Page 10 of Held-

Cece's expression clouds, and I immediately regret bringing it up. “Yeah, that would be because of me. Come to find out, when you divorce the biggest donor’s son, they stop helping kids.”

“What an asshole,” I say before I can stop myself.

Her eyes meet mine, surprise flickering across her face.

The door swings open again, and this time it's Domino and Velcro, both of them carrying the last of the heavy boxes. Domino's gaze sweeps the room, taking in the church lady decorations and motivational Bible verses hanging on the walls.

“This place is exactly what I pictured,” he says, setting down his box with a grunt. “Feels like it's judging me already.”

“That's just your guilty conscience,” I tell him, earning a middle finger in response.

Velcro, our newest prospect, is trying way too hard not to stare at Cece. Kid's barely nineteen and still gets tongue-tied around pretty women. I catch his eye and give him a look that saysfocus on the jobbefore he can embarrass himself.

“That's everything,” Domino announces, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Truck's empty.”

I scan the fellowship hall, and the transformation is incredible. What was a handful of sad, worn-out toys an hour ago now looks like Christmas exploded. Boxes are stacked three high along the walls, and the tables are starting to fill with quality merchandise.

“Jesus,” Cece breathes, and I bite back a comment about her language in church. “This has to be enough for every kid on our list, maybe twice over.”

“Good,” I say, meaning it. The thought of kids going without on Christmas because some rich assholes wanted to play power games sits wrong with me. Always has.

“This is...I don't even know how to thank you.”

The fellowship hall door bursts open, and an older man in a clerical collar rushes in, his face flushed and his silver hair disheveled. He stops short when he sees us, his gaze widening as he takes in the leather, the patches, the general aura of trouble.

“Cece?” His voice cracks slightly. “What’s...who are...”

“Dad, these are the people Jillian sent to help with the toy drive,” Cece says quickly, stepping between us. “This is Brayden—Jillian’s nephew.”

His stare hardens as it lands on my Heaven’s Rejects patch, his entire body stiffening like he’s been electrocuted. The warm, fatherly expression he wore for his daughter freezes into something hard and cold. It’s the same look he gave me as a teenager when my aunt dragged me to Sunday service against my will. Most preachers would see a lost soul in desperate need of redemption as an opportunity. Not him. Maybe he knew I was a lost cause—or maybe he saw the way I watched his daughter from the back pew. Either way, the only grace he’d ever given me was not throwing me out of the church for soiling his service.

“Jillian sent...these men?” he asks.

I’ve seen that kind of judgment before—the quick once-over that sizes you up. The kind of look that reminds me exactly why I left this town in the first place.

“Brayden Cole,” he says slowly, recognition flickering in his gaze. “Loretta Cole’s boy.”

“That's right,” I reply, keeping my voice neutral even as my jaw tightens. Fifteen years, and he still manages to make my last name sound like an accusation.

“Dad, they brought all of this,” Cece gestures around at the boxes stacked high. “They've saved the toy drive.”

The Reverend doesn't look impressed. If anything, his frown deepens.

“I see.” His tone could freeze hell over. “And what exactly does your...club...want in return?”

Domino lets out a quiet, irritated rumble, and I cut him a warning look. The last thing we need is a fight with a preacher in his own church.

“Nothing,” I say firmly. “My aunt asked for help. We're helping.”

“Nothing?” The Reverend's eyebrows nearly touch his receding hairline. “Young men like you don't typically do charity work out of the goodness of your hearts.”

I feel my temper flaring, that old familiar heat crawling up my neck. Some things never change in San Salona. Once they decide what you are, there's no changing their minds.

“Dad,” Cece hisses, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “They drove over an hour to bring us all of this.”

“It's fine,” I tell her, not taking my eyes off her father. “I'm used to it.”

The Reverend has the decency to look uncomfortable, at least. “I didn't mean to imply?—”