Page 36 of Damascus & The Wildfire
I chuckled. “I read. Mostly war biographies, old history stuff.”
She wrinkled her nose in mock disgust. “You soundlike my grandpa.”
I nudged her shoulder playfully. “Careful. I was already building my first bike when you were just learning how to read.”
She rolled her eyes and shoved me gently as we walked inside. She made a beeline for the true crime section, fingers trailing over the spines.
I lingered nearby, arms crossed. “What is it with women and true crime?” I asked curiously, voice low enough not to get shushed.
She pulled out a thick paperback with a bloody cover. “Morbid curiosity. Why do some people cross the line?”
“Sometimes they have no other choice.” The answer slipped out, heavier than intended.
Her head tilted, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “Sounds like you speak from experience.”
I met her sharp gaze. “Life experience teaches you a lot about the line. Where it is, how easy it is to blur, and how fast things get complicated after.”
Kenna tucked the book under her arm, studying me. “So, hypothetically speaking, what would make you cross it?”
I shrugged, glancing down the row of battered paperbacks. “Depends on what’s at stake. Some things are worth the consequences. Saving someone you love. Protecting the innocent. Retribution.”
A beat of charged silence stretched between us. Then she smirked, stepping close enough to bump her shoulder into mine. “Something tells me you’ve got stories that’d fit right in on this shelf.”
“Some stories are best kept off the record.”
Chapter Thirteen
Nerves twisted in my stomach as I paced the edge of the park. I scanned the parking lot for women brave enough to show up for the self-defense class we’d worked so hard to organize. What if no one came? What if the club’s reputation scared them off? I wiped my palms on my jeans, forcing myself to breathe.
Rhetta manned the registration table like a Southern debutante in leather.
“Look over there, sugar,” she said, gesturing to two blond sorority girls heading our way. “Told you we’d have takers.”
My heart leaped as more women trickled in. Three women in their forties with sunny energy signed the waivers. “This is our weekly ritual,” one of them announced with a grin. “Last week was goat yoga. This week? Biker boot camp. We try something new every Saturday.” I couldn’t help but laugh.
A nervous brunette in her early thirties hovered at the edge, arms crossed tight across her chest. Her eyes darted everywhere but at the men. I knew that look. It was one worn by a woman who’d felt powerless at some point. One who knew “not all men”—but had maybe judged wrong once or twice, leaving her trust in others tattered and torn. I made a mental note to keep an eye on her and to step in if it seemed like anyone made her uncomfortable.
A boisterous pack of twenty-somethings rolled up just as we were about to begin. By the time Eva nudged me forward, there were eleven women in total lined up before us.
I grabbed Hatchet’s arm before I could lose my nerve. He blinked at me in surprise but didn’t pull away. He stepped forward as I sucked in a shaky breath.
“Good morning, ladies. I’m Kenna. A few weeks ago, I was mugged downtown. I felt helpless and scared. More recently, I was nearly carjacked in a parking lot. Both times, I was lucky enough to have my friend, Hatchet, come to the rescue.”
Hatchet gave a dramatic bow, earning a ripple of laughter.
I rolled my eyes. “But here’s the thing—I don’t want to rely on luck or anyone else to keep me safe. We need to be able to defend ourselves. We will not be victims. That’s why we put together this free class for anyone interested in learning about self-defense.”
I stepped aside as Rhetta moved forward to speak. “Thanks, sugar. I’m Rhetta, and my husband is the president of the Mavericks Motorcycle Club. I’d like to introduce you to the Mavericks who’ll be teaching this class today. You’ve already met Hatchet. We’re also going to learn from Fuse, Merrick, Archer, and Coast.”
I watched the crowd as she spoke. Some women looked nervous, some curious, and one looked seconds away from ripping her clothes off and throwing herself at the guys to fulfill a “why choose” fantasy.
Eva shot me a sly glance, and I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. She’d insisted on picking only the Mavericks who were single to help teach this class, mainly to keep Reaper out of the crosshairs of flirty newcomers.
“We’re splitting into groups of two, with one group of three,” Rhetta continued. “Kenna, Eva, and I will float around to help demonstratethe moves.”
The sorority girls rushed for Hatchet, who turned up the charm immediately. The forties crew clustered around Fuse. The loud twenty-somethings split between Archer and Coast, leaving the nervous brunette and one straggler with Merrick. I drifted toward them, determined to help the woman who looked like she might bolt at any second feel more comfortable.
I brushed my hand gently against her arm, and she flinched. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. What’s your name?”
