Page 115 of Sadistic

Baking.

Obscene amounts of it, sugar and vanilla, and desperation mixing in the air.

Revna mentioned her mother stress-bakes.

The sweetness makes my stomach turn, knowing it represents Fern's fear for her daughters.

Inside, conversations die mid-sentence.

Leather-clad bikers track my movement, hands drifting toward weapons.

I'm the enemy today, the Russian/Irish man who brought danger to their doorstep.

Only Runes' protection keeps them from acting on their instincts.

I recognize some faces—Fenrir, who's never bothered to hide his distrust.

Bodul, whose brother was killed in a deal gone wrong years ago.

They blame my world for their losses, and they're not entirely wrong.

"Office," Fenrir grunts from his position by the bar.

The VP's never liked me, likes me even less now. "He's waiting."

I follow him down the familiar hallway, past photos of fallen members, past the room where they hold church.

The walls are covered in MC history—patches, photos from runs, newspaper clippings of arrests that went nowhere.

This is their sanctuary, and I'm an invader.

The door to Runes' office is already open, cigar smoke drifting out like fog.

Cuban, by the smell.

He always did have expensive tastes for a biker.

He's not alone.

His enforcer, Rati, leans against the wall, arms crossed.

The man's built like a mountain, silver streaking his beard, knuckles scarred from decades of violence.

Both men look ready for war.

"Sit," Runes commands, not looking up from the papers on his desk. "Tell me exactly what fuckin’ happened."

I remain standing. "Bembe Reyes cornered Revna and Dalla at the mall. Made specific threats about their routines, their vulnerabilities. Left these." I place the skull charms on his desk.

The small bones click against the wood, simple yet ominous.

Runes examines them, face darkening with each second.

His jaw tightens, the muscle jumping beneath his beard. "Specific threats?"

"He knows Dalla's class schedule. Your wife's shopping habits. When Elfe works alone." I meet his eyes. "He's been watching them. All of them. For weeks, probably."

Rati straightens, hand moving to the knife at his belt. "That Cuban fuck's been surveilling our women?"