8. Tempe

8

Tempe

Jameson grabs Austin’s bag out of the back of the truck, and I try not to notice how his arms flex with his grip. The same way I tried not to breathe him in when he stood so close I could feel the heat radiating off him. It was like the earth in the middle of summer, all while he held my door open.

This man throws my senses off balance.

Studying Jameson from the other side of the truck, I can’t figure him out.

He doesn’t trust me, but he’s helping me.

He hates how I talk back, but it cracks through his cold demeanor.

He doesn’t seem to care what people think of him, but he still tries to hide the fact that he smokes with cinnamon gum and cologne.

Nothing about him makes sense, and I wish my mind would stop nagging me to figure him out .

Jameson circles the truck with Austin’s bag slung over his shoulder, and his gaze pauses on where a sliver of my stomach is showing. It’s clear this curiosity goes both ways, but we won’t act on it.

I know better than to let myself go there with a man like him, and his immediate scowl is proof he hates himself for showing interest.

Still, something about Jameson intrigues me. He adjusts his cut and his T-shirt stretches with his strong shoulders. A man bred from danger, and yet, he makes me feel safe.

He shouldn’t.

If he decides I’m the enemy, I have no doubt he’ll make me suffer.

“Let’s go.” Steel tips his chin at the house.

It’s nicer than I expected for being located on the Twisted Kings compound. The gray siding is highlighted with white shutters and brightened by the flowerpots on the porch.

There are a few houses on this stretch of dirt road, but they’re spaced apart, and it’s quiet out here. Off at a distance, I can make out the clubhouse in the desert, but it’s far enough away that I can’t hear anything. There’s room to breathe. It’s desolate, but I don’t mind it.

“This is your house?”

“Yep.” He unlocks the door and waits for me and Austin to walk in before following. “But I don’t crash here often.”

“Of course you don’t,” I mumble.

“Meaning? ”

I didn’t think I was loud enough for him to hear me, but I’m starting to learn there isn’t much that Jameson misses.

“I’m just not surprised.” I shrug. “No time to stay in your actual house when the clubhouse is so… convenient? You forget half my DNA came from a man like you. God forbid you care about something more than the Twisted Kings for five seconds.”

“I’m nothing like Helix.” Steel’s voice drops, and I realize I’ve hit a sore spot.

“I’m not saying you don’t have your differences,” I clarify. “But a biker is a biker. Nothing matters more than the patch on your cut. Regardless of who has to live with that sacrifice. At least you’re smart enough not to have kids who you’ll just disappoint... You don’t, do you?”

Jameson shakes his head, looking more confused now than anything, even as I’m insulting him.

“Good.” I smooth my fingers over my shirt, realizing I’m rambling. “Maybe consider keeping it that way for their sake.”

He stares at me for a moment, probably trying to decide what to make of my word vomit.

“You’re awfully judgmental for someone who met me yesterday.”

I shrug because he’s not wrong. “Be less of an asshole, and maybe I’ll get a different opinion.”

“Says the girl who broke into my clubhouse.”

“Can’t break in if all the doors were open. ”

Jameson’s eyes narrow, but there’s amusement in his gaze. A showdown we both keep walking into, and I wish I didn’t like fighting with him as much as I do.

I press my lips together, and his leather scent floods my nose with my inhale, making me realize we’re somehow now face-to-face. My neck is craned back to look up at him. I don’t know when we got so close, but our gravitational rage pulled us together.

“Do you have a pool?” Austin pops up beside us, breaking the tension.

I take a step back and get some air while Jameson closes the front door before looking down at Austin. “Nope.”

“It’s March. You don’t need a pool.” I pat Austin on the head.

“But summer’s hot.”

“We won’t still be here this summer.”

Austin frowns, probably disappointed because this is exactly how Mom operated, shuffling him from one place to the next.

It’s just one more reason that I need to find a way to create stability for my brother once we leave here.

“Jameson, is that you?” A woman’s voice comes from the top of the stairs, and when I look up, I see her peeking over the railing. “Oh my, we have guests.”

She hurries down the staircase, tucking her gray hair behind her ears as she does. She twists her strands around one of her hands and then uses a clip to pin it back. The woman has the same gray eyes as Jameson, but unlike his stone-cold gaze, hers is warm .

“You didn’t tell me people were coming over.” She squeezes his arm when she reaches the bottom of the stairs.

“Tempe, this is my grandma.” Jameson nods at her. “Grandma, this is Tempe and her brother, Austin.”

“Tempe, what a beautiful name.” She reaches for a hug and pulls me in, being the exact opposite of her standoffish grandson. “You don’t hear that often. The last Tempe I met was—”

“Helix’s kid.” Jameson finishes her sentence.

She pulls back and looks at me, her eyes widening. “Oh my, I haven’t seen you since you were two. You’re all grown up.”

Her eyes dart between me and Jameson.

“Long story,” he says.

“I’m sure it is.” But she doesn’t seem worried about it. Stepping back, she looks down at my brother. “You must be Austin.”

He curls against my leg and nods.

It takes him time to warm up to people. Which is why I’m surprised he’s been so comfortable around Jameson today. It’s rare he’ll talk to a stranger until he has time to assess them, but he’s already his bossy little self with the president of the most feared MC on the West Coast.

“It’s nice to meet you, Austin. I’m Pearl, Jameson’s grandma.”

“I’m hungry,” he says back.

“Austin, that’s not polite.” I brush his cheek with my hand. “Sorry about that, he hasn’t had breakfast. ”

“It’s no problem, dear.” She waves me off, reaching her hand out toward Austin. “How about I get you some breakfast? You can help me cook if you like.”

“Pancakes?” he asks her.

“Of course.” She leans down to whisper, even if we can all hear her, “They’re my grandson’s favorite.”

She juts a thumb in Jameson’s direction and smiles at Austin, who is still holding my leg. He looks from Pearl to Jameson, and it isn’t until Jameson nods at him that he lets go and takes Pearl’s hand.

I can’t figure out why Austin trusts him, but he does. And as much as Jameson pisses me off, I’m starting to wish I could trust him as well. He might be dangerous, but in the past twenty-four hours, the men outside these gates have done worse to me than the Twisted Kings.

“We’re going to make some breakfast,” Pearl announces, looking down at Austin as she leads him toward the kitchen. “I like your cape.”

He swishes it out with his free hand. “It’s my invisibility. But don’t worry, it’s off now. You can see me.”

“Well, good because you’re a handsome young fellow to look at.”

They disappear around the corner, and I’m still frozen in place, recovering from the whiplash of going from the clubhouse to this. A home that feels nearly suburban on the inside. The warm greeting of a woman, unlike the glares from the patch bunnies in the kitchen.

The two environments are night and day. Jameson Steel might be the most confusing man I’ve ever met .

My eyebrows pinch as I look up at him. “You live with your grandma?”

He sighs, scratching his jaw. “She lives with me.”

I can’t help but smile because the entire scene is so out of left field for a leather-wearing biker, it’s hilarious. “That’s… sweet. Guess there’s a human beneath that president patch after all.”

“Don’t get any fucking ideas, wildfire.” He shakes his head, tossing Austin’s bag over his shoulder. “I’ll show you to your rooms.”

Jameson leads me up the staircase, which is lined with photos I assume are of his family members. The men have Jameson’s strong, square jawline. And the women have a familiar fierce intensity in their gazes.

I suppose being a strong woman is necessary to spend time here.

On the upper level of the house is a long hallway with four bedrooms and a bathroom.

“This one’s my grandma’s room, and that’s her crafting room.” He points from the first door to the second, stopping at the two at the end of the hall. “You and Austin can have these two.”

Jameson drops the bag inside one, standing in the doorway watching me as I make my way into the other.

It’s small but surprisingly decorated. The curtains let in light but keep the harsh sunbeams out. The bed in the center has a large quilt stretched across it with vines and a sunflower stitched into it.

Spinning around, I find Jameson propped against the doorframe, watching me. “Where’s your room? ”

“Downstairs.” He juts his chin toward the staircase. “But like I said, I don’t usually stay here.”

I hum, scanning the room once more. “Understood.”

“Tempe.” Jameson steps into the room, dropping his voice slightly, and my chest tightens when he gets close.

He dips his chin and drags his fingers through his hair, thinking over something.

“Yeah?”

His gray stare darts to mine. “Tell me you aren’t like your father.”

Doubt flashes in his gaze. Vulnerability I’m guessing he doesn’t often show when, in his business, it could cost him his life.

“I’m not like my father.” I stare into his eyes and try to convince him it’s the truth, even though I’m sure it’s hard for him to accept, given how I came here. “I’m just trying to survive for me and my brother, Jameson. I didn’t want anything to do with this. I promise I’m not working against you or your club. I just want my life back. And I just want to give Austin his.”

He nods. “All right then.”

“Do you believe me?”

“I’d like to, which is why I’m letting you stay here with my only living family.” He wipes his palm down his face. “Don’t make me regret trusting you.”

Trust .

It’s a fragile concept between the two of us.

He doesn’t want to trust me because of my bloodline, and I don’t want to trust him because of his club. But right now, we have no choice .

“I won’t.”

“I’ve gotta take care of some business, but I’ll have a prospect pick you up in time for work.”

“You aren’t staying for breakfast?”

He shakes his head. “No time. I’ll grab something later.”

I get the feeling that’s not unusual for him, but I don’t say anything. I’ve already got enough responsibility with a little brother to raise. I’m not taking more on. Especially a biker who makes my body question why I’ve spent my life avoiding them in the first place.