* * *
Indy,Cain, Sly, Nixon, and I hit the ground running to set up family dinner, and within thirty minutes, the employee parking lot looked fit for a motorcycle club barbeque. Several six-foot folding tables were set up with simple plastic tablecloths, and enough chairs for at least fifty people, not that we were expecting that many. A few coolers were packed with beers, water, and even some juice pouches, in case anyone brought their kids.
Cain lit up the two charcoal barbeques King had brought from home, prepping them to throw the meat on. Steaks and brats were on the menu for tonight, and a bunch of random side dishes the guys had brought.
Once most of the Sinners had shown up, I noticed the majority of them had come by themselves instead of bringing their families. I couldn’t say I blamed them with how high tensions were.
But as soon as the guys came together, they loosened up and started to enjoy themselves.
Sounds of beer caps popping off the bottles, chip bags opening, and husky laughter brought a smile to my face. They were happy—a little less serious and more carefree. It looked good on them.
Cain looked pretty good too, doing something as domestic as flipping steaks on a grill.
Walking over to him, I lifted on my toes, leaning to press a kiss to his cheek. At the last second, he turned his head and crashed his lips into mine, prying my mouth open with his tongue. Tingles immediately overtook my body, and my arms had a mind of their own as they wrapped around his neck and pulled him closer.
Catcalls and whoops erupted from the guys, and one even yelled, “Get a room!” Smiling against his lips, I smacked my hand against Cain’s chest as I pulled back.
With a wide grin, he turned and refocused his attention on the grill.
“Maybe I should have picked up an apron for you. Who knew you’d be such a master at the grill?” I half-teased, half-complimented.
I watched as he hung the tongs off the grill’s handle and switched to the other one, grabbing a plate from a nearby table to stack bratwursts on, handing it to me when he was done.
“Baby, go eat if you're hungry because once you put those down, they’ll be gone,” he encouraged before yelling, “these guys are monsters when it comes to food!”
A couple of the guys raised their beers in response, but Nixon patted his stomach and shouted, “Damn straight, Prez!” His cousin Preston nodded enthusiastically from where he sat on top of the table.
“If that table collapses under your weight, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” I play-scolded as I sat the plate down on the table across from him with the rest of the food.
Everything looked delicious—I couldn’t wait to dig in.
As I stood there looking at everything, Sly came up beside me and pressed a kiss to my temple.
“Ciao, mia preferita. You’d better eat before the guys swarm.”
I wrapped my arms around his middle, giving him a tight hug.
Reaching for an empty plate, I handed it to Sly before grabbing another for myself. “So I’ve heard. If I’m eating, you’re eating too.”
He grinned and used his plate to gesture at the food. “Ladies first.”
Before reaching for the tongs to pick up a brat, I snuck another glance at Cain, who was chatting with King while he flipped the steaks again. For the first time in the last forty-eight hours, I felt like I could breathe a little. Things felt good…happy. Settled, if only for the moment.
If the Sinners were enjoying themselves, I would relax and enjoy myself too. I exhaled a deep breath and refocused on the food spread out in front of me.
Working my way down the table, I loaded my plate with a little of everything to try. “Everything looks so damn good. Can you grab me a water?”
Sly was opening the cooler, grabbing himself another beer. “Of course.”
He tucked the bottle under his arm and I followed him to another table with a few open seats. As we walked, the familiar rumble from a couple of motorcycles neared, and we both stopped in our tracks.
The employee parking lot was down a side street, around the corner from the main road the bar was located on. It was a dead-end road and not many people came down it.
Thinking I was being paranoid, I took another step toward the table before I stopped, frozen in place. The growl of the engines amplified, and three bikers came into view.
And the moment they did, they each withdrew a gun. With fingers on the triggers, they pointed them.
Everything seemed to move in slow motion until it didn’t.
