Page 4

Chapter Four

M ac

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

“No!” Groaning, I reached blindly towards the nightstand for my phone. It couldn’t have been five already. I’d just closed my eyes.

Squinting at the glowing numbers on my phone I cursed at the time before finally finding my phone. Uncoordinated, I smacked at the screen.

Ahhhh.

There.

Sweet, blessed silence.

I laid there for a minute trying to gather my senses. It was Sunday and I needed to get up and get my ass in the shower if I was going to make for dinner at my mom’s.

Throwing the blankets back, I dragged myself out of bed and stretched, cracked my neck, then grabbed my phone before heading for the bathroom.

The moment I stepped out into the hallway, I froze.

Chad was standing there, leaning in Sarah’s bedroom doorway, arms crossed over his chest.

The instant my eyes landed on his, that unsettling smirk that always made my skin crawl slid across his face.

“Mac,” he drawled lazily, eyes dragging over me in a way that made me uncomfortable.

I forced a polite smile, keeping my feet moving. “Chad.”

“Sleep well?” He asked, rolling off the doorframe.

I ignored the weird edge in his tone and dodged to the side as he shifted like he might step into my path. “Just fine, thanks.”

I glanced back to make sure he wasn’t following me just as his smile stretched wider, slow and lazy, like a wolf sizing up his prey. He always wore that expression around me and it creeped me the hell out.

“Well,” he murmured, voice just low enough that I wasn’t sure if I was meant to hear him or not, “if you ever get tired of sleeping alone…”

Uhhh, not even if he was the last man on earth. Gross.

Lifting my chin, I breezed right past him, pushed into the bathroom, and shut the door with enough force it vibrated the walls.

Sicko.

I closed my eyes, scrubbing a hand over my face before blowing out a long breath.

I debated telling Sarah about Chad’s disgusting comments for all of a second, but I knew how it would go. She’d wave it off and claim he was just playing around.

Yeah, no.

If I had a man and he did shit like that, I’d kick him straight to the curb after I kicked him in the nuts.

It was seriously time to start thinking about getting my own place. I loved my bestie, but I wasn’t going to put up with Chad’s crap in my own home.

But first… I yanked back the shower curtain and started the shower. I needed to get ready for dinner with my family.

The moment I walked through Mom’s front door, the smell of roasted chicken and fresh-baked bread wrapped around me like a warm hug.

My stomach rumbled in appreciation, but before I could take another step, the thunder of small feet barreling down the stairs stopped me in my tracks.

“Auntie Mac!”

I barely had time to brace myself before Emma and Brooklyn slammed into me at full speed, their tiny arms wrapping tight around my waist.

“Oof!” I laughed, staggering back a step. “Well, hey there, little monsters. Miss me?”

Emma leaned back and grinned up at me. At eight years old, she looked more and more like Chelsea every day, with the same caramel-colored hair and big green eyes. “Duh. It’s been forever!”

“It’s been seven days.”

“That’s basically forever!”

Brooklyn, who was hanging onto me like a spider monkey, lifted her face from my stomach and smiled that big, goofy grin of hers. “Are we still gonna make cookies later?”

I smoothed a hand over her curls, shooting her a playful smirk. “Are you kidding? I’d never break a cookie promise.”

“Yesss!” She pumped her little fist in the air before squirming out of my grasp, grabbing her sister’s hand, and tugging her back toward the stairs. “C’mon, Ems! We gots to finish the stuffy parade before it’s time to eat!”

Emma huffed, but let her little sister drag her away. “We’re not calling it that.”

“Yes, we are!” Brooklyn insisted.

The two disappeared from sight, bickering the entire way. Shaking my head, I made my way down the hall to the kitchen.

Mom was pulling a casserole dish from the oven, her cheeks pink from the heat, while Chelsea stood at the stove stirring something that smelled amazing. Jack, my ever-pissy older brother, was parked at the kitchen island nursing a beer, watching them like work.

“Hey, everyone,” I greeted, stepping further inside.

Chelsea glanced over her shoulder and flashed me a bright smile. “Hey Mac! Hope you’re hungry.”

“Starving,” I admitted, grabbing the stool next to Jack.

“How was your shift last night, honey?” Mom asked, carefully setting the hot dish on a cooling rack. Her blue eyes met mine, always perceptive, always knowing when I had something on my mind.

I took a deep breath, unable to stop the small grin that crept in as I thought about Rage and Diesel. “It was… interesting.”

Chelsea shot me an intrigued look. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” I nodded, drumming my fingers against the counter. “I helped this really hot guy rescue a dog last night.”

“At the hospital?” Mom and Chelsea both turned to me with mild surprise.

“No. It was after my shift when I was headed home. I saw the guy down in the ditch and at first I thought something had happened to him so I pulled over. But once I got out of my car, I saw the dog.”

“What?” Jack’s brows pulled together. “That’s fucking dangerous, McKenzie.”

I explained quickly, careful to keep my tone light. “I couldn’t just leave them on the side of the road, Jack?—”

“You pulled over in the middle of the damn night?” His tone went from confused to flat-out scolding. “Jesus, Mac. I thought you had more sense than that.”

And, here we go.

I bristled, crossing my arms. “I was fine.”

“You were lucky,” he shot back, shaking his head. “Women have been going missing left and right and you get out of your car in the dark for a stranger? Jesus, what the fuck were you thinking?”

Chelsea winced. “Jack?—”

“No, let’s hear it,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “What should I have done, Mr. Perfect?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Called the cops? Called animal control?” he snapped.

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, ‘cause they would’ve gotten there so fast.”

Jack inhaled slowly before exhaling even slower, obviously trying to rein in his temper. “It’s not just pulling over that worries me.” He took a sip of his beer, narrowed eyes locked on mine. “Who was the man?”

I hesitated.

His gaze darkened. “McKenzie?”

No point in lying.

Gritting my teeth, I met his stare. “He was a biker.”

That thin layer of control he’d manage to wrangle vanished into thin air. Instantly his shoulders stiffened and I started to count down to the explosion that I knew was coming.

Three.

Two.

One.

And that was when all hell broke loose.

“Are you—” Jack slammed his beer onto the counter. “Are you out of your damn mind? A biker? Tell me you’re kidding.”

My jaw tightened. He was always so damn judgmental. “You don’t even know him.”

“I don’t need to know him,“ he shot back, voice full of warning. “Jesus!“

I clenched my fists. “I don’t need the lecture.”

“Clearly you do since you thought cozying up with a fucking biker was a bright idea.”

“I wasn’t ‘cozying up’ with anyone,” I snapped, my temper flaring now. “I was helping. If you’d shut up and listen for half a second, you’d realize not everything is some huge damn crisis.”

His expression darkened dangerously. “You think this isn’t a crisis? You have no idea what you’re dealing with. If you knew what these women who go missing?—”

“Enough.”

Mom’s voice cut through our argument like a sharp knife, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Both Jack and I snapped our mouths shut, though I could still feel the anger rolling off him like a thunderstorm.

“Both of you,” Mom sighed, giving us her best ‘I’m tired of your shit’ mom look. “Knock it off. It’s dinnertime, and I refuse to let the two of you bicker all night.”

Jack sat back in his chair, muttering something under his breath, but he didn’t argue further. I kept my mouth shut too. I didn’t like upsetting my mother.

Mom turned away, wiping her hands on a towel before calling out, “Girls! Dinner!”

Brooklyn and Emma came barreling back down the stairs like a herd of buffalo, their earlier argument apparently forgotten in favor of food.

Without another word, we shuffled into the dining room, but I could still feel Jack’s glare burning into me.

Great. He wasn’t going to let it go.

The tension from dinner still lingered, even after the plates had been cleared. Jack had barely spoken to me once Mom put her foot down, but I’d caught him watching me from across the table more than once. That hard, disapproving stare practically branding the side of my face.

Whatever.

I didn’t have the energy to fight with him again right now.

Instead, I focused on Brooklyn, who sat on the counter beside the mixing bowl, kicking her feet while licking cookie dough off her fingers.

Emma stood next to the island, carefully leveling out a cup of flour like the little perfectionist she was. “This has to be exact,” she informed me, totally serious.

“Good thinking, kiddo,” I praised, watching as she dumped it into the mixing bowl. “We don’t want the cookies to end up like your daddy’s pancakes.”

Brooklyn snorted a giggle. “Yeah! Those were BAD.”

I grinned. “They sure were.”

“That was the worst breakfast ever,” Emma added solemnly.

Brooklyn nodded. “Worse than gross, squishy eggs.”

Emma wrinkled her nose. “Eggs are disgusting, no matter what.”

“Preach it, sista,” I said, tossing a pinch of flour at both of them.

Mom chuckled from where she stood at the counter, already rolling out the first batch of dough. “McKenzie Nicole, don’t start a flour war in my kitchen.”

Chelsea laughed from beside her. “Too late.”

I held up my hands, feigning innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Mom arched a knowing brow but said nothing, turning back to the dough.

“Alright, what’s next?” I asked, glancing at the recipe card.

Emma placed her hands on her hips, shifting straight into bossy mode. “Mix time!”

“Mix time!” Brooklyn echoed loudly, grabbing the wooden spoon before I could reach for it. She plunged it into the dough, arms flexing like she was getting ready to stir up something magical.

I braced myself and sure enough, a second later?—

Schlop!

A chunk of batter went flying up into the air then took a nose dive, landing in my hair.

I froze, my eyes going wide.

Emma gasped. “Brookie!”

Brooklyn clamped a hand over her mouth, her eyes matching my own. “Oops.”

Chelsea snorted and Mom sighed in that long-suffering I raised troublemakers’ way.

Slowly, I plucked the wad of dough from my hair, holding it up between two fingers.

Both girls stared at me, waiting for my reaction.

Then, all at once, I smeared the dough down Brooklyn’s nose.

Delighted giggles followed her squeal as she squirmed away.

“Food fight!” Emma declared, grabbing a handful of flour.

Before I knew it, we were in a full-out war, flour dusting over everything.

Brooklyn, bless her heart, was cackling so hard she almost fell off the counter. And poor Ems had cookie dough all over her clothes. Their momma wasn’t doing us any favors as she stood by laughing at us.

“Oh, that’s it,” she said through giggles, swiping a streak of flour across my cheek.

With that, Mom threw her hands in the air. “Lord help me, they’ve all lost their minds. Jack!”

At the mention of my brother, I glanced toward the living room, where ESPN was blaring. Judging by the volume of the game’s commentary, Jack was tuning us out and pretending this disaster wasn’t happening.

Fine by me.

I wasn’t in the mood for more of his lecturing.

“Take this!” Brookie said,reaching for more flour.

“Alright, alright!” I laughed, holding up my hands in surrender. We’d made a big enough mess. “Truce! We actually want to have cookies at the end of this.”

The girls giggled but lowered their weapons, dusting themselves off.

Mom offered me a rag and I gladly took it. After wiping my hands clean, I gathered up the dough that Brooklyn hadn’t catapulted across the kitchen.

“Alright,” I said, pressing the dough into a neat ball. “Now, for the best part. Shaping them.”

Brooklyn clapped. “We gots to make ‘em extra big!”

Emma tapped her chin in thought. “I might make mine a star.”

“Creative,” I praised, handing them each bits of dough to shape.

As I helped Brooklyn roll out her cookie dough, my mind wandered to a certain biker with dark eyes and a sexy smokey voice.

Did he do family dinners? Did he sit around the table on a Sunday night, listening to his people bicker and laugh like this?

I couldn’t picture it, but for reasons I didn’t want to examine too closely, I wanted to know more about him.