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“Dracus seemed pretty tense.” It’s Blackjack again, this time coming into the garage with his newspaper in hand.
His gaze is sharp, cutting through the haze of exhaust.
“Yeah,” I mutter, focusing on the wrench in my hand. “He’s just worried about Jordyn.”
“Always is,” Blackjack says, more to himself than anyone else. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s worried about Nova too, but Jordyn and Dracus have a special father-daughter relationship.”
“Yeah.” I’ve seen that kind of love before—rare, fierce, and consuming. Makes you do crazy things. “Is he her biological father, or do they not know?”
Jordyn’s Mom is with three dudes, almost like they’re brother husbands. You know, instead of sister wives.
Blackjack shrugs. “I’m not sure. She looks like Bolt more than anyone else.”
I nod, hearing his words. I didn’t ask for any specific reason other than the fact I’m nosey as hell.
The wrench slips from my fingers, clattering against the concrete floor.
I curse under my breath, bending to pick it up.
When I straighten, I catch Zane watching from the doorway, arms crossed, face unreadable.
“Heard you picked Jordyn up this morning,” he says, voice low but carrying. “Good on you for showin’ up when one of the ladies needed help. We take care of our own around here.”
“Yeah, I did. I’ll do anything for the club, Prez, whether it’s picking one of the ladies up or scrubbin’ toilets. I’m here to prove myself to y’all,” I repeat, meeting his gaze head-on.
For Jordyn, I’d walk through fire, but no one knows that.
Somehow, I feel like last night changed everything between us, and I hope it did.
“Good.” He nods, finally turning away. “Now get back to work.”
“On it,” I say, gripping the wrench tighter.
I will bust my ass for however long I have to until I prove myself to the club. My ultimate goal is to get patched in, and I will.
I’ve already taken a bullet for the club, and I’d gladly do it again.
As I dive back into the familiar routine, I can’t shake the sense that today is anything but ordinary.
Maybe it means things are going to change for the better, and I hope it does.
CHAPTER THREE
Jordyn
The broom scrapes against the floor, the sound grating on my nerves.
I push it back and forth, collecting the last remnants of the day’s chaos into a neat pile.
Tara’s already flipping chairs onto tables, her movements quick and precise.
“Almost done here,” she calls out, glancing over her shoulder at me.
Her eyes are sharp as if she’s been chewing on something all day and hasn’t decided whether she likes the taste.
“Got it,” I mutter, dragging the dustpan over to scoop up the dirt.
The smell of coffee and pastries still lingers in the air, mingling with the scent of cleaning supplies.
