Page 30 of Bleed the Shadows

“Who is he?”

“Marv,” Poe said like it was obvious. “He’s one of the Barbarians.”

I wasn’t surprised by the guy’s appearance — culinary school had been filled with all kinds of people — but I definitely hadn’t expected the donut shop to be run by a biker from one of the local MCs.

I looked around the place again. “How did I not know this place was here?”

It reminded me of the commercial kitchens we’d practiced in at school. Serious cooking was serious business and the commercial kitchens were usually focused on the equipment, not the color of the walls.

In a serious kitchen, everything served a purpose. There was no room for pretty things that were there just for the sake of being pretty.

“I don’t know,” Poe said. “How often did you come to Southside before?”

I knew what he meant by “before.”

Before the Hunt. Before the Butchers.

It seemed like an entirely different life.

“Not very often.” More like never, but the realization made me feel oddly ashamed. “My dad said…”

Poe lifted one dark eyebrow. “What did your dad say?”

“He told us it was dangerous here, that we should steer clear.”

I waited for Poe’s judgement, but he just nodded. “He’s not wrong. I wouldn’t want my kids running loose in Southside either. Well, my kids would be okay, but you know what I mean.”

My mind was spinning but my heart was doing something else and I was pretty sure my ovaries were trying to get a word in too. I’d never imagined the Butchers having kids — I mean, who would? — but Poe had mentioned having kids so casually, like it was a foregone conclusion that he would have them someday.

The thought made me sick with jealousy.

Oh M, you’re in big trouble.

Tell me something I don’t know.

Marv returned from the back carrying a pink bakery box. He set it on the steel counter and taped it shut, then held up a finger.

“Wait.” He disappeared into the back room again and emerged a minute later carrying a small white bag. “For the road.”

He handed it to me and the smell of hot sugared dough filled my nose.

The bag was filled with cinnamon-sugar donut holes.

“Wow, thanks,” I said.

“Go ahead and try one.” His face was changed by eagerness.

I reached into the bag and took one of the donut holes, then popped it in my mouth. It was a little disconcerting with its maker studying me, but I forgot all about him as soon as the dough hit my tongue.

“Oh my god…” It was light and fluffy with just enough of a crispy fried shell to crunch under my teeth.

And the dough. My god, the dough. It was vanilla forward, as anyone would expect, but there was something else there too, a hint of spice.

I opened my eyes. “Is that…”

“Cardamom?” Pride was written all over his face. “Yep.”

“Wow.” I took another one and popped it in my mouth. “Incredible.”