Page 16 of All's Fair in Love & Wrath

“I’m heading out, you good here?” he asks.

“Yeah. I’m gonna tap into some contacts I’ve got, work with Sin on getting this shit figured out. Tracker on?”

“Tracker off.”

“Mal. You can’t stalk her.”

“I can and I will. Now, good day, sir.”

Whatever. Not my problem today. Malice would never hurt someone innocent, so I’m willing to look past his stalking.Even if he refuses to acknowledge that’s exactly what he’s doing. If it’s giving him a reprieve from the mourning he’s feeling from losing Rolo, I’m happy for him. That guilt still eats me alive.

The room clears out, and I stub out the cherry of my smoke into the ashtray in front of me. The clubhouse is my sanctuary, my home after spending so long by myself, wandering, trying to find a little piece of the Earth I could be myself in.

My parents were drug addicts, too caught up with their own addictions to provide for me, so the state got involved. Moved me from foster home to foster home for almost fifteen years. I was too young to remember them, and it’s probably better that way. Can’t miss what you never had. Foster life had its ups and downs, had some really great caretakers, and had some real shitty ones. But I was always restless, uneasy, always feeling like I didn’t quite belong.

When I turned fourteen, I got a job and saved every penny for a full year to buy a used car. But after one particularly brutal beating from a drunk foster dad, I knew I needed out. The only thing I could afford at the time was a bike. Taught myself how to ride, grabbed the rest of my savings, and took off.

Ended up in Washington State a few years later, asked for a job at an autobody shop, and that’s where I met Queenie. He took one look at me and brought me under his wing, gave me a place to stay in the bunkhouse, and told me I could work the weekends, but I needed to finish school. Got my GED, applied to community college, and got my degree a few years later. Turned my life around. But that unease? That uncomfortable feeling that always simmered right under my skin? It was gone the moment I set foot inside this clubhouse.

Now it’s back. And there’s only one reason for that.

Sienna.

Chapter Seven

SIENNA

You’d think the scent of grease wouldn’t bother me anymore, but the last few weeks prove otherwise. My stomach turns as I walk into the kitchen to start my shift at the diner, the thick aroma permeating the air, assaulting all my senses, and clinging to the fabric of my clothes. It leaches into everything and makes me feel queasy.

I look over at Tommy, his stained white T-shirt now an aged yellow, his baseball cap slung backward on his head, his round belly protruding outward, a strip of hairy skin showing between his shirt and jeans, sweat beading over his skin. He’s flipping a burger, fries sizzling in the fry basket next to him.

“Mornin’ darlin’,” he says by way of greeting when he sees me. I readjust the bag on my shoulder, giving him a soft smile.

“I’d say good morning, Tommy, but I’m pretty sure it’s around lunchtime already.”

He shrugs, his big belly shaking from the movement, his shirt riding up higher. “Wouldn’t know. I’ve been busting my ass in this kitchen. You doin’ alright?”

“You really should take a break. It’s not like we get a lotof customers out here in the middle of nowhere, unless they’re travelers passing through. I’m sure there’s time for a break.”

“Ya didn’t answer my question.”

“Purposefully. Remember the rules? We keep to ourselves.”

Tommy just shrugs again, plating up the burger on a toasted sesame bun with lettuce, tomatoes, chopped onions, and house-made chipotle mayo. “No way to live, in my opinion.”

“Yeah, well, you’ll have to answer to Saint if you’ve suddenly turned me into a chatterbox, so let’s stick to the formalities.” I smile as warmly as I can muster and then head into the small break room to put my bag down. I wish it gave me a reprieve from the smell, but I’ve accepted that it’s embedded into every fiber of the diner.

I walk back out into the kitchen, tying off the end of my quick side braid just as the other waitress, Elise, is picking up the plate Tommy made. We only ever run into each other at shift change, but she’s a nice woman. She’s about my mom’s age . . . orwasmy mom’s age? A lump forms in my throat at the thought of her and how much I miss her. It takes everything I have to not let myself think about what happened to her, but when I know firsthand how ruthless and sadistic Cain is, it’s not hard to imagine her final hours.

“Oh, good, you’re here. You can take this out there then,” Elise says as she pushes the plate into my hands. “There’s some man here to see you. Table four.” Her words hit me like a freight train, and the plate I was holding falls to the tile ground with a loud shatter.

“Whoa! Are you okay?” she yells, taking a large step back from the broken glass now scattered across the kitchen floor. I can feel both of their eyes on me, but I can’t look away from the mess at my feet. The plate was so strong, holding all the foodset on it, but all it took was one drop to break into dozens of pieces. I’ve never related more.

This is my life now. Running. Hiding. In constant fear of Cain or one of his minions finding me and bringing me back to him. I squat down quickly, gathering up pieces into my palms when one slices the center of my hand. I drop the glass, hissing and making a fist.

“Shit. Here,” Elise says as she hands me a small towel to wrap around the cut. When I open my hand, there’s a thin line, blood blooming in the center. Lovely.

My mouth runs dry, and when I speak, the words are raspy, barely above a whisper. “Wh-what does he look like?”