Page 93 of 12 Months of Mayhem

“That’s all I’m asking for,” I muttered, though the butterflies in my stomach said otherwise. Niceties were all well and good, but this wasn’t just any guy. Adrian didn’t speak their language—didn’t know the code of grunts, glares, and subtle nods that translated to approval or disapproval around here. “And no threats! Thinly veiled or otherwise, okay?”

The kitchen was silent for a few seconds, and I took that as agreement.

“He’s got a strong handshake, right?” Hawk piped up again.

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, Hawk. He has a strong handshake.”

“Good,” he said with a satisfied nod. “Weak handshake, weak man. That’s just pure facts.”

“Pretty sure that’s not science,” Kadey quipped, earning a glare from her dad. She flashed him a pageant-like smile as she slipped by him, the innocent look I’d seen her use many times. “I’m gonna make myself useful and set this stuff up outside.”

“Good idea,” Hawk teased, swatting at her with a tea towel.

The sound of the front door opening snapped my back straight, my hand gripping the spatula as if I were ready to fight someone off. But a moment later, Shay’s voice rang through the house. “All right, I’ve got the bacon!” Thank goodness, it’s just— “And I found a visitor outside.”

I froze as Adrian’s deeper voice followed. “Smells great in here.”

Missy turned to me, her smile widening. “Game time.”

CHAPTER THREE

Mason/Lock

“What’d you say this place was called?” Quill questioned as we each carried an end of a heavy tent from the garage into the clubhouse.

We dropped it with a hard thud, dust shooting into our faces. “Fuck,” I choked out, waving my hand in front of my face. The smell was so fucking familiar, the material reeking of bonfires, booze, and bad decisions. “Scorch.”

The word alone was enough to make my stomach churn. I hadn’t missed a single one since I was old enough to ride, but what it meant to me had changed dramatically over the years. For everyone else, it was a celebration—a reunion with other clubs, a chance to party and make deals.

For me, it was the place where everything came apart.

It was where I lost the two people in my life I thought I was going to be able to rely on forever.

My dad.

And her.

Her.

Even now, the thought of Calli hit me like a punch to the gut. She didn’t just walk away, she destroyed everything in her wake before she left. No explanation, no warning—just a betrayal that had left me sitting in a fucking cell wondering why the girl I’d spent every Scorch chasing moments with in the shadows had turned on me in the worst possible way.

Quill coughed, kicking the rolled-up plastic. “I know Kingston is classed as a city, but isn’t it in the middle of the damn desert?”

“Where do you think all this dust and sand fucking came from?” I grinned, slamming my palm against his back.

Quill rolled his shoulders, stretching his arms out. The kid was still a prospect, but it was about time he got his patch. I’d been working with him for almost a year, and he’d proven himself time and time again to be an asset to the club. My uncle Dime—the club president—was dragging his feet, though, and I knew why.

Because Quill had my back and not his.

And that’s what this fucking club had become the past few years—a battle of who has the most support behind them in church. “And you couldn’t have grabbed someone else to help carry this allergy-inducing bullshit out?”

“Kid, we have to survive with this shit for a week,” I told him, pointing at the pile that looked like a hot mess, but were actually expensive, high-quality tents that were going to keep our asses from burning to a crisp. “You think I’m gonna trust Henry with this? I can’t even trust that fucker to find his dick in the dark.”

“That’s a little mean, Lock,” Isla announced from behind the bar. Though, when I looked over, she and Leigh—both live-in club girls—were grinning like Cheshire cats. “Just the other day, Henry told me that in Australia, they have Christmas in summer, so if you went down there in June and came back in December, you could have two Christmases a year.”

I was sure the blank stare on my face communicated exactly what it needed to.

Quill, though, I guess was better with his words. “We haven’t given him a gun yet, right?”

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