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Dracus cocks an eyebrow, smirking. “There’s nothing you can tell us that we don’t already know, kiddo.”
“Yeah?” I challenge, crossing my arms. “Pretty sure you don’t know this.” I take a deep breath. “Bama and I . . . we’re seeing each other.”
They exchange looks, silent communication passing between them.
My dad, Bolt, chuckles first, shaking his head. “Figured that out when he beat the shit outta Blake at The Rusty Nail.”
“Wait, what?” I’m taken aback, eyes narrowing. “How did you even hear about that?”
“Ripper and Bama let Zane and Blackjack know,” Tex answers, flipping a burger. “There could have been or still be repercussions from The Commander, so they couldn’t keep it to themselves.”
“Why would that matter?” I ask, trying to piece it together, tension coiling tighter in my chest.
My Dad, Dracus, speaks up. His tone low and serious. “Blake Ojai is The Commander’s grandson,”
Shock hits me like a punch. Blake’s identity, Bama telling Zane and Blackjack without warning me. Irritation bubbles up, hot and fierce.
“Uh-oh,” My Pops, Tex, jokes, probably noticing the fire in my eyes.
“Uh-oh is right,” I mutter, scanning the yard until I spot Bama. There he is, sitting at a picnic table, oblivious, chewing on a burger.
He’s totally clueless about the storm heading his way.
“Jordyn . . .” My dad, Bolt, starts, but I’m already moving, each step fueled by a mix of disbelief and anger.
“Time for a little chat, Bama,” I mutter under my breath, closing the distance.
I march across the grass, the heat pounding down on me like a relentless hammer.
The pool sparkles behind the clubhouse, an oasis in this blistering hellscape.
Water splashes as kids dive in, laughter ringing out. But none of that matters right now.
“Jordyn, wait!” My dad, Dracus, calls after me, but I don’t slow down.
My boots crunch against the gravel path leading to the picnic area.
Each step fuels my anger, every breath stoking the fire inside me.
Bama finally looks up, his ocean blue eyes meeting mine.
His smile fades as he registers the fury on my face.
He sets the burger down slowly, wiping his hands on a napkin. “Hey, Jordyn, what’s?—”
“Don’t ‘hey’ me,” I cut him off, planting my hands on the table, leaning in close. “Why didn’t you tell me about Blake? Or why didn’t you tell me that you told Zane and Blackjack about what happened that night at the bar, hmm?”
His face pales, and he glances around, probably hoping for backup.
Tough luck, buddy. This is between us. “I was gonna tell you, just needed the right time.”
“Right time?” I hiss. “Do you think keeping me in the dark was the right thing to do?”
“No, it wasn’t,” he mutters, his voice barely audible over the sounds of the party.
“Then why the hell didn’t you say anything? Do you have any idea how dangerous this could be for all of us, especially me?” My voice rises, drawing a few curious glances, but I don’t care. Let them watch.
“Look, I’m sorry,” Bama says, running a hand through his curly hair. “I was trying to protect you, okay? Didn’t want you getting hurt.”
