CHAPTER FOUR

Kyle—

Rafe catches up to me at my bike.

"Hey, man. Wait up. I wanted to talk to you about something else."

Apprehension fills me, wondering what he wants now. I drag in a slow breath and exhale, then turn to face him. "What's that?"

"It's about Sutton."

My gaze strays to the house. "What about her?"

"She needs a job. I wanted to ask if you could give her one."

"Me?" Just the thought of being with her for hours every day sends terror through me. How in the hell would I stand it?

"Now that you've got that food truck, you're your own boss, so you could hire her. Besides, you're always sayin' it's hard to keep a good employee."

"Rafe, I don't know. I'm just getting the business off the ground. Money's tight, and it's not like I can pay her much." My brain scrambles for any excuse I can think of, but even to my ears, it sounds like I'm clutching at straws.

"I think she's just looking for something to occupy her day. Being new to town, she's spending a lot of time sitting around the place, waiting for me to get back."

"Why the hell would she want to do this kind of work?"

"She told me she has fast food and restaurant experience. She'd be perfect for you."

"And what happens if she screws up, and I have to fire her? How awkward is that going to be?" Terror settles into my gut.

"You won't have to fire her, Kyle. She'll be a great worker."

"And how would you know?"

"I feel it in my bones."

"Great. I should hire all my employees based on whether or not my brother gets a feeling in his bones."

"Quit being a wiseass. If she doesn't work out, she doesn't work out. No hard feelings. Just help me out here."

"I'm helpin' you out a lot lately."

"Come on, Kyle."

"She know you're out here askin' me this?"

He glances toward the house. "No, man. I mean, I didn't say I was going to ask you tonight. I just figured, why wait?"

"So, what does that mean? Does she want to work on a food truck?"

"Probably."

"Probably?" I huff. "You haven't asked her about this, have you?"

He wobbles his head. "Not exactly. When she told me she'd worked in the food service industry before, I figured it'd be perfect."

I give a heavy sigh and throw my leg over my bike. "I'll think about it. That's the best I can give you right now."

He nods. "That's all I'm asking."

"You don't ask for much, do ya?" With that, I fire up my bike and pull out, heading home. Jesus Christ. Has he lost his mind? There's no way I can work with Sutton day in and day out. Maybe I won't have to give him an answer. Maybe when Rafe fills her in, she'll blow her top and tell him off. Right now, I think my best plan of action is to ignore it and avoid Rafe for the next few days, until this ridiculous scheme of his sputters out.

I make a couple turns and hit East San Antonio Street, heading west, and finally I pull into my own drive, dog-tired and dragging as I go up the steps of the front porch.

I live in a small house a lot like Rafe's, but it's in a nicer neighborhood with tree-lined sidewalks, and this place was built in the 1930s.

My place has a red brick patio in front and a massive stone chimney climbing the wall. Walking in the door, the living room is on the right, the big fireplace taking up a good portion of the front wall. Like Rafe's place, I've got the original hardwood floors. The living room leads to a dining room with French doors that open to a flagstone patio and built-in planter boxes. My place may not have the architectural details and charm of my brother's, but the outdoor space makes up for it. The lush landscaping makes for a peaceful oasis—one I use often to unwind for the club.

I grab a beer from the fridge and sit at the glass table on the deck and listen to the crickets. Leaning back, I can't see a lot of stars, what with the populated area, but there's a pretty crescent moon hanging on the horizon.

I think about my brother. We'd been inseparable growing up. We did everything together, even prospected the club together. When you saw one, you saw the other. Until that fateful day at Gigi's tattoo shop. He went out to check the alley, and I let him go alone. I can still hear the gunfire. Crushing guilt has followed me every moment of every day since I ran out and found him on the ground, blood pouring from his head. Every day since, I've felt a huge responsibility for my brother settle on my shoulders. I've routinely sacrificed my own dreams, needs, and wants for the sake of making life easier for Rafe.

He won't admit it, but he's been different since that day. His personality has shifted a bit, and he doesn't seem as sure of himself. Even my parents won't admit anything is wrong. But I know. He's not the same guy.

I also know what I've been doing. I'm self-aware enough to see it. I've been feeling sorry for Rafe, afraid to ‘leave' him, afraid to push him to do the things he used to do. Rafe was the most confident, self-assured guy I knew—at least in my age bracket. He never second guessed a single decision. Now, he's afraid to make a decision.

That's why the whole thing with Sutton has been so shocking. I'm surprised he asked her to move in. It was a big step. Huge. And he made it with no more thought than a snap of his fingers. At the time, I thought maybe he knew a good thing when he saw it.

But he doesn't seem as connected to her as I thought. It's like he's holding her at a distance, like she's a passing fling. And I hate it.

I wonder if she's, in a way, doing the same thing I have: afraid to leave him. Perhaps she's staying with Rafe, even though he's not the right man for her.

Fucking stop thinking about it, Kyle.

I down my beer and stroll into my bedroom, stopping at the dresser and pulling my club rings off to drop them in the silver tray where I keep them. I sling my leather cut off and hang it over the chair in the corner. Stripping down, I drop into bed, exhaustion heavy on my bones. Stacking my hands under my head, I stare at the ceiling, my mind filled with images of Sutton.

She looked real pretty in the courtyard patio at Joey's. That place has been around since the eighties and has become a legendary drinking establishment. I think it makes most of its money on bike night.

I had to really struggle to keep my eyes off her with her blonde curls gleaming in the moonlight. All I wanted to do was sink my hands into those soft tresses and carry them to my nose, inhaling their fragrance. Would they smell like coconut shampoo? Or maybe something more exotic?

Closing my eyes, I grit my teeth and remind myself for the hundredth time she's my brother's girl. I try to block the images of her from my mind, but it's no use. My brain won't shut off.

Images of the two of us in the food truck, working side by side, fill my head. It's cramped quarters, with no way to escape each other. We'd have to work together well, or it'd be a living hell. Fuck, why am I tormenting myself with these thoughts?

Jesus Christ, shut up about it. You cannot even think of hiring this girl. It would be a disaster of monumental proportions. The temptation to cross the line with her would be ever-present, and I can't do that. She's the one girl I absolutely cannot have. No one fucks around and steals their brother's girl.

It's bad enough he's my biological brother, but he's also my MC brother, and that shit for sure is not done in the club.

So, why do I keep thinking about it?

I roll to my side and punch my pillow. There's no way she can work for me. I have to make sure that's clear.