through the backyard.

The sky slowly darkened overhead.

Normal.

Comfortable.

Safe.

Lex laughed at something Tessa said.

The uneasy feeling from earlier was already fading.

Already forgotten.

Across the porch, Bishop watched her smile.

And for the first time all evening, the knot between his shoulders eased.

Just a little.

Neither of them noticed the empty stretch of road beyond the neighborhood.

Or the tire tracks disappearing into the darkness.

Or the fact that somewhere...

someone now knew exactly where to find her.

The watching had ended.

The hunting had not.

------

PART 47

BAD IDEA, REYES

Angel had been annoying her for forty-seven minutes.

Not that she was counting.

Angel: Where you at

Three minutes later:

Angel: Baby

Angel: Party started

Angel: And coco is already drunk

Angel: Save me

She'd been standing in front of her bathroom mirror trying to fix the eyeliner she'd somehow managed to smear across her eyelid when the next one came through.

Angel: I miss you

She'd smiled at that one.

Unfortunately.

Because Angel Reyes could be an insufferable pain in her ass ninety percent of the time, but then he'd throw something like that at her with absolutely no warning and remind her exactly why she'd fallen for the giant idiot in the first place.

She'd typed back with one hand while digging through the disaster she'd created on her bathroom counter with the other.

Her: You saw me this morning.

The bubbles appeared immediately.

Angel: long time ago

Her: It was six hours ago.

Angel: exactly

She rolled her eyes.

Her: Leaving in ten.

Angel: You said that twenty minutes ago

Her: Keep bitching and I'll stay home.

Nothing.

Five seconds.

Ten.

Angel: drive safe baby ❤️

She laughed.

"Asshole."

---

It was nearly an hour later when she finally pulled through the gates of the scrapyard.

Angel had been right.

The party had definitely started.

It looked like it had started about three fucking hours ago.

Music poured from the clubhouse, bass vibrating through the open windows and carrying across the lot. Bikes were packed along the fence. Cars filled whatever spaces remained.

Someone had dragged chairs around one of the fire barrels despite the lingering heat.

People clustered everywhere.

Members.

Friends.

Women.

Lots and lots of women.

She parked toward the back, killed the engine and checked her phone.

Two unread messages.

Angel: ???

Another three minutes later…

Angel: u alive

She snorted and climbed out.

The evening air hit her bare shoulders as she adjusted the hem of her top and tossed her phone into her purse.

She was halfway across the lot before she started looking for him.

Angel wasn't exactly difficult to find in a crowd.

Tall.

Broad.

Usually loud enough to locate without visual assistance.

She spotted Coco first.

Then Gilly.

Bishop stood nearby with a beer in his hand.

And there…

Angel.

Her smile started automatically.

Then stopped.

There was a woman standing beside him.

No.

Not beside him.

On him.

Her steps slowed.

The woman had one hand wrapped around Angel's upper arm and most of her body pressed against his side.

Tiny top.

Tiny shorts.

Long hair.

Pretty.

Of course she was fucking pretty.

She leaned closer.

Her mouth moved near Angel's ear.

Something hot and ugly twisted beneath her ribs.

Angel turned his head and answered.

The woman smiled.

Her hand slid higher on his arm.

Her fingers nearly reached his shoulder.

Her stomach dropped.

Are you fucking kidding me?

She stopped walking.

For one awful second, all she saw was that hand.

On him.

Then she actually looked at Angel.

Really looked.

His arms hung at his sides.

Beer in one hand.

The other completely empty.

He wasn't touching the woman.

Not even accidentally.

His shoulders were stiff.

His body angled slightly away from her despite her determined effort to close the distance.

The woman said something else.

Angel shook his head.

No smile.

No laugh.

Nothing.

Then she leaned into him again.

And that was precisely when Angel looked across the lot.

Straight at her.

His entire face changed.

First recognition.

Then happiness.

Then…

Absolute fucking horror.

His eyes flicked toward the woman attached to his arm.

Back to her.

His lips parted.

She stared at him.

Angel gave the tiniest shake of his head.

No.

She didn't move.

He mouthed something.

She couldn't hear it.

Didn't need to.

Baby.

She slowly lifted her eyebrows.

Angel's face somehow became even more alarmed.

She gave him one tiny nod.

Then turned toward the clubhouse.

Behind her…

"Fuck."

Coco followed Angel's stare.

Saw her marching away.

Looked at the woman still trying to crawl inside Angel's kutte.

"Oh, shit."

Angel yanked his arm away.

"Would you fuckin' stop?"

The woman blinked.

"What?"

"I told you. I got a girl."

She rolled her eyes.

"So?"

"So?" Angel stared at her. "The fuck you mean, so?"

"Angel…"

She reached for him again.

He stepped backward.

"Nah. Don't touch me."

Then he pointed toward Coco.

"You."

Coco nearly choked on his beer.

"Me?"

"Tell her."

"Tell her what?"

"That I didn't fuckin' do anything."

Coco stared at him.

Then slowly smiled.

"Oh, I'm staying the fuck outta this."

"Fuck you."

Angel was already moving.

Behind him, Gilly laughed.

"Good luck!"

Angel threw up a middle finger without looking back.

---

She heard him before she reached the clubhouse.

"Baby!"

She kept walking.

"Baby, wait."

Nope.

Her boots hit the concrete walkway.

"Come on."

She reached the door.

A hand caught hers.

She immediately yanked free and spun.

"Don't."

Angel stopped.

His hands came up.

"Okay."

"Do not touch me right now."

"I said okay."

"Good."

She turned.

"Baby…"

She stopped so suddenly he nearly walked into her.

Her head snapped around.

"What?"

Angel visibly reconsidered whatever he'd been about to say.

"Nothing."

"Smart."

She pushed through the clubhouse door.

Angel followed.

"Can you at least let me explain?"

"I'm walking, aren't I?"

"Yeah, really fuckin' fast."

"Keep up."

"I am keeping up!"

"Congratulations."

They passed the bar.

Several heads turned.

She didn't care.

Angel apparently did.

He lowered his voice.

"Can we not do this out here?"

She kept moving.

"Then stop talking."

"I'm trying to explain!"

"You're doing a fantastic job."

"I haven't gotten to say anything!"

"Exactly."

"What the fuck does that even mean?"

She stopped again.

Angel almost ran into her for the second time.

She turned slowly.

"You really want to keep asking questions right now?"

Angel looked down at her.

Paused.

"No."

"Excellent."

She resumed walking.

Behind them, someone laughed.

Angel's head whipped around.

"The fuck you looking at?"

The laughter abruptly stopped.

She almost smiled.

Almost.

Then she remembered the woman's hand sliding up his arm.

Nope.

Still pissed.

She reached the hallway.

Angel caught up beside her.

"I swear to God, nothing happened."

"Didn't ask."

"I know you didn't ask. That's why I'm fuckin' telling you."

"Wonderful."

"She came up to me."

"Congratulations."

"Would you stop saying that?"

"Would you stop talking?"

"No!"

She finally looked at him.

Angel dragged a hand over his face.

"I'm not letting you go into my room thinking I was out there fucking around."

"I'm already going into your room."

"That's not the part I was…"

She opened his dorm door.

Walked inside.

Then looked over her shoulder.

"You coming?"

Angel stared at her.

"...Feels like a trap."

"It is."

"Great."

He walked in anyway.

The door barely clicked shut before she spun.

Both palms slammed into his chest.

Angel stumbled backward.

His shoulders hit the door hard enough to rattle it in the frame.

"Jesus Christ."

"You."

She pointed at him.

"Me."

"Don't."

His mouth snapped shut.

Angel lifted both hands.

"I'm listening."

"You better fucking listen."

"Listening."

"I finally get here…"

"I know."

Her glare sharpened.

"Sorry."

She stepped closer.

"And what do I see?"

Angel sighed.

"Baby—"

"What do I see, Angel?"

"Her."

"Her."

"Yeah."

"Hanging all over you."

"She wasn't—"

Her eyebrows shot up.

Angel corrected immediately.

"She was."

"Thank you."

"She was hanging on me. I wasn't hanging on her."

"You looked pretty fucking cozy from across the lot."

"Cozy?"

"Yes."

"I was trying to get away from her!"

"Try harder!"

"I fucking did!"

"Clearly."

Angel stared at her.

"She wouldn't take the hint!"

"Then stop hinting!"

"I wasn't hinting! I told her!"

"Apparently she didn't hear you!"

"I told her I have a girlfriend!"

"Maybe introduce us next time."

His mouth twitched.

Her eyes narrowed.

"Don't you fucking dare."

"I'm not."

"You almost smiled."

"No, I didn't."

"Angel."

"I'm terrified right now."

"Good."

"Little turned on, too."

Her mouth fell open.

Angel's eyes widened.

"Didn't mean to say that yet."

"Yet?"

"Fuck."

She shoved him again.

His back hit the door.

"Can we go back?"

"No."

"Okay."

"You're unbelievable."

"I know."

"Some woman is practically climbing you in the parking lot and you're standing here making jokes?"

"I'm not joking!"

"You just told me you're turned on!"

"Because you keep throwing me into shit!"

She went still.

Angel did too.

A beat passed.

"That's your defense?"

"No."

"Good."

"My defense is I didn't do anything."

His expression changed.

The humor disappeared.

"I didn't."

She stared at him.

Angel lowered his hands.

"I'm serious."

"I know."

"You gotta know that."

"I do."

"Because I would never…"

"I know."

He stopped.

Silence.

Angel's brow furrowed.

"You know."

She looked away.

Shit.

"Yeah."

"You know I wasn't doing anything."

"I said yeah."

Angel stared at her.

"Then what the fuck are we fighting about?"

Her head snapped back.

"Excuse me?"

"You just said you know I didn't do anything!"

"That doesn't mean I'm not pissed!"

"At me?"

"Yes!"

"For what?!"

"For standing there!"

His mouth dropped open.

"Standing there?"

"Yes!"

"The fuck did you want me to do? Teleport?"

"I don't know!"

"Throw myself into traffic?"

"Maybe!"

"We're in a scrapyard!"

"Find traffic!"

Angel stared at her.

She stared back.

His mouth twitched again.

"Don't."

"I'm trying."

"Try harder."

He pressed his lips together.

She pointed at him.

"I mean it."

He nodded solemnly.

She turned away and dragged both hands through her hair.

"This isn't fucking funny."

"I know."

"I know you didn't touch her."

"Okay."

"I know you weren't flirting."

"Okay."

"I know you looked uncomfortable."

"Very."

"And I know you were trying to get her off you."

"I was."

She spun.

"But I still had to walk across that fucking parking lot watching another woman put her hands all over my boyfriend."

That did it.

Angel went quiet.

Completely.

Her chest rose and fell.

"I trust you."

His expression softened.

"But I didn't like it."

"I know."

"No, you don't."

"I think I'm starting to."

"It made me fucking crazy."

Angel's eyes changed.

Just slightly.

She didn't notice.

Not yet.

"Because she was touching you."

"Yeah."

"And you're mine."

There.

Angel's lips parted.

She was too irritated to catch it.

"Not like mine mine. You're your own fucking person. Don't make that face."

"I didn't make a face."

"You did."

"I'm just listening."

"I'm saying you're my boyfriend."

"Yeah."

"And some bitch who knew you had a girlfriend decided she didn't give a shit."

"Yeah."

"And I wanted to rip her hand off."

Angel swallowed.

She finally noticed.

Her eyes narrowed.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Angel."

"Nothing."

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I'm not."

"You absolutely fucking are."

Angel looked away.

Oh.

Oh.

She stared at him.

His jaw flexed.

Her anger briefly gave way to confusion.

Then suspicion.

She tilted her head.

"The fuck is that look for?"

Angel rubbed the back of his neck.

"Leave it."

"No."

"Seriously."

"Angel."

"Baby."

"Tell me."

"You don't wanna know."

"Try me."

His eyes came back to hers.

Dark.

Different.

His voice dropped.

"You're so fuckin' hot when you're angry."

Silence.

She blinked.

Once.

"Excuse me?"

"I know."

"Are you serious?"

"Unfortunately."

"I'm standing here telling you I wanted to rip another woman's hand off your body…"

"I heard you."

"And that's your response?"

"Wasn't my first response."

"Angel."

"I'm trying, baby."

"Trying to what?"

"Not make this worse."

"You're doing a terrible fucking job."

"I know."

His gaze dropped.

Just for a second.

To her mouth.

Then back up.

She caught it.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me."

"What?"

"You're actually turned on right now."

Angel gave her a helpless little shrug.

"You shoved me into a door twice."

"Because I'm angry!"

"Yeah."

There it was.

That voice.

Lower.

Rougher.

She felt the shift before she consciously recognized it.

"Don't."

Angel's eyebrows lifted.

"Don't what?"

"Do that."

"Do what?"

"That fucking voice."

His mouth slowly curved.

"Can't help my voice."

"Bad idea, Reyes."

"Probably."

She stepped forward.

Angel didn't move.

She planted both palms against his chest.

His eyes dropped to her hands.

Then lifted.

"Still pissed?" he asked.

"Very."

"Okay."

She shoved him.

Hard.

His back struck the door for the third time.

This time she followed.

Her palms remained on his chest.

Holding him there.

Angel went utterly still.

The smile disappeared.

His eyes darkened.

Neither spoke.

She could feel his heartbeat beneath her palm.

Fast.

His chest rose.

Fell.

His tongue dragged slowly across his lower lip.

"Do that again."

Her eyebrows rose.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

She shoved him harder.

Angel's head tipped back against the door.

His eyes closed for half a second.

"Fuck."

A tiny thrill chased through her.

Oh.

This was…

Interesting.

"What happened to me being dramatic?"

Angel opened his eyes.

"You're still dramatic."

She shoved him again.

His breath caught.

"But I'm reevaluating my position."

"You insufferable prick."

"Keep talking."

Her eyebrows shot up.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"No. You said keep talking."

"Forget it."

"Getting shy now?"

"Not even a little."

"Then say it."

Angel stared down at her.

"Keep calling me shit."

Her lips parted.

His gaze immediately fell to them.

Well.

Fuck.

She slowly curled her fingers into the front of his shirt.

Angel's breathing changed.

"Asshole."

His jaw tightened.

"Prick."

His eyes darkened.

"Pain in my fucking ass."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He started to reach for her.

She pressed him harder against the door.

"Did I say you could touch me?"

His hands stopped.

Something flashed across his face.

Then, very deliberately, Angel put both palms flat against the door behind him.

"Okay."

Her stomach flipped.

He looked directly into her eyes.

"Your move."

Oh, fuck him.

She stepped closer.

Their bodies almost touching.

"You're enjoying this."

"Way too fuckin' much."

"I'm still angry."

"I know."

"This isn't getting you out of trouble."

"Wasn't trying to get out of anything."

"You're impossible."

"You love me."

"Debatable."

His eyebrow lifted.

She leaned closer.

"Don't push it."

"You've been pushing me all night."

She stared at him.

Angel grinned.

She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him down.

The grin vanished.

Their mouths hovered inches apart.

"Still think I'm dramatic?"

"Absolutely."

She tugged him closer.

"Wrong answer."

"Wasn't trying to get the right one."

"Why?"

His gaze fell to her mouth.

"Like what happens when I get it wrong."

Her pulse jumped.

Bastard.

She tightened her grip.

"If I ever see another woman hanging off you like that again…"

"What?"

"You're going to make sure she understands the first time."

"Absolutely."

"No trying to be polite."

"Wasn't really polite tonight."

"Less polite."

"Can do."

"No standing there hoping she'll eventually fuck off."

"Okay."

"Use your words, Reyes."

His mouth twitched.

"Get the fuck off me, I have a girlfriend."

"Better."

"And if that doesn't work?"

She raised an eyebrow.

Angel sighed.

"Throw her over the fence."

"There you go."

"Feel like Bishop might have an issue with that."

"That's between you and Bishop."

"You're ruthless."

"You like me angry, apparently."

Angel's gaze darkened again.

"Apparently."

She held him there another second.

Then his eyes dropped to where her fists were twisted into his shirt.

Back up.

"Can I touch you now?"

The question landed differently than everything else.

She studied him.

The joking had disappeared again.

He was waiting.

Actually waiting.

She loosened one hand from his shirt and dragged her fingertips slowly up the front of his kutte.

Angel didn't move.

"Maybe."

His jaw tightened.

"Baby."

"What?"

"You're killin' me."

"Good."

A reluctant laugh escaped him.

"There she is."

She narrowed her eyes.

"Careful."

"Sorry."

"No, you're not."

"Not even a little."

She leaned in until her mouth brushed the edge of his jaw.

"Bad idea, Reyes."

Angel inhaled sharply.

"Probably."

"Still want to?"

"Fuck yeah."

She pulled back.

His eyes found hers.

She smiled.

Then kissed him.

Hard.

Angel's hands stayed against the door.

For exactly one second.

Two.

She pulled back just enough to breathe.

"You can touch me."

That was all he needed.

His hands left the door and found her waist, dragging her against him as his mouth crashed back onto hers.

The argument caught fire.

All the frustration from the parking lot.

The jealousy.

The adrenaline.

The way he'd looked at her when she shoved him.

The way she'd realized she liked that look entirely too much.

She pushed him back into the door again.

Angel laughed against her mouth.

"You really like doing that."

"Shut up."

"Make me."

She kissed him again.

That worked.

For approximately five seconds.

Then Angel managed to turn them.

Her back met the wall beside the door.

She grabbed his kutte.

"Still pissed," she warned.

His mouth brushed hers.

"Good."

She caught his lower lip between her teeth.

Angel went very still.

"Fuck."

She released him.

"Still think it's hot?"

His forehead dropped against hers.

His breathing was rough now.

"Baby, you have no fuckin' idea."

Her hand found the lock behind him.

Click.

Angel's eyes flicked toward the sound.

Then back to her.

She smiled.

Slow.

Dangerous.

His eyebrows lifted.

"That for me?"

"No."

"No?"

She caught his shirt again and pulled him close.

"It's for everybody else."

Angel stared at her.

"Jesus Christ."

She kissed the corner of his mouth.

"Quit talking, Reyes."

His hands tightened at her waist.

"Yes, ma'am."

The rest of the argument never made it out of that room.

---

Much later, the clubhouse had quieted.

Not silent.

Never silent.

But the party had burned itself down to the stubborn few who apparently didn't understand when to go home.

She walked out of Angel's dorm first.

Hair slightly less cooperative than it had been when she'd arrived.

Angel followed a few seconds later.

She made it approximately six steps.

Coco was leaning against the bar.

He looked at her.

Then at Angel.

Then at her again.

His mouth slowly curved.

She stopped.

"Don't."

Coco raised both hands.

"Didn't say shit."

"Your face did."

Behind her, Angel muttered…

"That's what I fuckin' said."

She turned.

Angel immediately became fascinated by the ceiling.

Coco lost it.

She pointed at Angel.

"You wanna go back in there?"

His eyes snapped to hers.

There it was again.

That look.

She stared at him.

Angel stared back.

Coco looked between them.

"...Okay, whatever the fuck this is, I don't wanna be part of it."

He grabbed his beer and walked away.

Angel watched him go.

Then looked down at her.

"So."

"No."

"I didn't say anything."

"You were going to."

"I was gonna ask if you're still mad."

She considered him.

"A little."

"At me?"

She sighed.

"No."

Angel's shoulders relaxed.

"Good."

She stepped closer and straightened the front of his kutte where she'd wrinkled it.

"But if she comes near you again…"

Angel nodded solemnly.

"Fence."

She fought a smile.

"Good boy."

Angel froze.

She froze.

Oh.

No.

His eyes darkened.

Again.

She pointed at him.

"Absolutely fucking not."

"I didn't do anything!"

"Your face!"

"I can't help my face!"

She walked away.

Angel followed immediately.

"Baby."

"No."

"Come on."

"Bad idea, Reyes."

"Okay, but hear me out…"

"Angel."

He grinned.

She shook her head.

And this time, when he slipped an arm around her waist.. 

She let him.

------