Page 16 of Waging War
Fucking hell.What am I doing here?
Row after row of pre-made cakes sit innocently behind the glass of the bakery I’ve walked into.
Cooper coming by the casino last night has to be messing with my head. The comment about gettingtheirgirl back still rankles. The gang cares for Hazel—that much is clear—but I don’t appreciate another male trying to assert his dominance over her.
The Hazel I’ve seen doesn’t take lightly to commands. I imagine her squaring off with Cooper and putting him in his place the same way she does with me. But my smirk falls as the image shifts, and he picks her up and wraps her long legs around his waist.
A spark of jealousy heats my blood. “Fucking prick.”
The elderly woman behind the counter gives me a welcoming smile, and I cough to cover the expletive.
“What can I help you with?” she asks.
I glance over my shoulder before cramming my fists into my usual black leather jacket. “I need a cake.” Temporarily forgetting my manners, I add, “Please.”
The curious gleam in her old eyes makes my stomach clench.
“Why don’t we start with who it’s for. Are you looking to get a cake for a boy or girl?”
“Um… a girl. Well, a woman, actually.” The back of my neck grows hot as I contemplate running for the door.
“Alright, a woman. Any special occasion?” she asks. I give her a curt nod, and I’m awarded with another sweet smile. “Great! Okay, let’s pick a color. Do you think she’d like pink or turquoise?” Her bony finger points to a section of white cakes with dollops of colorful icing swirled around their edges.
What colors do women even like?
Gesturing to the one on the farthest end of the row, she makes a note of what to write on the top, then removes it before slipping into the back to decorate.
I check the time on my phone four times before she finally brings it back and checks me out.
“I hope she enjoys it.” She beams.
This could go one of two ways, and I’m rooting for the one that doesn’t end up with me being injured. “You and me both,” I say before thanking the woman and making a mad dash out of the store.
The box sits in the exact same spot as the space heater did just one week ago. I scold myself as I drive toward the old apartments. I’m not sure what I’m trying to prove. She attempted to murder me, for fuck’s sake.
Hazel’s hatred has settled around me like thorns on a vine. Despite the mistakes I’ve made and being the sole reason she’s where she is to begin with, a small part of me wants her to like me.
Besides, no one should be alone on their birthday.
The stairs blur when I reach the complex and make my way up to her door. Instead of walking in like I own the place, I knock twice to let her know someone’s here and pray the only fork she’ll be using is for this damn cake.
My heart thunders away as I swallow thickly. I can directly challenge the second in command of Mackville’s most lethal biker gangs, but facing down the hellion behind this barrier somehow rattles my confidence.
“Hazel, it’s me,” I say as I unlock each bolt and crack open the front door.
She stands in the kitchen, eyes wide, and she does indeed have a fork in hand.
I hold one hand up, balancing the cake on the other palm. “Put the damn fork down, woman. I’m not here to fight.”
Slowly, she lowers the fork to the counter. Her gaze zeros on the box, brows forming a scowl. “What is that?”
Lowering my arms, I shrug. “I got you something.”
I cross to where she’s standing—barefoot with those little cotton shorts and a thin tank top covering her ample cleavage.
She’s braless… again.
“Why?” The question is cold and bitter. She doesn’t trust me, and I can’t say I blame her.
