Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

Jordyn

Billings is a scorcher today.

Sweat drips down my back, plastering my tank top to my skin.

The sun's relentless, turning the clubhouse yard into an inferno.

Not that we expected it, but hell, here we are, the guys scrambling to open up the pool behind the clubhouse.

The water glistens like salvation itself. A few of the kids are already splashing about, their laughter cutting through the heavy air.

I catch sight of Bama lounging by the edge, beer in hand, shooting the shit with Zorro and Rosa.

His laugh carries over, rough around the edges but genuine.

But I'm not here for fun or to cool off.

My mind's got other fires to put out.

I spot my three dads—Tex, Bolt, and Dracus—clustered together near the grill, flipping burgers and chatting among themselves.

They're a sight, all leather and tattoos, intimidating as ever.

But then again, they raised me. I know better than anyone that under their terrifying demeanor, they're just big softies.

"Hey," I call out, walking up to them.

My voice steady, masking the churn in my gut. "I need to talk to you guys."

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."

"Protect me?" I scoff, straightening up, crossing my arms. "I'm not some damsel in distress, Bama. We're supposed to be partners in this. Equals. How can we be that if you keep shit from me?"

"Jordyn, please," he starts, but I hold up a hand to silence him.

"Save it. We need to talk. Now." My tone leaves no room for argument, and he knows it.

"All right," he agrees, standing up, squaring his shoulders. "Let's talk."

"Good," I say, spinning on my heel and heading toward a quieter spot.

Bama follows closely, and though I can feel the tension radiating off him, I don't slow down.

This conversation is long overdue, and we're going to settle it once and for all.

It's crazy how today is supposed to be about happiness and celebrating my cousin's graduation, but all I can seem to think about is why the hell Bama would keep something like this from me?

Sure, I get that club business is club business.

I understand the politics of the club life.

Trust me, I get it because I've grown up around it my whole life . . . but him keeping me in the dark didn't just piss me off, it hurt me.

He and I need to have a long discussion about what's going to be acceptable in our relationship and what isn't.

I'm not an asshole here. I understand he's a prospect and he has to prove himself, but the man has already gotten shot for the club.

Trust me, Zane knows that his loyalty is exactly where it should be.

I just wish I felt a little bit of that loyalty too.