8. Kray

8

KRAY

A s soon as Cleo drives around the corner, I get on my bike and follow.

She’s hidden herself away all day and my need to be close to her is overwhelming.

Cleo fills my thoughts, her image swirling around in my brain and driving me to distraction. I had to get out of the apartment and to the only thing that will soothe me—my bike.

If Cleo doesn’t want to spend time with me, fine. But that doesn’t mean I won’t spend time with her. Besides, I’m curious to see where she’s going and if she’s meeting anyone.

My fingers grip the handlebars hard at the thought. If she’s meeting another man, I’ll lose it. But somehow, I don’t think she is.

I slow down as I turn into the main street of town. A guy my size always gets attention, and I slipped off my MC jacket so I would blend in more.

Luckily, the streets are too busy with Christmas shoppers and revelers for anyone to notice me.

I spot Cleo’s car parked up farther and pull into a place half a block away.

I scan the street but there’s no sign of Cleo. There’s an uneasiness in my gut. I don’t like her being out with so many people around. Anything could happen to my girl.

There’s a bar near where I park the bike, and a rowdy group of people are singing along to Christmas carols. I push open the door and scan the dark room. There are a few men at the bar nursing beers and a large group that has taken over the karaoke machine. It looks like an office party that started way too early if everyone’s already drunk in the afternoon.

Thankfully, Cleo isn’t in there.

I pass a pet shop, which I doubt she’s gone into, and the next store is a cafe. I peer in the window, squinting to see around the frosted decorations on the glass and the Santa display.

My heart leaps into my throat when I see a man slide an arm around a woman with short dark hair, but the height is all wrong. The woman turns to speak to the man, and it’s not Cleo.

Relief floods me, but so does a new sense of urgency to find her.

A few doors up from the cafe is a bakery. The door opens and Cleo comes out. I duck behind a blow-up Santa display in front of a toy shop.

Cleo’s carrying a paper bag full of something from the bakery. There’re too many to have on her own, so she must be taking them to someone. If it’s a man, I’ll shove the donuts or whatever the fuck she’s bringing him down his throat.

With jealous rage searing through me, I stalk down the street, nearly bumping into a kid carrying a giant stuffed reindeer.

“Sorry,” I mutter.

I unclench my fists and take a deep breath. I’m this jealous over the thought of Cleo meeting another man and I’m not even sure that’s what she’s doing. I’m really losing it. The guys at the clubhouse would give me shit for sure.

Cleo continues up the road, and I follow from a safe distance, my feelings in check.

Usually, I’d stand out in a town this size, but with all the Christmas shoppers, no one notices a big, bearded man in biking leathers. Cleo turns down a street and goes into a building a few doors down.

It’s a plain-looking concrete building with a wooden plaque out front and a few business names on it.

The door closes behind her, and I step forward to read the plaque. There are a few businesses in the building, but the one I recognize is:

Manifieste Una Espléndida Vida Exitosa

It’s MUEVE, the charity that Cleo told me about.

The charity for helping young foster adults get back into society. The place where Cleo volunteers.

My heart melts, and I fall in love a little bit more. It’s two days to Christmas, and instead of drinking and partying and overspending, my girl is spending all her spare time helping others. And she’s bought them baked goods.

My girl is a fucking saint.