Page 70 of Vapor

“Cross my heart.” She waits until I free up the pan before plunging another batch of dough into the frying oil.“He only has eyes for you.”

The words wrap around me, a comforting embrace that I didn’t realize I needed. I focus on the golden-brown pastries, the scent of fried sweetness filling the air, letting the tension ease out of my shoulders.

“Did you know that Vapor claimed you at the last meeting? He said you were his and no one else’s.” Babet smiles.

“Claimed me?” My hand stills, a half-formed beignet dangling from my fingers.

“Yep, it’s official now. You’re essentially his old lady, and everyone knows it.”

“I don’t know about that. I thought being an old lady was more of a commitment, like being married.”

“It’s hard to know where the line is. But if one of the guys claims you during Church, then it’s serious. That kind of thing doesn’t happen every day.”

“Am I allowed to go to these‘Church’meetings?” I ask, curiosity piqued by the clandestine nature of it all.“I’m assuming it’s not actually at a church, right?”

“Definitely not. Church is just what they call their meetings. Only patched members are allowed,” she says, flipping a beignet.“And Vapor typically only lets the high-ranking ones into the library.”

“That’s where they meet?”

“Yep.”

“It’s all so fascinating.” I nod, understanding the hierarchy but feeling an odd pang of exclusion.“I guess it makes sense. If you’re not a club member then you shouldn’t know about club business.”

“Does it bother you?” Babet studies me.

“No,” I lie, tossing another beignet into the oil.

Maybe it does, just a little. But I’m learning that in this world, some things are sacred, and I have to trust Vapor. I’m trying to find my own place in all this chaos, but it’s not easy.

“Before all this, before Vapor, I didn’t know a thing about motorcycle clubs,” I admit.“My father never let me or my sister anywhere near guys like that. We were only allowed to hang out with other kids from wealthy families.”

“Honey, it’s a whole new world for sure,” Babet says with a knowing smile.“But you’re strong, like us. You’ll get used to how things are.”

“Will I?” I ask, not just to her but to myself.

Before she can answer, the kitchen door swings open and Vapor strolls in. His presence fills the room, sending a firestorm of desire throughout my entire body. His raven-black hair is slicked back, still damp from a shower. His piercing blue eyes zero in on the plate of golden pastries like a hawk spotting a field mouse.

“Damn, that smells good,” he says.

I’m about to set a freshly cooked beignet onto the plate to rest when his large hand swoops down, snatching it up. He yelps as the heat bites him back. I can’t help but laugh at his impatience.

“Vapor, you numbskull, those are fresh out of the pan!” Babet scolds, shaking her head but with laughter in her eyes.

He grins, unabashed, rubbing his thumb and finger together where the burn singed him.“Can’t help it, Babet. Your beignets are worth a little pain.”

“Careful with that tongue,” I tease.“I’ve got some plans for it later.”

His grin turns wolfish as he steps closer, the heat from his body mixing with the warm kitchen air. Swiftly, he wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me against his solid chest.“Oh yeah? What kind of plans?”

The question, low and suggestive, sends a shiver through me, but before I can reply, Babet clears her throat pointedly, reminding us that we’re not alone. For now, the beignets need our attention, but later, well, I’m going to make sure Vapor puts that tongue to good use.

“Simmer down, you two,” Babet warns, wagging a flour-dusted finger at us.“Don’t you think about sneaking off. Not until all this dough is fried up.”

I nod, a smile playing on my lips as I watch Vapor devour another beignet, powdered sugar dusting his beard like a light frost. He’s inhaling them faster than we can make them. I shake my head, amused by his boyish lack of restraint.

Babet clicks her tongue, hands on hips.“Vapor, you’re gonna give yourself a belly ache if you don’t slow down.”

“You’re probably right,” he concedes with a sheepish grin, wiping his hands on a dishtowel before cleaning the remnants of sugar from his lips.

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