Page 66 of Carver’s Crusade

Jinx glances up while slicing strawberries. “Sure.”

I shift awkwardly beside the counter. “Do you feel uncomfortable with me? Because of Athena? Because I know you’re seeing her?”

Understanding softens her expression instantly.

“Of course not.” She shakes her head firmly. “I don’t care if the whole club knows I’m in therapy.”

I blink at her honesty.

Jinx shrugs lightly and continues arranging fruit. “Everyone suffers from damage. Some of us may have more than others, but there is no shame in seeking help.”

The words hit me square in the chest.

I watch her move confidently through her tasks, completely unashamed, completely herself, and admiration swells inside me. Jinx carries her scars openly rather than hiding them.

I wish I knew how to do that.

Before I can respond, footsteps thunder overhead, followed by laughter. A moment later, the other Old Ladies begin filing into the common room dressed for the day ahead. The space fills with chatter, teasing, and warmth. They’re a big and loud family starting their day.

The noise level in the clubhouse quadruples the second the Church room doors open.

Heavy boots strike the floor as the men file into the common room wearing leather kuttes and hard expressions, looking every bit like the dangerous outlaws the world believes them to be. Their shoulders are rigid, their eyes sharp, and a grim determination hangs over them, making the room feel smaller.

Until they spot their women.

The transformation is subtle but impossible to miss. Shoulders relax. Hard eyes soften. Hands reach automatically for waiting wives and girlfriends. A few smiles appear, small and private, meant only for their women.

It's startling to watch.

One moment they look like warriors preparing for battle. The next, they're husbands, lovers, and protectors. The same men who can inspire fear with a single glance seem almost human again, drawn toward their women as naturally as breathing. And somehow, watching Carver's face change when his gaze finds mine makes my heart stumble in my chest.

“You eat yet?” he asks.

I shake my head.

“Then c’mon.”

His hand settles against my lower back, guiding me toward the buffet where the others are already filling plates. The warmth of his touch burns straight through my shirt. Around us, the kitchen buzzes with activity as Old Ladies move around, grabbing coffee and food while the bikers raid the buffet like a pack of starving wolves.

Carver loads my plate before making his own. Pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, fruit, potatoes. Enough food to feed three people.

“You planning to hibernate for winter?” I ask.

He snorts. “We need fuel.”

I follow him to one of the long tables where Shield and Lenora sit beside Babe and Min. Torch occupies the end seat with a mug of coffee clenched in both hands and a pile of food on the plate in front of him.

Carver pulls out my chair before dropping into the seat beside me.

The casual gentleness of the gesture makes my chest ache.

For a few minutes, everyone eats quietly. Forks scrape plates while conversation drifts around us from other tables. I’m halfway through a pancake when Shield sets down his coffee mug.

“We made a decision in Church,” he says.

The table quiets immediately.

Shield leans back slightly, his expression hardening. “We’re going after Tony Martin and his buddies.”