Page 25 of Steel

She stands and grabs the granola bars off the counter to show him.

“Nola bars?”

“Granola bars. You like these ones.”

He groans, and I don’t know what makes me feel worse: holding a kid hostage when I don’t even know if his sister is to blame or the fact that I’m apparently starving him.

Behind Ghost, a few patch bunnies walk by in bikinis. If I had to guess, they’ll lay out in the yard and pretend it’s closer to summer. They’ll have their tops off the moment the guys start waking up, and it’s a reminder of why Legacy keeps his kid out of the clubhouse.

Tempe and Austin can’t stay here. Not that I can let them go either.

Fuck.

There’s only one option, and I’m regretting it before the thought fully forms. She’s more trouble than I have time for, and I’m planting dynamite in the center of my life by suggesting this to her.

“Grab your shit.”

Austin’s eyes widen. “That’s a bad word.”

Wonderful, the kid who won’t talk to the guys says something to me, and he’s judging me like his fucking sister.

I sigh. “Stuff… Get your stuff.”

He smiles—actually fucking smiles.

Kids usually fear me or avoid me. Even Legacy’s daughter keeps her distance because she senses I’m not a kid person. I’d rather wait to talk to them when they’re old enough to not have to filter myself.

But this kid in his superhero cape, with his arms wrapped around his sister’s leg, looks up at me with the brightest fucking eyes, and I hate that it does something inside my chest.

I squat down to bring myself to his height. “Austin, right?”

Austin nods, burying the side of his face against Tempe’s leg as she holds her hand on his cheek.

“I’m Steel.”

“Mr. Steel.” He laughs. “That’s a funny name.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” I shake my head, not prepared to explain road names to a four-year-old. “It’s my last name. But you can call me Jameson if you like.”

No one calls me by my first name but my grandma, and Ghost must not miss me caving for this kid because he chuckles.

“Okay, Mr. Jameson.”

Mr. Jameson. Like I’m not president of the most feared MC on the West Coast.

“No mister. Just Jameson. So how about it, you hungry, Austin?”

“Yes.”

“You like pancakes?”

His eyes widen, and a smile curls in the corners of his mouth. “They’re my favorite.”

“Mine too.” I stand up, looking down at him and Tempe, but I don’t know how to read the way she’s looking at me. “Grab your things. I need to touch base with the guys, but we’ll head out in thirty.”

“Okay,” she says, sounding a little nervous. “Where are we going?”

Someplace that is going to make this a hell of a lot more complicated than it already is. “My house.”

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