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I move around the kitchen and try to pretend that my stomach isn’t in knots from hearing Domino laugh.

He gets my humor. Even better, he also finds it funny that his boys react like that to me.

I still don’t know if I could actually take down a Hound, but I took down the three other bikers we met.

Granted, they all seemed to have one-eighth of a brain cell altogether, but they had some bulk.

They just didn’t know what to do with it.

I recognize that half the reason I won was because they were surprised I could fight back.

Unlike the Hounds, who know I can handle my own.

The element of surprise can help in a fight.

But when it’s one-on-one, full-on, that’s different.

You expect things. You react to everything.

You have time to think things through. Time stands still then.

At least it does for me. I can see things coming.

I can react. Everything slows down to a snail’s crawl in my mind.

Which is why Mack keeps me on his fighting roster.

I’m not some hotheaded girl who forgets everything he taught me once I’m in a ring.

I remember. I react and counter like I’m meant to, and then I listen for him to tell me what to do next, if he’s in a willing mood to shout out an order.

Most of the time, he just collects the money and watches, since he’s the one who sets up the fights, and he doesn’t want people to think they’re rigged and whatnot.

Not that he cares, but a rigged fight is just a loss in potential revenue if word gets out.

He chooses not to rely on faking it and just aims to win every time.

I open my fridge and see there’s nothing in it but some old takeout that should be tossed and expired milk that’s more than a week old. Instead of doing anything about it, I just shut the door and turn around to face the rest of my space. The one that seems to have shrunk with everyone in it.

My place isn’t big, I know. But I’ve also never had more than two guests at a time. Even when Summer brings her kids, they’re small enough to only take up the space of one person, unless they’ve had sugar. Then it’s pandemonium in here.

But I digress. My place is too small for this, and I’m hungry.

“You guys got food over at your place?”

Mickey eyes me. “Aye. You be wanting some nourishment for some reason?” He smirks, as if he thinks I’ll blush at his attempt to say I was getting fucked. Well, news flash, I wasn’t. I was just enjoying a tongue-lashing.

I would stick my tongue out at him in triumph, but he wouldn’t get it, so I roll my eyes instead. “Yes, leprechaun man. I just woke up and haven’t eaten since last night, well over twelve hours ago. Anyone would be hungry.”

Thankfully, I don’t get my throat punched for my small jab at his accent. He gives me a half smile instead. “Pretty sure Domino is the one that’s seeking out that bit of gold between your legs, but I’d be happy to lend a hand.”

“Mickey.” Domino only says his name. It’s clear. Not an ounce of hostility or outrage. Just a command to look at him, which we all do. One shake of the head, and those butterflies are floating around again in my stomach. I clamp my mouth shut to prevent one from flying out.

“Boys just ordered pulled pork sandwiches from the deli a street over. Should be here in a minute,” Rooster offers, and his boss nods.

“Works for me. Something tells me I’m also going to need a coffee for this,” Domino says as everyone starts to leave through the front door.

“On it,” Rooster says over his shoulder as he pulls his phone out and heads down the stairs. “Want anything?” he calls up, and only when I see everyone looking back at me do I realize who he’s talking to.

“Huh?”

Domino waits with me as I lock up while the rest descend the flight of stairs. “He’s going to place a drink order. Want anything?”

“Oh, um, hot chocolate, please.” I can hear Rooster’s snort from up here, but I ignore it as I make my way down the stairs and follow the others across the street. “You don’t have coffee at the clubhouse?”

Lucky’s the one to turn around in front of us, walking backward as he talks. “Oh, we do. But fancy pants over here needs something special.”

I look at Domino, and he shrugs. “Don’t like black coffee.” It’s all I get, but the smirk on Lucky’s face before he turns back around says it’s more than that.

I don’t recall much from the last time I was here.

I saw some faces, but I was in a drug-induced haze when I entered, and when I left, I was just looking for Summer.

Now, in the light of day, I can see the appeal of this place.

The couches look comfortable enough. The pool tables, foosball table, and two pinball machines set in one area don’t seem scuffed up and unplayable.

Even the bar top looks clean, and I note that my feet don’t make that sticky sound when I walk—something most places with bars can’t seem to figure out how to avoid.

I can tell you. It’s called a mop, and apparently the Hounds know how to use it.

We get a few looks from some members, and I see a few girls giving me the eye.

Not the evil one, at least not that I notice, so I keep walking.

I might not start a fight, but I’ll end one.

And no, I didn’t start the fight at the bar.

I would call that “deescalating the inevitable.” Sure, I was the first one to push the table back into them, but I didn’t throw a punch till they did.

The chair also doesn’t count. In fact, furniture being thrown in general doesn’t count in a fight.

Personal opinion, of course. If you use it, that’s fine.

No issues there. I mean, it helps keeps my nails from breaking.

Not that I keep them long, but I think we all get the point I’m trying to make.

And if not, that’s fine. I’ve lost the point myself when the smell hits me.

“Mmmm, that smells heavenly.”

“Now why didn’t I get a noise like that out of you?

” Domino grins as he looks over before gesturing for me to enter a room set up with smaller chairs as if it’s a dining hall.

The food’s spread out on a table by the back wall, and a door to the left is open enough for me to seethe kitchen behind.

They might have ordered out, but they clearly don’t have to.

“Dude, don’t tell me I need to offer you some pointers,” Lucky teases as he grabs three sandwiches and makes his way to an empty table .

“Trust me, he doesn’t need the help,” I mutter just loud enough to cause them all to chuckle.

Domino shoots me a wink as he grabs a sandwich for himself and another for me.

I might not swoon after a stalker, but a boy making my plate up and getting me food?

Yeah, that’s swoon worthy. When he hands it to me, I grab his vest just enough to prevent him from walking away before planting a kiss on his lips.

It’s not a long one—well, long enough for minimal tongue touching—before I let go with a “Thank you.”

We all settle into our food, and like me, it seems no one’s in a rush to talk about what they found.

Got a feeling I’m not going to be thrilled about it.

I mean, if it was good news, like “we caught your stalker,” I’m pretty sure they would have told me by now.

Since everyone’s just chowing away, I gather it isn’t something to talk about without losing your appetite.

I finish my sandwich before my drink shows, but I’m not mad.

It gives me time to enjoy it like the real treat it is.

Unlike Domino, who chugs his coffee the second he gets it.

Doesn’t even wait for it to cool off first. I’m not sure what the fancy part of it is all about if he’s not even going to savor it.

And from the way I’m looking at him, he must understand my confusion. “Need the caffeine. But that doesn’t mean I need to hate the taste of it as I drink it.”

“But did you even taste it?” I ask. Because there’s no way you can taste something and enjoy it as fast as he consumed it.

He leans close and whispers next to my ear, “Not as much as the taste of your pussy, but it’ll do in a pinch.”

I feel my face warm as I take a sip of my drink, ignoring the smirks from the guys around us. They might not have heard what he said, but they can probably guess the general idea of it.

Domino gives me a half grin before leaning back in his chair and losing the smile as he looks to his men. “What’ve you got?”

Mickey leans to the side and calls out, “Oy.” I turn and see the others in the room look at him. “Closed room.”

Like a freaking call to war, every single one gets up, picks up their things, and walks out. The last one even shuts the door behind him.

“Must be good to be king,” I mutter once again to Domino.

He shrugs. “Has its perks. I also like to get the info before most of my men know, so I can make a plan without them thinking they know what’s best.”

I get it, I really do. But still, it’s a nice flex to be able to clear a room with just a few words spoken by someone who I see Domino looks to for a lot of things.

Maybe not advice, but to get things done.

Him and the other three men who I’m now left in the room with.

At least there’s food still. It’s the only thing I really care about anyway.

Well, other than Domino. I care about him. Not sure what all my feelings are yet, but I know this is more than just a onetime thing.

“The driver’s dead.”

I spit out my drink at the way Rooster just says it like that, like he’s talking about the weather. Thankfully, it’s only a few dribbles. I hate wasting the stuff, but come on.

“And a fighter.” This from Bane, and my eyes go wide .

“Who?” I haven’t heard a thing. Sure, we generally don’t have get-togethers or anything, but the fighter community is pretty small.

“Inga Sokolov. Goes by the name—”