Page 10 of Ripper's Redemption

Stiletto nods, “You’re right.”

“How bad was it?” Zane mutters, running a hand through his hair. His anger simmers, but there’s a flicker of vulnerability—he cares deeply, more than he’d ever admit. “You two think he’s gonna pull through?”

“I’m not a doctor, but I’m thinkin’ me and Stiletto did everything we could until the paramedics got there.” I’m doing my best to stay as positive as I can.

“That bastard,” Zane growls, fists clenching. He looks ready to tear something apart, the fury rolling off him in waves. “We’re gonna have a war on our hands. The Commander was sending a message, and it isn’t being well received. I’ll have that fucker’s head.”

CHAPTER TWO

Tara

The bell above Tart’s door chimes for the hundredth time today, and I don’t even have a second to look up.

My hands are a blur as I frost cupcakes and hustle through orders.

The air is thick with the sweet scent of sugar and vanilla, mingling with the faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

If it weren’t so chaotic, I’d probably be in heaven right now.

“Nina, your order’s ready!” I shout, sliding a tray of still-warm cookies onto the counter.

My stomach growls loudly, reminding me I haven’t eaten since breakfast.

I clutch my belly, wincing at the growing hunger gnawing at me.

A man’s voice rings out of nowhere, but I’m so busy it doesn’t even startle me. “Hey, Tara, you got a sec?”

“Not really,” I mutter, not bothering to see who it is. My mind is focused on the task at hand—keeping this place running smoothly despite the madness. It’s been a fucking nuthouse in here today.

The man’s voice is suddenly a lot lower, almost like he’s trying to urge me to take a break and chat with him. “Come on, just a minute.”

I’m about to tell this dude I’m too busy to be a Chatty Cathy, until I realize who it is—Ripper.

He’s leaning against the counter, his dark eyes twinkling with mischief.

His leather cut creaks as he shifts his weight, and for a moment, I can almost smell the gasoline and metal that cling to him—scents that always remind me of the club.

“Ripper,” I sigh, wiping my forehead with the back of my flour-dusted hand. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be so short. It’s been insane today. What can I help you with?”

I haven’t really been speaking to him a lot lately. We’ve had a few short conversations here and there, but the last time we really chatted it was the night we had our one-night stand.

“Just wondered what’s gotten into you.” His tone is light, but there’s an edge of concern there that surprises me.

It catches me off guard, making me pause.

I repeat his words, more to myself than him. “What's gotten into me?”

The words hang heavy in the air, and suddenly, everything I’ve been holding back comes rushing forward.

He nods, “Yeah, you’ve seemed so angry lately. Not hardly talkin’ to anyone, I don’t see you around the clubhouse really.”

The frustration, the anger, the betrayal come rushing back like a force to be reckoned with.

I slam down the icing bag and lean closer to him, lowering my voice.

“Ripper, you probably don’t know this, but the only reason I was offered this job was to keep my dad in line when he was a prisoner. A cherry on top of the sundae to get him to work with them. And he didn’t even tell me. Can you believe it? That’s why I’ve been acting so fucking off lately.”

“Whoa,” Ripper says, raising his hands in surrender. “That’s a lot to process.”

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