“I’ll tell them,” he offered. “You know I’ve got your back.”
My mouth curved into a smile. “I knew you had a soft side under all that chrome.”
“Don’t tell the guys,” he warned. “No one can know. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”
I chuckled. “Sofia already blew your cover.”
“She’s a cool kid. I don’t get how anyone looks at kids like Sofia and Tomás and decides to hurt them. If I had a kid, I’d burn the world down before I let anyone lay a hand on them. Or their mother.”
My chest tightened, and I cracked the window, letting the soft breeze cool my skin. “Softie,” I teased.
“Violently soft,” he corrected.
I reached into my pants pocket for Elena’s list. As I tugged the Post-it free, a receipt and a folded note slipped out and blew into Hatchet’s lap.
I handed Hatchet the list and rustled through the center console for a pen. “Can you add baby wipes? I only saw one pack, and I want to make sure Elena doesn’t run out.”
Hatchet scribbled on the list and slipped it into the pocket of his cut. He crumpled the receipt in his lap and tossed it to the floorboard before unfolding the note. His eyes skimmed the page. “What the fuck is this?” The shift was instant. His simmering anger radiated from the passenger side.
“What?” I glanced at the paper in his hand. My pulse kicked up. “I forgot about that. I haven’t read it yet. What does it say?”
“‘You belong to me,’” Hatchet spat out as he read the note out loud. “‘I’ve been patient while you slum it with bikers, but that ends soon. Stop whoring around before I make you regret it. Luca.’”
I pulled over to the side of the road. “Let me see,” I said, my mouth dry.
With the chocolate and flowers, I’d expected apologies. As I read the note, the clinical part of my brain lined up the data points: love bombing, entitlement, threats, escalation. Classic narcissistic abuser behavior.
“I don’t get what he even wants from me. What’s he getting from this?” I asked, my chest feeling tighter.
“We can’t keep letting this slide,” Hatchet growled.
I shook my head. “He left to visit his family in Italy.” I bit my lip and looked at the note again. “I’m sure by the time he gets back, he’ll be done with me.”
“And if he’s not, we’ll show him who you really belong to.”
I raised a brow. “And who, exactly, is that?”
“The Mavericks.”
Chapter Ten
The clubhouse pulsed with the jukebox and an energy that came from the freedom of men who didn’t give a fuck about societal expectations. I loved the summertime scene—loud music, smoke in the air, and the sweet scent of perfume from the women hoping to nab a property patch.
Rev handed me a cold beer and wiped the condensation on his jeans.
“Thanks, prospect,” I said.
“No problem. That sweetbutt’s been eyeing you all night,” he said, gesturing to the tall woman with fire-engine red hair at the bar.
“That’s Leah’s friend, Vega. The chick’s a stage-five clinger. She’s fun, though. You should hit her up.”
“Nah, I’ll pass. I have my eye on someone else,” he said wistfully.
I raised a brow, but he didn’t elaborate.
“How’s prospecting going?” I asked. I’d vouched for Rev. He’d make a good Maverick.
“Thane’s a tough motherfucker to please. Any advice?”
