Page 38 of Property of Tacoma

“Fair warning,” I murmur to Foxy as my mother heads toward the kitchen. “My mom thinks she’s a gourmet chef. Reality is a bit different.”

Foxy laughs, the sound warming something inside me that’s been cold for a long time. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. I’m not picky.”

“We’ll see if you’re still singing that tune later.”

She nudges me with her shoulder, the brief contact sending a jolt through me. “Be nice. She’s your mom.”

The clubhouse door swings open, and several of my brothers walk in—Gator, Bash, Journey, and Story. They spot us at the table and head over, curiosity written all over their faces.

“Prez,” Gator nods, his eyes flicking to Foxy with undisguised interest.

I feel a surge of possessiveness that I have no right to feel. “You’ve met Foxy,” I say, my voice coming out a bit harder than intended.

Foxy gives them a small wave, and I don’t miss the way Journey’s eyes widen slightly as he takes her in.

“Where’s Bane?” Story asks, his brow furrowed with concern.

“Infirmary,” I reply. “Doc’s patching him up.”

The men exchange glances, and I know they’re itching to hear the details. But not here. Not with Foxy and my kids present.

“Church at eight,” I tell them, and they nod in understanding.

“Daddy, can I show Foxy my room?” Saylor asks, breaking the tension that’s settled over the table.

“Sure, princess.” I glance at Foxy. “If that’s okay with you.”

“I’d love to,” Foxy says, standing up with Panda still cradled in her arms. “Lead the way.”

Saylor jumps off my lap and grabs Foxy’s free hand, practically dragging her toward the door at the back of the clubhouse.

“She’s got a room here?” Foxy asks me over her shoulder, surprise evident in her voice.

“Yeah, but she wants to take you to our house.” I point to the door behind her. Although when I first got out, we stayed here at the clubhouse while the house was being built.

I watch them go, Saylor chattering a mile a minute, Foxy nodding along with genuine interest.

“She’s Chief’s sister?” Journey asks once they’re out of earshot, sliding into the chair Foxy just vacated.

“Yeah,” I confirm, turning back to my brothers. “And she just saved Bane’s ass from three Sinners.”

Their eyes widen collectively.

“No shit?” Gator breathes.

“No shit,” I reply. “Shot one of them point-blank.”

Story lets out a low whistle. “Damn.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “Damn is right.”

Jagger’s been quiet, but I can see the wheels turning in his head. He’s smart, my boy. Too smart sometimes.

“So what does this mean?” he asks finally. “The Sinners making a move like that?”

I meet his eyes, seeing the concern there, and it hits me again how grown up he’s becoming. At sixteen, he’s already thinking like a man, already understanding the implications of what happened today.

“It means we handle it,” I tell him, my voice firm. “Like we always do.”