Next Chapteris finally done, and it’s beautiful.
The only problem is that there’s barely been a trickle of customers. The grand dream of readers pouring through the doors? Just that — a dream. It’s been days of watching dust settle on untouched shelves, anxiety festering in my gut. Maybe I jumped in too fast. Maybe I should’ve planned better. Maybe I’m just destined to fuck everything up.
Ria dropped off coffee earlier and I’ve been clutching the cup like it can hold me together.
I’m halfway through convincing myself that staring at the ceiling for hours in bed would be more productive than sitting here drowning in my own thoughts, when the bell above the door chimes.
I turn, and my breath hitches. A mountain of leather and menace fills the doorway. A goddamn biker. My heart stutters, a mix of dread and fury bubbling in my chest.
He grins. Wide, friendly. Completely fucking out of place.
“Hey there,” he waves, stepping inside, unbothered. “I’m Domino.” He freezes, eyes wide. “Shit. I guess we kind of met already.”
My arms cross instinctively, like a shield. “Yeah, we did.” My voice is like ice. “Listen, I don’t know why you’re here, but I don’t like it. You can hover around Ria, but not me. You need to leave.”
His eyes go wide, like I just kicked a puppy. A giant, murderous puppy. “I’m not here on behalf of the club or anything like that,” he says, hands up in surrender. His voice drops to a low, careful tone. “I’m actually here as a customer.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Bullshit.” It comes out before I can stop it. “What would a biker do in a bookstore that specializes in romance?”
“Buy books, what else,” he deadpans, like I’m being ridiculous.
Disbelief spreads across my face. He straightens, crosses his arms, and levels me with a glare that could melt steel.
“Don’t judge me by my leather. I can see the way you’re looking at me.” He cocks his head, defiant. “I like books. Is that such a fucking crime?”
I have to bite back a laugh. “I’m not judging. I’m just surprised, that’s all.” I shrug, a little lighter now. “I thought your club sent you here for some stupid reason.”
“Nah,” he waves it off casually. “Prez told us not to bother you. Said it was enough you had to deal with the guards around Ria. I just want some books.”
I snort. “Your Prez wasn’t wrong. But I don’t actually have anything against the club as a whole, you just made me suspicious. It’s your VP I have beef with.”
I tilt my head, studying his reaction. “Where is he, anyway? I have some papers for him, and it’s like he dropped off the face of the Earth.”
He just shrugs, nonchalant as can be. “No idea. He comes and goes. We never know when he’s leaving or when he’s coming back.”
That’s… interesting. And annoying as hell. I need those divorce papers out of my hands and into his.
A sigh escapes me, taking the tension in my shoulders with it. “Fine. What kind of stuff do you like?”
His entire face lights up with pure giddiness. Then he starts talking so fast I can barely keep up.
I don’t know what kind of black magic I stumbled into, but just when I was ready to call it quits, my bookstore became the hottest fucking spot in town. Customers started flooding in.
Domino’s also been a huge surprise through this whole thing. He’s been a regular since the day he first walked through my door. I’m still amazed at how confident he is about his reading habits. I would’ve thought he’d catch flak from his brothers, but apparently he throws a mean punch.
Somehow, he convinced me to start a book club. Abiker. No. Not just any biker. A fucking Vulture. Convincing me to hold a romance book club. If someone would’ve told me this at any time in the past, I would’ve laughed them straight out of the room.
But here we are.
It’s our eighth officialBroken Hearts Weekly Book Club, and I’m watching Domino — tattooed knuckles gripping the spine of this week’s book — charming the ladies. Not an ounce of effort.
The women are perched around him like he’s the last drop of water on Earth. Eyes wide. Lips parted. I’m not even surethey read the book. But that doesn’t matter. Domino talks. They listen. It’s a fucking phenomenon.
He’s... growing on me. Like mold. It’s unsettling.
“I’m telling you,” he growls, flipping back to a dog-eared page, “the Orc King marking her wasn’t just instinct. It was strategy. That’s what none of you are getting.” He glances around the circle, daring someone to challenge him.
Blair from the bakery — curly hair, shy smile — leans forward, eyelashes fluttering like she’s trying to send a message in Morse code. “But don’t you think it was too soon? He didn’t even know her.”
