Page 25 of Kane

Edge gave him a look. “Since Kane got all twisted up over?—”

“Enough,” Kane cut him off, leaving me to wonder if his brother had been about to say that he was being twisted up over me.

Nitro eyed Kane with a smirk. “Worried about what the pretty barista will say about you if she has a drink or two?”

“I’m good with soda if you have any,” I said quickly, sitting on the edge of the stool. “Or water.”

The guys chuckled, and the conversation turned casual. Somehow, I found myself joking with them, asking questions but steering clear of club business or my brother. I answered a few and even found myself actually relaxing. They gave off a rough-around-the-edges found-family vibe that felt more like a team than a gang.

The whole thing felt shockingly normal.

But while I soaked it in after being confined for so long, I was hyperaware of Kane’s focus on me.

He didn’t sit. Didn’t drink. Didn’t even talk much.

Just lingered a few inches to my left, arms crossed and jaw ticking as he watched over me. When I laughed at something Axle said, I felt Kane’s gaze burn hotter.

The possibility that he wasn’t just being protective grew. Maybe he was jealous.

And I hated how much the thought made my pulse race.

The easy rhythm of conversation lulled me into forgetting why I was here. It felt like I was hanging out in a bar. Or at least what I imagined since I’d never spent much time in one before.

Axle smirked at me. “You’re a barista, huh? That mean you can make one of those leaf pattern things in foam?”

“Latte art,” I corrected with a grin. “And yeah, I can do all kinds of shapes. Never tried a motorcycle, but I bet I could pull it off.”

Nitro let out a low whistle. “Marry me.”

I laughed, rolling my eyes as I sipped my soda. “Sorry, Nitro. I’m holding out for someone with a better appreciation for properly pulled espresso.”

He clutched his chest like I’d wounded him, then looked at Kane. “You hear that, Prez? Your girl’s got standards.”

Your girl.

Kane didn’t say anything, but I could feel the heat of his stare singe the side of my face. My pulse kicked up another notch.

Before I could pivot the conversation, Axle bumped my arm lightly with the back of his knuckles. “Next time you’re behind a machine, I expect a flaming skull in my latte.”

The touch was light. Casual. Not even remotely suggestive.

But the second his skin brushed mine, a low growl rumbled from Kane.

Everything stilled.

Even Edge, who’d been chuckling at Nitro’s antics, went quiet.

“Axle.” Kane’s voice was tight with warning. Enough for the one word to carry weight.

Axle’s hands lifted in mock surrender. “Shit, sorry, Prez. Was just playin’ around.”

“I know.” It was impossible to miss the tension rolling off him in waves. “Next time, don’t touch what’s mine.”

A dozen things rushed through my head at once. The possessive way he said it. The fact that the guys didn’t bat an eye. The ridiculous flutter in my stomach that told me I liked his possessive words way too much.

Kane stepped in closer, his hand sliding around my waist like he was staking a claim. His breath hit my ear a second later.

“Keep testing me, sugar.” His rough tone sent a full-body shiver down my spine. “And after I put my club brother through a wall, you’re gonna find yourself being fucked up against it.”