“I know.”

My chest had tightened with the first warning. It was hard to breathe now.

Scratch straightened, check in hand. When a few of the bikers came to the alley, looking down at us, Scratch shoved it into my hand. “Time to go, Bren.”

“Wait. What about a receipt?”

“Get her the fuck away from here,” Scratch said under his breath.

Jordan moved ahead of Taz, saying, “We’ll give it to him later.”

“But, my car—”

“We’ll come back for it later.” His hands found her shoulders, and he began walking her backward, all the way to his truck.

The bikers watched us. They didn’t approach.

Cross and I were almost to my Jeep, but I paused a few feet away. “You need backup?”

Scratch waved us on. “Just go. Your brother usually gets it handled. We’ll be fine.”

Cross glanced to me, but I did as my cousin instructed. We drove to the end of the block and circled around with Jordan’s truck behind us. Zellman had jumped into the cab, and I could see Taz’s hands in the air. The pink tote sat on her lap. A stuffed flamingo sat on top, and she had to keep moving to see around it.

Half the bikers were still outside. Another four joined them.

Cross said quietly, “That’s an entire motorcycle club.”

My mouth was dry. “I know.”

“Scratch said they’d be okay?”

I didn’t know what to say. So far my brother and cousin hadn’t needed to wade in against an MC, but this group usually came to party or relax. They were on edge today.

I didn’t have a good feeling.

I turned left on the road, away from them. And when we got to the main street through Roussou, I turned right.

We were going to Manny’s.

Cross got on the phone, relaying the plan to Jordan and Zellman.

Though, to be honest, there wasn’t much of a plan. I was just going to see Heather. If Channing was in trouble, besides myself and his crew, she was the only other person I knew to reach out to. I didn’t know what she could do, but she might at least know what to do or not to do. I trusted her. If she said not to be worried, I wouldn’t, but I had a bad enough feeling in my gut to go the extra mile and ask her opinion.

Heather’s house was behind Manny’s, so I parked in the back. Jordan pulled in behind me, and as everyone got out, I said to Cross, “Grab your sister and take her into Manny’s. See if Heather is there.”

“I need to get my car,” I heard Taz saying. “What if those bikers trash it? Mom will be so mad, Cross.”

I headed up to the front porch of Heather’s house and knocked once on the screen. Sometimes Heather’s brother was here, sometimes he wasn’t. I didn’t hear anyone inside, but the front door was open, and the screen door wasn’t locked. I rattled on it again.

“Heather! Are you in there?”

A door slammed shut behind me, and I whirled.

It was Brandon, Heather’s brother, holding a trash bag and standing at the back door of Manny’s.

“She’s in here,” he yelled. “What’s going on?” Brandon was older than Heather and Channing, but he still looked young. He was probably close to his thirties.

“I just gotta ask her something.”

“Okay.” He waved over his shoulder, dropping the trash at the same time. “You want me to send her out?” He frowned, staring at me a little harder. “Is this about crew stuff?”

Brandon wasn’t crew. Neither was Heather, but they knew enough to be wary.

“Just something I have to ask her. That’s all.”

Brandon nodded. “Wait five minutes. Every ten minutes she gets all pissy and explodes.” He lifted both his shoulders up in a helpless gesture. “All the sugar is making her extra cranky.”

“I heard that!” came from inside.

He rolled his eyes and opened the door behind him again. “I know. I meant for you to hear that.”

Heather came out as her brother went inside, her blonde hair pulled up into a messy bun, with the bottom half braided. Reaching for her pocket, she cursed and plopped down on one of the lounge chairs around a bonfire pit. She threw a leg up on the pit, exposing a good amount of her skin through the tears in her jeans as she lounged back.

Zellman groaned. “Goddamn.”

“Really?” I stared at him. “She’s practically my sister-in-law.”

That was Heather. As long as I could remember, exuded this sexiness, whether she meant to or not. It was just her.

He just shook his head. “Goddamn.”

“Bren.” Heather patted her pockets again, then groaned herself. She motioned me over. “Your friend is accosting my brother right now. Should I know the reason?”

I went over, but didn’t sit across from her. Heather still made me uncomfortable.

“Just wait. She’s going to ask you too.”

Heather grunted before tapping the armrest on her chair. “Okay. So. What’s up? It’s not normal for you to come look for me. Willingly.”

Jordan and Zellman sat down. Both chuckled at what she said.

I shot them a look. They shut up.

Then I sat down. “An MC showed up at Tuesday Tits—like, the whole group. They didn’t look like they were there just to party.”

“Shit.” She stood up, her hands patting her pockets again as she went inside. “I’ll be right back.”

Jordan was watching her go. “What’s with the hand stuff?”

“She quit smoking. It’s been a lifetime habit.”

“Ah.” He nodded, knowingly. “I had an uncle who smoked all his life, until he was in his sixties.”

“What happened?” Zellman asked.

Jordan didn’t blink. “He got Parkinson’s and burned the house down trying to light a cigarette.”

“Man. I’m sorry. He quit after that?”

“Nah. He died.” Jordan added, “From the fire.”

Zellman and I stared at him, but there were no words. Then we all heard Taz’s voice inside. Maybe it was the catalyst or maybe it was because I heard Heather snipe at her to “chill,” but for whatever reason, I felt calmer.

Heather wasn’t like Channing.

If I needed to know something for his safety, she would tell me. That was one thing—she never minced words. She didn’t seem to feel I needed protecting and shielding. She knew I had a crew, and it was a good crew. She would tell me if we needed to do something, so that issue moved more to the back of my mind.

It wasn’t long until Heather came back. She waved her phone at me before sitting back down.

“It sounds like they have it under control. There was a little hiccup, but I have someone who’s going to call me if I need to be worried. So, I guess stay tuned?” Her grin was lopsided. “Sorry. I know you were worried.”

“I just need to know if we have to go in to help them. That’s all.”

She shook her head, pulling her eyebrows together. “No. That’d make Chan even more worried. He’d call more of his guys, but I’ll let you know what’s going on.”

Hearing Taz again, I gestured inside. “My friend wants you to sponsor something for a charity event.”

“Right. She said something when I went in.”

“Are you going to?”

Heather reached down and straightened back up, her old smoker’s can in hand. She bit down on her lip, gazing a bit too adoringly at it. She murmured, distracted, “Are you asking on her behalf? Or are you asking for the sponsorship too?”

“On her behalf.”

“That’s funny,” Heather said, lifting her head. “She opened with a line that if I sponsored an ad, I’d be helping you out.”

“Are you serious?”

“Her exact words were, ‘You’re dating Channing Monroe, and his sister needs your help.”

“I—” I sighed.

Jordan snorted in laughter. “That sounds like Taz.”

Zellman kept looking at Heather’s exposed leg. I was almost sure I saw a drop of drool at the corner of his mouth.

Cross came outside then, letting the screen door bang shut behind him. He had a burger in one hand and a small bag of fries in the other. He handed the fries to me. “That’s for you.” Digging into his pocket, he pulled out two packets of ketchup and handed those over too.