Page 31 of Steel

“It’s nice to meet you, Austin. I’m Pearl, Jameson’s grandma.”

“I’m hungry,” he says back.

“Austin, that’s not polite.” I brush his cheek with my hand. “Sorry about that, he hasn’t had breakfast.”

“It’s no problem, dear.” She waves me off, reaching her hand out toward Austin. “How about I get you some breakfast? You can help me cook if you like.”

“Pancakes?” he asks her.

“Of course.” She leans down to whisper, even if we can all hear her, “They’re my grandson’s favorite.”

She juts a thumb in Jameson’s direction and smiles at Austin, who is still holding my leg. He looks from Pearl to Jameson, and it isn’t until Jameson nods at him that he lets go and takes Pearl’s hand.

I can’t figure out why Austin trusts him, but he does. And as much as Jameson pisses me off, I’m starting to wish I could trust him as well. He might be dangerous, but in the past twenty-four hours, the men outside these gates have done worse to me than the Twisted Kings.

“We’re going to make some breakfast,” Pearl announces, looking down at Austin as she leads him toward the kitchen. “I like your cape.”

He swishes it out with his free hand. “It’s my invisibility. But don’t worry, it’s off now. You can see me.”

“Well, good because you’re a handsome young fellow to look at.”

They disappear around the corner, and I’m still frozen in place, recovering from the whiplash of going from the clubhouse to this. A home that feels nearly suburban on the inside. The warm greeting of a woman, unlike the glares from the patch bunnies in the kitchen.

The two environments are night and day. Jameson Steel might be the most confusing man I’ve ever met.

My eyebrows pinch as I look up at him. “You live with your grandma?”

He sighs, scratching his jaw. “She lives with me.”

I can’t help but smile because the entire scene is so out of left field for a leather-wearing biker, it’s hilarious. “That’s… sweet. Guess there’s a human beneath that president patch after all.”

“Don’t get any fucking ideas, wildfire.” He shakes his head, tossing Austin’s bag over his shoulder. “I’ll show you to your rooms.”

Jameson leads me up the staircase, which is lined with photos I assume are of his family members. The men have Jameson’s strong, square jawline. And the women have a familiar fierce intensity in their gazes.

I suppose being a strong woman is necessary to spend time here.

On the upper level of the house is a long hallway with four bedrooms and a bathroom.

“This one’s my grandma’s room, and that’s her crafting room.” He points from the first door to the second, stopping at the two at the end of the hall. “You and Austin can have these two.”

Jameson drops the bag inside one, standing in the doorway watching me as I make my way into the other.

It’s small but surprisingly decorated. The curtains let in light but keep the harsh sunbeams out. The bed in the center has a large quilt stretched across it with vines and a sunflower stitched into it.

Spinning around, I find Jameson propped against the doorframe, watching me. “Where’s your room?”

“Downstairs.” He juts his chin toward the staircase. “But like I said, I don’t usually stay here.”

I hum, scanning the room once more. “Understood.”

“Tempe.” Jameson steps into the room, dropping his voice slightly, and my chest tightens when he gets close.

He dips his chin and drags his fingers through his hair, thinking over something.

“Yeah?”

His gray stare darts to mine. “Tell me you aren’t like your father.”

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