The smile died on my lips like someone had slapped it off.

The man filling the doorway was massive—six-four at least, with arms like tree trunks and shoulders that blocked out the afternoon light. But it wasn't his size that made my blood turn to ice water. It was the leather cut he wore, the snake patches he wore.

Iron Serpents MC.

The coiled snake logo seemed to writhe in the fluorescent lights, and below it, the name patch read "Crusher.

" The teardrops tattooed under his left eye—three of them, dark and deliberate—made my stomach revolt.

Prison tears. Kill tears. The kind of ink that advertised exactly what kind of monster stood in Mrs. Kowalski's cheerful bakery.

This wasn't a customer. This was a nightmare made flesh, dragging mud from my past into my present.

My hands gripped the counter hard enough to hurt.

Every instinct screamed at me to run, to bolt for the back door, to disappear before he could focus those dead eyes on me.

But my feet had frozen to the spot, terror locking every muscle like I was seven years old again, hiding under the bed while my father raged through the house.

The Serpent's gaze swept the bakery with the lazy confidence of an apex predator. He took in the empty tables, Mrs. Kowalski's absence, the way I stood alone behind the counter like a sacrifice waiting to happen.

When his eyes finally landed on me, his mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. Recognition flickered across his face, and I knew—knew with the certainty of prey spotting a hunter—that this wasn't a coincidence.

He'd come for me.

"Well, well." The Serpent let the door fall shut behind him with deliberate weight, the cheerful bell mocking in its normalcy. "If it isn't Rattler's little princess, playing house."

The nickname hit like a physical blow.

Rattler's little princess.

That's what they'd called me when I was seven, when Dad still brought me around the clubhouse like a mascot, before everything went to hell.

Mrs. Kowalski had gone very still behind the bread display, and I caught her hand moving toward the phone mounted on the wall.

One call to Duke and this place would be swarming with Heavy Kings.

But the Serpent's attention was laser-focused on me, those teardrop tattoos making his left eye look like it was perpetually crying black tears.

"I don't know what you're talking about." The words came out as barely a whisper, my voice deserting me when I needed it most.

His laugh was low and ugly, the sound of someone who enjoyed fear like other people enjoyed music. "Sure you don't."

He moved closer, boots heavy on the clean floor, and I pressed back against the coffee machine hard enough to feel the heat through my dress.

"Your daddy's been looking for you, princess. You haven’t been back to your place." He leaned across the counter, bringing the smell of stale smoke and motor oil into Mrs. Kowalski's vanilla-scented sanctuary. "He's got some catching up to do. Some business to settle."

"I haven't seen him since I was a kid," I managed, throat tight with the effort of speaking. "Whatever he wants—"

"What he wants," the Serpent interrupted, voice dropping to a whisper that carried more menace than shouting, "is to have a conversation with his daughter about some missing money."

My hands shook against the counter, and I pressed them flat to hide the tremors. "I don't have any money. I don't know anything about—"

"Then you'd better figure it out real quick.

" He straightened up, casual as if we were discussing the weather instead of threats and theft and ghosts from my past. "Because here's the thing, princess.

Your daddy's been patient. Fifteen years of patient.

But now he knows where you are, who you're playing house with. "

The blood drained from my face so fast I thought I might faint. He knew about Dex. Of course he did. These clubs knew everything about each other's business, tracked every weakness like wolves cataloging the herd.

"That's right," he continued, satisfaction oozing from every word.

"Dex Brandon. Road Captain for the Heavy Kings.

Heard you two have gotten real cozy. Be a shame if something happened to him.

Man like that, goes for his morning rides alone, takes those back roads where nobody would hear him scream. "

"Don't." The word ripped from my throat without permission. "Please. He doesn't have anything to do with this."

"Then you'd better make sure it stays that way.

" The Serpent's grin was all teeth, predator-bright.

"Here's what's gonna happen. You're gonna meet with Rattler, nice and peaceful-like.

Gonna have that conversation about what your mama owed.

And if you're smart, if you want your boy to keep breathing, you won't mention this little visit to anyone. "

I thought of Dex's hands, gentle as he'd helped me pick out this dress. The way he'd smiled when he said Mrs. K would love me. How safe I felt in his apartment, surrounded by his carved toys and steady presence. All of it balanced on a knife's edge because of sins that weren't even mine.

"I don't know anything about money," I whispered, hating how the words revealed exactly how much I had to lose. "Mom never said—she was sick. If she took something, I don't know where it is."

"Then you'd better help Rattler jog your memory.

" He pulled out a flip phone, the kind drug dealers used because they were hard to trace, and set it on the counter between us.

"Keep this on you. When he's ready to meet, you'll get a call.

You show up alone, you keep your mouth shut, and maybe everybody walks away happy. "

My hand shook as I reached for the phone. It was heavier than it should be, weighted with threats and promises of violence.

"Smart girl." He backed toward the door, movements lazy now that he'd delivered his message. "We’ll be in touch.”

T he rest of the day was more difficult.

All of a sudden I was watching for shadows, worrying about customers. My mind was racing, working through possibilities.

Things got worse when two women settled at the table just outside the storeroom door and started gossiping. Their voices carried clearly through the thin walls as I organized sugar packets with mechanical precision.

"Saw Dex Brandon with his new girl yesterday," one of them said, and my hands stilled on the packets. "Sweet little thing. She looks young, though."

"That's his type," the other woman replied with the casual certainty of someone sharing common knowledge. "Remember Vanessa? She was barely out of high school when they got together. Pretty girl, but you could tell she was looking for someone to take care of her."

Barely out of high school.

The words hit like ice water, sharp and shocking. I was twenty-two, not eighteen, but suddenly the twelve years between Dex and me felt like a canyon. He was forty-four, established, confident in ways I couldn't imagine being. What was I besides another lost girl looking for safety?

"She had that same look," the first woman continued. "Kind of fragile, you know? Like she needed protecting. Some men are just drawn to that."

My reflection caught in the metal napkin dispenser—wide eyes, sharp cheekbones that Dex traced with such tenderness, the perpetual shadows under my eyes that spoke of too many sleepless nights. Did I look fragile to him? Is that what he saw when he called me little one?

"Wonder how this one will turn out." The second woman's voice held the kind of speculation that came with small-town gossip, not mean but thoughtlessly cutting. "Dex was a mess after Vanessa. Hopefully this one won't hurt him the way she did."

"From what I heard, she was playing him the whole time. Pretending to need him while feeding information to the Iron Serpents. Can you imagine? Eight months of lies."

Eight months. I pressed my hand to my stomach, feeling sick. Eight months of Vanessa pretending to be vulnerable, pretending to need Dex's protection, while betraying him to his enemies. Just like I was hiding the Serpent's threats.

"Poor man never saw it coming. Too busy trying to save her to realize she didn't want saving."

The women's conversation moved on to other topics—someone's daughter's wedding, the new coffee shop on Third Street—but I remained frozen, their words echoing in my head like struck bells.

That's his type.

Barely out of high school.

Looking for someone to take care of her.

I thought about my little space at Dex's apartment, the coloring books and stuffed animals he'd started collecting for me.

The way I melted when he used that particular voice, firm but caring, that made me feel safe enough to let go.

Was that real, or was I just another broken bird he'd found?

Another project to fix until I grew strong enough to fly away?

The age gap had never bothered me before. If anything, I'd been grateful for his steadiness, his experience, the way he knew exactly what he wanted and wasn't afraid to claim it. But now I wondered if what he wanted was me, Cleo, or just another fragile girl to protect.

What happened when I got stronger?

When I didn't need rescuing anymore?

I was already lying to him about the Serpents. How was that different from Vanessa's deception? The flip phone burned in my pocket, a direct line to betrayal.

"You okay back there, sweetheart?" Mrs. Kowalski's voice made me jump, packets scattering across the floor.

"Fine," I called back, dropping to my knees to gather the sugar. "Just clumsy."

But I wasn't fine.

The women gathered their purses, leaving cash on the table as they headed for the door. Their laughter drifted back, light and careless, unaware they'd just shattered something I hadn't even known was fragile.

I forced myself to finish the restocking, to return to the front counter with a smile that felt painted on.