Page 7 of Property of Blade (Kings of Anarchy MC: Alaska #1)

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Hannah

I t’s mid-afternoon by the time I finish baking the cookies.

They didn’t exactly go to plan—some are misshapen, and a few came out a little darker than I’d intended, but it’s the gesture that counts, right?

The house smells amazing, a sweet blend of vanilla and cinnamon with a hint of brown sugar filling the air.

Even Grace wanders into the kitchen, sniffing the air as if she’s hoping to snag a cookie for herself if I’m not careful.

My biggest problem? I have no idea where Blade lives. With a sigh, I tuck the cookies into a plastic container, grab my keys, and give Grace a quick kiss goodbye.

“Be good, Garfield,” I say, and she swishes her tail at me in what I assume is cat-speak for ‘whatever.’

Driving into town takes about ten minutes. When I round the last bend, the small town of Crystal Creek comes into view.

It’s not much, just a scattering of buildings perched along the edge of a wide bay, with jagged mountains rising in the distance.

The population sign near the entrance of town proudly proclaims Welcome to Crystal Creek!

Pop. 2,013. It always makes me smile that someone went out of their way to count every single soul, even the newborns.

I park my car in front of the general store and step out into the cool air. It smells clean and sharp, pine and distant wood smoke, and my breath puffs out in little clouds.

The sidewalks are quiet, just a couple of people going about their day. A man in a heavy flannel jacket carries a bundle of firewood toward his truck, and an older woman waves at me as she ducks into the post office.

With a deep breath, I step into Betty’s Café, the little bell over the door jingling as I enter. If anyone knows where Blade might be, it’s someone here.

There are a handful of people scattered throughout the diner.

A few sit in booths, quietly chatting over their meals, while two men occupy different ends of the counter.

One has a newspaper spread out in front of him, coffee mug in hand, while the other, an older man with a weathered face, seems content to glare at him.

“What can I get you?” asks the young female server as she approaches, her name badge reading Tessa .

I offer a polite smile. “Hello, Tessa. I’m Hannah. Actually, I’m looking for someone. I only have his first name. It’s Blade.”

The man with the newspaper barks out a laugh, nearly choking on his coffee as it splatters across the newsprint. He sets the mug down with a thud, wiping his chin with the back of his hand.

“Why are you looking for Blade?” he asks, his tone teasing and his lips quirking into a grin.

“Are you a friend of his?” I ask, my frown deepening.

“Sort of,” he replies, leaning back on his stool as if settling in for a show. “Yeah, you could say that. Why do you want him?”

Before I can answer, Tessa steps in, rolling her eyes. “Vex, don’t scare the poor woman. Mandy sent him to get her out of the ditch last week, remember?”

Vex’s grin widens, his teeth flashing. “Oh, that’s her, huh?”

My brows shoot up. “How did you know?”

Tessa smirks, pointing toward the window. “We don’t see too many Mini Coopers around here. It wasn’t hard to figure out.”

“Yep, that would be me.” I fold my arms, trying to ignore the way Vex is studying me as if I’m the punchline to a joke only he knows.

“Why do you want him?” he asks again, his smirk widening.

“I wanted to give him a thank you present,” I reply, keeping my tone polite but firm.

Vex’s gaze sweeps over me, and his smirk turns mischievous. “His lucky day.”

“Cookies,” I say sharply, glaring at him.

His grin only grows. “Is that what they’re calling it now?” He chuckles, holding up a hand when he sees my expression harden. “Relax, I’m just messing with you.”

Turning to Tessa, he says, “Got a pen and paper?”

She sighs but obliges, tearing a sheet from a pad and handing it to him along with a pen. Vex bends his head, his grin still firmly in place as he scribbles something down.

“Here you go,” he says, holding out the note. “Make sure you tell him it was me who sent you.”

I take the paper and force a tight smile. “Thank you.”

Vex waggles a finger at me. “No, no, no. Thank you. ”

I frown, unsure what to make of him. Tessa gives me an apologetic shrug as I nod and head for the door, but just as I reach it, the older man at the counter speaks up.

“You’d be best to keep away from this lot,” he says, his voice gruff. “They’re nothing but biker scum.”

I pause, glancing back at him, then at Vex, who only shrugs and flips his newspaper back up as if the comment was nothing new.

Feeling the weight of the man’s warning, I mutter a quick “Thanks” to no one in particular and hurry out of the diner, the note clutched tightly in my hand.