Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 43787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
“Someone leave a mess, sweetheart?” I ask reading her like a fucking book.
Quickly realizing her mistake, she rolls her shoulders back. “No, it’s fine. I’m fine. Everything is fine. I’ll get it cleaned up.” She gives a half-hearted smile, “just need to get back to work if you don’t mind.”
“This drive you got, is that why your grandfather backed your business?”
Her lips press together like she doesn’t want to answer, but after a pause, she does. “No, he did it because he believes in me."
Something about the way she says it makes me pause. She’s got a quiet strength in her, a fire under all that soft.
I like that, too.
"You keep baking your cakes, sweetheart," I murmur, leaning just a little closer, my voice dropping just enough to make her breath hitch again. "And we’ll keep making sure nothing happens to your pretty little shop."
Her fingers tighten on the counter again, but this time, I see something flicker in her eyes that’s not just frustration.
It’s intrigue.
And that turns me the fuck on.
The clubhouse isn’t some hole-in-the-wall dive bar like people probably expect. It’s an old warehouse for the port, built back when this town was still figuring out what the hell it wanted to be. Thick steel beams hold up the ceiling, rusted just enough to remind you this place has been standing longer than any of us. Concrete floors, exposed brick, massive rolling doors at the back that lead right to the dock where shipments come in at all hours.
We’ve converted parts of it—meeting rooms, a bar, a handful of private rooms for brothers who need a place to crash. But the heart of the Kings beats in the main hall, where the long wooden table stands in the center, Kings’ insignia crown carved deep into the wood. Anarchy reigns in all of us.
My office is off to the side, tucked in a quieter section of the warehouse. Not that there’s ever true quiet in a place like this.
I drop into the chair behind my desk, stretching out my legs as I rub a hand over my jaw. That girl—Alaina—she’s got me thinking. And I don’t like that.
She’s soft in a way that’s foreign to me. Too sweet for the kind of life I live.
But that breathless look she had when I leaned in close?
Yeah. That wasn’t innocent.
Before I can let my mind go any further down that road, my burner phone buzzes on the desk. I pick it up, glancing at the number before answering.
Kane-South Carolina Charter flickers on the display.
I flip it open. "Yeah."
A familiar voice comes through, low and sure. Kane, the VP of the South Carolina chapter, and I go way back.
"Got a schedule to go over with you," he says, casual as hell, like we’re just discussing dock logistics.
I lean back in my chair, glancing at the shipping schedule pinned on the wall beside me. "Go ahead."
"Shipment’s coming in from down south," Kane continues, keeping it vague, just like we always do on the phone. "Need it processed through your port. Gonna be a mixed load—same as last time."
"Same volume?"
"Little more."
I make a note. Details matter. Too much weight can throw off everything especially if the Coast Guard pulls the boat before it’s docked or if Customs decides to audit us.
“Got a time frame?" I ask looking at the calendar.
"Four weeks. Should be packed and ready to move within a day of hitting your docks."
Tight window. Standard procedure. The Kings don’t let product sit.
"You contact my carrier yet or you want me to?"
"Working on it," Kane replies. "Might use the same route we did back in March need to verify they can do it. Seemed smooth sailing."
I consider that. The last run we did through that route went smooth, but it wasn’t without risk. Border patrol’s been nosing around some of the coastal drop points lately. We’ll need a contingency plan.
"Keep me posted," I tell him. "I’ll have space cleared when it lands. You need extra hands?"
"Nah, we’re covered." A pause. "We all good over there? Heard about the mess the other night."
My jaw tightens. I get why we as a club whole need to share any threat to any club, but I hate that it’s mine on the radar.
"We’re handling it," I say flatly.
Kane exhales. "You sure?"
"If I wasn’t, you’d already know."
Another pause. Kane’s smart. He knows when to push, and when to back off. "Fair enough, you need us, we roll out," he finally says. "I’ll send the manifest through the usual way. Keep your boys sharp."
"Always."
The line clicks off.
I close the burner and set it back down, staring at the shipping schedule pinned to the wall.
Four weeks.
Another load coming in. Another job to do.
Business as usual.
But my mind isn’t on the shipment. It’s still back at a tiny shop, tangled up in a woman who should be nothing more than a baker who smells sweet with a pretty face.