Page 24 of Brazen Being It

Little Foot doesn’t flinch. He rides straight up the middle like he owns the place.

I stay behind him, hands on his waist, trying to mimic the confidence he wears like a second skin. But my stomach twists as I see the way the others look at me—curious, suspicious, a little predatory.

He parks near the garage and helps me off the bike. I smooth down the tank top and adjust the waistband of his sweats, trying to hide how nervous I am.

“Just stay close to me,” he says under his breath. “You don’t owe them anything.”

A man with a man bun, arms thick as tree trunks walks over. He’s got a patch that says REX and another one President. His eyes are a blend of green and blue like water in a river and a stare so intense I feel like he reads my very soul.

“So this her?”

Little Foot nods. “This is Cambria. My wife.”

Rex looks at me like he’s trying to see through me, figure me out. “You look young.”

I square my shoulders. “I am eighteen. But when you know you know.”

That makes him smile. Just barely, but there is a smile.

“She’s got teeth,” he says, glancing at Little Foot. “Might be the best thing you’ve brought back yet.”

What the hell? I’m confused. Some of the other guys chuckle.

“Just don’t bite any of my brothers,” Rex adds to me.

“No promises,” I say trying to match the energy around me.

That gets a real laugh, and the tension breaks.

He claps Little Foot on the back and walks off, barking orders at a couple of prospects near the loading dock.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

“You did good,” Little Foot says.

“I didn’t faint, if that’s what you mean.”

He grins. “That too.”

He introduces me to a few others—Hawk, who gives me a once-over and a nod of approval; Smoke, who has Nomad on his patch, who just grunts; and a prospect who has no name according to him, who stares at me like I’m a UFO. I wave at him and he nearly trips over his own boots.

By the time we head back to the trailer, I’m exhausted. It’s been so much change in a short amount of time. And I hate to admit it, but I don’t know the last time I really felt safe enough to sleep, really sleep, not just a cat nap or a doze.

I flop on the bed, stretching out like I haven’t slept in a year. Little Foot kicks off his boots and sits beside me, quiet.

“Think they bought it?” I ask.

He nods. “They’ll talk, but yeah. You held your own.”

“That was the easy part,” I murmur. “The hard part’s going to be pretending I know how to live here.”

“You’re doing fine.”

He leans back, arms folded behind his head.

I turn toward him, resting on my side. “Why me?”

He glances over. “What do you mean?”

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