Page 51 of Property of Chux

I nod, satisfied. “Good.”

I hang up without another word, tucking my phone back into my pocket as I turn toward my bike.

This game isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

But now, every single piece is onmyboard.

CHAPTER 18

ALAINA

THREE MONTHS LATER

The scent of sugar,butter, and fresh-brewed coffee fills the air as I move around my bakery, rolling out dough on the floured surface. The warm hum of conversation surrounds me, a stark contrast to the silence that had once made this place feel lonely. But now?

Now it’s full of life. Constantly.

The Kings have taken over my shop—not in a bad way, but in a way that makes me laugh every time one of them walks through the door, grumbling about needing a “damn sugar fix.” They come and go all morning, buying pastries in bulk, tossing cash on the counter, and making themselves at home like this place was always meant to be theirs.

Stunt leans against the register, chewing on a bear claw. “I don’t know what the fuck you put in this, but I swear to God, Ally, if you ever stop baking, I’m gonna riot.”

Riot, standing next to him, smirks. “Didn’t realize we were organizing pastry protests now.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “It’s just sugar and butter, boys. Nothing special.”

Mellow, sitting on one of the barstools near the front, raises an eyebrow. “Bullshit. I’ve had a lot of sweets in my life, and whatever comes out of that oven is damn near sinful.”

I roll my eyes but can’t help the warmth that spreads through me. I used to feel invisible in this town, hiding in my little corner of the world. But now? These men—Kings—have made it clear I’m part of their world now, too.

The bell above the door chimes, and I don’t even have to turn around to know who it is.

I feel him before I see him.

A deep, gravelly voice slides through the air like whiskey over ice.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

I turn, and there he is—Damian, standing in the middle of my shop like he owns the place. His cut is over a black T-shirt, his jeans hanging low on his hips, and those dark eyes? Locked right on me. My pulse jumps, but I play it cool, crossing my arms over my flour-covered apron. “You here for a pastry, or just to cause trouble?”

His lips quirk up, and in two strides, he’s in front of me. “Trouble. Definitely trouble.”

Before I can respond, his hands grip my waist, pulling me against him, and his mouth crashes onto mine. Heat floods through me as I sink into him, my fingers curling into his shirt. He kisses me like he owns me, like he doesn’t give a damn who’s watching. His hands slide down to my ass, gripping me tight, pressing me right up against the hard lines of his body.

I hear someone—Riot—mutter, “Jesus Christ, get a room.”

I smirk against Damian’s lips, then, without breaking the kiss, I slide my hand down, giving his ass a playful smack.He tenses for half a second before I pull back, grinning at the perfect white flour handprint now decorating the back of his black jeans.

The room erupts into laughter. Damian lifts his brows, glancing over his shoulder. “Oh, you wanna be cute. Got jokes.”

I bite my lip, pretending to be innocent. “What? Just making sure you leave my shop marked.” I wink.

His eyes darken as he steps closer, voice dropping to that low, dangerous tone that makes my stomach flip. “Yeah, baby? You wanna put your mark on me?”

I trail a finger down his chest, my voice just as soft. “Damn right I do. It’s only fair, you’ve left one on me,” I whisper.

Something shifts in his expression—something deep, something real.

Then, in one swift motion, he lifts me onto the counter, sliding between my legs, his hands gripping my thighs.

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