But even if they did know, they’d still think it was a fluke, something I lucked my way into. They’d still consider me worthless, something less than a man. I was the black sheep of the family—well, more like the tiny sheep. They’d all been tall, broad, and well over six feet tall. I was short and skinny like Mom was, and ever since she walked out on us, Dad and my brothers had hated me. Like they could get back at Mom through me, since I took after her.
Well, I might be blood related to them, but I didn’t consider them family. Not anymore. Not since I joined Hell’s Ankhor and learned what a real family was all about.
“Hey, stick your head outside and grab the guys,” Jazz said, taking the frying pan off the stove. “At least the eggs look good.”
I nodded and stood up. As I walked toward the open back door, Jazz called, “And don’t say anything about the toast!”
I looked over my shoulder to tease him, stepping over the threshold onto the back porch—and walked directly into a broad, rock-hard chest, with muscles straining against a white button-up shirt.
Dante raised his eyebrows as he looked down his nose at me. His pale blue eyes stood out sharply against his light brown skin, and the stubble along his jaw made his gorgeous bone structure look even more defined. My stomach somersaulted. He was so fucking attractive it was—overwhelming. I simultaneously wanted to get closer and push him away.
I’d never been attracted to a guy like him before, huge and stoic and masculine, and honestly it kind of scared me. I had no fucking idea to do with this type of attraction, the intensity of the attraction, especially when at the same time, my stupid brain was yelling, run run run.
Something about Dante’s sharp gaze made my brain fucking short-circuit. My task completely forgotten, I stumbled a step backward into the clubhouse, putting space between us. Immediately my behavior at Ballast a couple weeks ago leaped to mind. I’d acted like such an embarrassment then, like a scared kid when all he’d been trying to do was give me a fucking cake he’d baked for me, and I was doing the same thing again.
Fuck. Shame flooded me, and I felt my cheeks heat with it. Even if I wanted to apologize, or just say something normal to Dante, I couldn’t face him with my embarrassment so visible. So I went with my MO—and I panicked instead.
“Sorry, I’ve got to—” I stammered. Dante’s eyes narrowed, and then flickered down my body, head to foot. It made me feel so exposed, and judged, that I couldn’t even get a full sentence out. I just turned on my heel and darted back upstairs, ignoring Jazz’s voice behind me.
I took refuge in my bedroom. I closed the door behind me and slumped back against it.
The look Dante had given me before I’d bolted was burned into my eyelids. It’d looked a lot like disbelief—like he couldn’t believe an established club like Hell’s Ankhor would let a scrawny, cowardly kid like me in its ranks. Like he could tell how weak and pathetic I was just by looking at me, and he was disgusted by it.
I tried to shake the feeling of shame off. I knew, logically, that I wasn’t weak—I was patched in, for God’s sake! I’d fucking tackled Crave off Jazz! I’d earned my patching-in. But I’d been called weak, pitiful, and less than for so long, it was hard to unhear it, even when no one was saying it.
Even if I knew in my mind that I wasn’t all of those things, my heart didn’t quite believe it. And seeing Dante look at me like that had woken up that old insecurity.
Fuck. I was usually able to keep a better grip on myself. I didn’t have much trouble with the strangers that popped into Ballast from time to time, and if I did, I was usually able to manage the reaction without having to bolt. But something about Dante’s discerning eyes made me feel so flustered—like he could see straight into my insecure heart.
And for some weird reason, I wanted him to like what he saw there.
I took a deep, ragged breath, wanting nothing more than to jump on my bike and lose myself on the winding roads around Elkin Lake for a while. But I was stuck here for now—Blade wanted to meet with me, and there was no way I was going to flake on that. The only thing I could do was get my anxiety under control and try to come up with a reasonable excuse for the way I’d literally sprinted from the room if I saw Dante again.
I scrubbed my hand over my forehead with a sigh. I had a feeling this day would only go downhill from here.
3
Dante
I stood in the doorway, half on the back porch and half in the clubhouse, as The Kid bolted so fast you’d think he’d been electrocuted. The change in him had been instantaneous: One second he was grinning over his shoulder at something in the kitchen, and as soon as he saw me—or ran into me, more like it—the pretty smile fell off his face and was replaced with something a lot closer to wide-eyed fear.
It was confusing, and also kind of sucked. What the hell had I done to make him so opposed to talking to me? It’s not like he wasn’t used to the big, tattooed biker types… or that he didn’t know looks could be deceiving. But whatever—if he wanted to steer clear, he’d be making my life a lot simpler.
Still, I let myself watch him as he scurried away. His jeans were tight on narrow hips, but despite his small frame he still had a bit of curve to his ass. It was small, but pert, perfectly sized to fit in my hands. I chewed on my lower lip thoughtfully.
In the kitchen, Tex cleared his throat. “You gonna come inside, or just stand there and stare?”
“Yes, go inside, please,” Raven said from behind me, holding the two boxes of muffins in his arms. “I can’t exactly squeeze by you. And I want to open these. Like, now.”
I huffed a laugh and stepped into the kitchen. Jazz was already pouring me a mug of coffee. As I walked over to accept it, he gave me a serious, narrow look. “I know what that face means.”
I met his gaze steadily. I wasn’t intimidated by Jazz, and I’d speak in this conversation the way I always did: respectfully, but honestly. “Is there a problem?”
“Watch yourself,” Jazz said seriously. “Heath’s one of our own. Make sure you respect his boundaries.”
I suppressed another laugh and took my mug of coffee from Jazz’s outstretched hands. “He’s made it exceedingly clear what he thinks of me,” I said. “I can take a hint.”
“Don’t fuck with him,” Jazz pressed.
I rolled my eyes. “I have no interest in the Kid.”
And I didn’t. Despite the fact he acted like I carried some plague, he was way too young for me, and I got the sense he might not have a ton of experience. As much as that pushed my buttons, I wasn’t going to get burned in that way again. I’d learned my lesson last time.
Raven snorted as he set the boxes of muffins on the kitchen island. “Right, none at all. That’s why you were frozen in the doorway drooling.” Before I could argue, though, Raven opened one of the boxes and nearly squealed with delight. “Did you make these this morning? Oh my god. They look amazing.”
“Of course I made them this morning,” I said, half joking and half genuinely offended. “I wouldn’t bring you day-olds like some kind of grocery store baker.”