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“Better now,” I say and wrap my arms around his lean waist. “How was your day?”
He shrugs. “Sold five cars today, so I can’t complain, and I get to end my day in my woman’s arms. How do you feel about Italian for dinner?”
I swoon a little at his offer because Cyrus is just a good man. He treats me like I’m his everything, opening doors like a gentleman. He’s always got a steadying hand on the small of my back, and he walks closest to the street in a purely protective gesture that I love.
“Italian sounds good. I have some leftover tiramisu for dessert.”
“I love your tiramisu,” he growls and nips my ear before his lips trace a trail of hot kisses across my collarbone and up to my lips. The kiss is long and hot, and by the time Cyrus pulls back, I’m trembling with arousal in his arms. “We could always order in?”
I purr at his suggestion. Sex between us is good but the more comfortable we get with each other, the better it will be. Right?
“I’m good with either option, Cyrus.”
He presses his hips against mine so I can feel his growing erection. “I love it when you say my name all breathy like that. Makes me so hard.”
“Good to know,” I tell him and steal another kiss just as the front door is yanked open so hard the frame bangs loudly. “What in the hell?” I blink a few times, unable to believe what I’m seeing.
Why are the Iron Kings insideFor Goodness Cakes?
No one would ever call my place a biker hangout, but the Reckless Souls occasionally stop in since it’s right inside their turf. I’ve heard about the tension between the biker factions. You can’t really do business in Angel Harbor without knowing who they are, but no Iron Kings frequent my bakery.
“Cyrus! My man!” A blond man with angry brown eyes limps in last, and all the guys step aside to create a path for him, which pegs him as the leader of the group. “What the fuck are you doing trying to get your dick wet?”
I frown at Cyrus and then look closer at the man in the leather vest and the patch that designates him as Vice President.
“You know this guy, Cyrus?” Cyrus works at the used car lot, not with foul mouth bikers.
Cyrus pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out an annoyed sigh. “Billy—I mean, Nogales—is family. His brother is married to my sister.”
I nod at his explanation. You can’t help who your family is, no matter how hard you try. Still, the explanation feels incomplete as the sick feeling in my stomach intensifies, a signal I’ve learned never to ignore. “Oh. Okay.”
It’s a bland reply, and I know I should say more, but with all these bikers around, my fight-or-flight instincts are having a brutal fight in the pit of my stomach.
Willow picks that moment to enter from the back room. “Hey, Boss,” she begins and stops just as quickly, her blue eyes wide at the sight of bikers filling up the bakery. “What’s going on?”
Nogales shoots a hard stare at Willow before his gaze goes back to Cyrus. “We don’t have time for this shit, not right now. Hector is gone, and we need to gather up all the men, every able-bodied fucker we have.”
Cyrus takes a step away from me, hands on his hips and a serious expression on his usually relaxed face. “Why?”
Nogales flashes a smile that is devilish at best, evil at worst. “It’s war, man, that’s why.”
War. Every drop of blood in my body turns cold at that one word. A biker war would mean trouble for every business in and around Angel Harbor. Destruction, injuries, and very likely death.
“War,” Cyrus repeats, almost as if he’s testing out the word to see how it feels on his tongue.
“Cyrus.” I reach out to him, but he takes another step back, putting even more distance between us. “What is he talking about, war? And why are these people in my bakery?”
Cyrus looks at me like he’s never looked at me before like I’m some silly little girl who doesn’t understand the world.
“Don’t worry about it, Maven. This is family business, and Nogales is family like I said.” His gaze is distant and hard. So unlike the man I’ve shared my hopes and dreams with for close to a year.
I nod, feeling numb at his words and his tone and the fact that this Nogales character so easily expects Cyrus to participate in this war. It’s all so unsettling, and I feel sick to my stomach.
“Right.” I take a step back and bump into another leather-clad biker.
“I can finish closing up,” Willow offers with a sympathetic expression.
I shake my head and step away from the half-circle of bikers until my fear fades enough to get a grip on this situation.
