Page 17 of Gunner

I playfully huff with feigned annoyance. “Fine, I’ll go.”

His full, pink lips split into a wide grin, but I poke my index finger into his chiseled pec.

“But I can’t go empty-handed. So I’m bringing brownies.” My lips press into a firm line while I give him a sharp nod.

He chuckles before kissing the tip of my nose. “That’s my girl.”

Since James came over on his motorcycle, we pile into my SUV and head back to Smith’s to pick up the ingredients for my triple chocolate fudge brownies. After a brief but mildly obnoxious discussion, I handed over my keys and let him buckle me into the front passenger seat, before he checked Caleb’s booster in the back. Apparently, when we’re together, I’m supposed to be a passenger princess, meaning I either ride on the back of his bike or I make myself comfortable in the front seat, even in my own vehicle. It’s not that I mind that at all, but it’ll certainly take some getting used to, and I might become a bit spoiled.

We look like your average family shopping in the local grocery store. Caleb walks between us, holding our hands and wearing the biggest smile I’ve ever seen. It feels almost too perfect to be true. But just as we turn down the next aisle, I pause midstep, remembering I forgot to grab a key ingredient.

“You guys go on. I need to get some flour.” I return to the baking aisle, searching the shelves for the item I want. Once I locate my preferred brand, I bend down to heft a five-pound bag into my arms. My skin tingles and I stand when someone moves in close to me. My first thought is that the boys have caught up with me, but as I pivot in their direction, I realize it’s someone else.

I suck in a sharp breath as my eyes go wide at Snake, a member of the Hell’s Outlaws. The same club that Caleb’s father belongs to.

I take a step back, but he grabs my wrist. “What the fuck are you doing with a Disciple bastard?” he snarls.

Panic races through me, and I whip my head around, searching for help. But it’s just my luck that this aisle is empty. “Let go of me,” I seethe, trying to pull away, but he tightens his grip almost painfully.

“I asked you a fucking question. Guess our warning didn’t penetrate your thick head.”

What warning, you asshole?

My forehead wrinkles while I rack my brain, having no clue what he’s talking about. And then I remember the threatening text I received yesterday, the one I assumed had to be for someone else. A message that I ignored.

I glower at him, still attempting to tug my arm free. “Fuck you, Snake. Now, let me go.”

“Answer me, bitch.”

I’m one second away from screaming, not giving a damn if I cause a scene. But knowing this jerk, he’d probably slap me and run, and I don’t want my baby to see or hear that.

“Who I’m with is none of your damn business.” I twist my arm back and forth, but it’s no use. His grip is like iron.

“It is my business when some fucking Disciple trash is hanging around Striker’s son.” Pure venom drips from his tone while he looks at me with disgust.

“Caleb is not his son. He’s mine. He wanted nothing to do with us, so why would he care now? Mind your own business, Snake, and let me go!” I bump him with my hip, hoping to knock him off balance so he’ll release his hold.

But he’s bigger and stronger, and he jerks me close enough to smell the cheap beer and stale cigarettes on his hot breath. “Stop struggling, bitch, bef?—”

“What the fuck is going on?” James’s deep voice booms through the air. I glance down to see Caleb hiding behind his leg, my little boy’s eyes zeroing in on my wrist.

My only concern is for my son, and I immediately try to ease his distress. “Mommy’s fine, sweetie.”

“Lily, take Caleb and go check out. I’ll handle this motherfucker right here.” James steps forward and Snake finally drops my arm. I reach for Caleb and he rushes to me without hesitation.

I glance back at James. “But?—”

“Now!” he snaps and I flinch, not used to the anger in his voice. I know it isn’t directed at me, but it’s scary all the same.

I don’t say another word as I take Caleb’s hand and push the cart to the front of the store.

We’re in the parking lot, loading the car, when James stalks toward us, his jaw firmly clenched. He doesn’t say a word as he places the last of the bags in the trunk and helps us inside before climbing into the driver’s seat.

Pressing the ignition button, he mutters, “Woman, you’ve got some fucking explaining to do.”

Fire flashes in his eyes, and I send him a warning glance. “Not here.” I tip my head toward the back seat where Caleb watches us curiously.

James’s lips pinch together, but his anger slightly cools at the mention of my son. When we pull into my garage, I instruct Caleb to head inside and play in his toy room. He’s hesitant and doesn’t want to leave—I don’t blame him; he’s never seen anything like this before—but after reassuring him everything is fine, he does as I’ve asked, closing the door softly behind him.

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