Chapter Twenty Two

THE UPS DRIVER WAVED and pushed the dolly out the door of Havlin Motorcycle Parts shop. Jagger glanced over the invoice and grabbed the tape dispenser. Sticking the paper on the closest shelving unit behind the counter, he checked the time.

As he slid his phone back into his pocket, Bane and Dio walked in from the clubhouse. He lifted his chin. "Just in time."

"I saw the truck head down to the coffee shop." Bane walked over to the stack of boxes. "Sweet. The mufflers from Alport came in."

"Are you switching over?" Dio removed the top box from the stack.

"Yeah. You?"

"Not yet." Dio chuckled. "I've sunk enough money into my ride. I'm thinking about upgrading."

Bane whistled. "Wrong time of the year, bro."

"It's always the wrong time."

Jagger walked over to the door, stuck his head out, and looked down the sidewalk. Katrina had gone to the coffee shop to grab two drinks a half hour ago. Five minutes after she'd left, she'd texted him that she was talking to Cora during her break and would get their coffee when she finished.

Not a woman who gabbed or hung out with other girls, he wondered if everything was okay. Katrina had an attitude about her father's side of the family, considering they had nothing to do with her growing up.

Deep down, he suspected she feared being judged. She associated flaws with imperfections and had the belief there was a defect about her that kept people from loving her.

She was good at keeping shallow relationships. All the bikers back in Beaverton bent over backward to include her, but she had a way of sabotaging any friendship as a knee-jerk response to fear.

Fear of losing others.

"Maverick's here," yelled Dio.

Jagger shut the door. "The invoice is taped on the shelf. Go ahead and get the orders reboxed and ready to ship out. Make sure each one has been charged. The damn prospects keep putting the charges down as being billed."

Maverick cleared his throat. "Katrina's at the coffee shop."

"Yeah. She texted me." He lugged a box into the back. "Where's Wire?"

"He's on the crew out searching for Ruger." Dio cut the tape on the cardboard. "So is Rush and Cord."

"I need to pick up Skye at school in fifteen minutes." Maverick ripped off a piece of paper and wrote on it before putting it in the box. "I'll be back and help you finish up afterward."

"Did Skye tell you she called me yesterday," asked Dio.

Maverick never stopped packing. "Why the hell would she do that?"

"Don't know. She asked me a bunch of questions and then disconnected the call."

Maverick looked at Dio. "What questions?"

"I had to name four places to live, four cars, name four girls and pick a number between one and ten. Then she told me to say stop when I felt like it." Dio shrugged. "Crazy convo."

"MASH," muttered Jagger.

"What?" Dio dropped the box at his feet.

"That's why Skye was asking you those questions." He sat on the stool. "It's a little girl's game they play at school—Mansion, Apartment, Shack, House. Then they find out who they're going to marry, where they'll live, what do you drive, and what kind of job they'll have."

"What did the fucking numbers mean?" asked Dio.

"How many kids you'll have."

Bane laughed. Maverick shook his head. Dio frowned.

Jagger held it together in front of the others, remembering the day Katrina came home from school and asked him all the questions—except after asking him the questions several times, her name was never chosen. She threw the notepad on the ground and tipped over the chair in her rush to run out of the clubhouse, heartbroken.

He had picked up her notepad and played the game by himself. Except he'd cheated.

He circled the following words.

House. Oregon. Katrina. Two. Biker. Harley

The next day, when she found the note, she ran out of Mama Sue's house and almost mowed him down as he walked to his motorcycle. She'd dropped the piece of paper in her wild dash of excitement. He still carried the game's results a decade later in his wallet.

The door chimed. He raised his gaze and soaked in Katrina, walking toward him and carrying two cold coffees.

"Hey, guys." She put the drinks on the counter, leaned over, and puckered her lips in Jagger's direction.

He cocked his brow and made no move to kiss her. She slapped his chest and then fisted his vest, pulling herself over the counter and stealing a kiss.

"Why are you in a bad mood?" She jumped off the counter.

He walked around the counter, took her hand, and led her out of the shop. On the sidewalk, he backed her up against the building.

Then, he buried his face into her neck. "I don't want you away from my side that long again."

Anything could've happened. Ruger could've come back and taken her away from him.

Katrina's small hand slid over his neck, holding him to her. "Nothing, and nobody will ever take me from you."

He shuddered. Every fucking second waiting for Ruger was filled with dread. He'd prepared, planned, and even looked forward to the punishment headed his way. But he still couldn't wrap his head around the possibility of losing her.

Something had to give. He wouldn't last much longer.

"It'll be okay," she whispered.

He straightened, squeezing the back of her neck. Around the others, he hid his weaknesses. If his enemies discovered that one woman could bring him to his knees, they would find a way to use Kat against him.

Even his own men could use the information to take away the president's seat within the club.

As loyal and strong Havlin Motorcycle club was, they were still men looking out for themselves. He had no time to rest or second guess himself.