Page 12 of Heart of Stone
“Okay! Excursion time!”
I grab the baby monitor and tuck it into the pocket of my cutoffs. Snagging his bottle and the frozen milk, I lock the house tight and power-walk across the street.
The drunks in the front yard don’t pay me any notice. The two young guys stationed near the bikes, however? Yeah, they clock me before I even hit the sidewalk.
“Yo,” one of them says, stepping into my path. “You can’t bring a baby in here.”
I tilt my head back, wondering what I did in a past life to deserve the misfortune that’s dropped on my head over the last three days.
“Hi, I’m not actually trying to bring a baby to the party—that is—I mean—” I juggle Adam and tug the bottle from under my arm. “I need to borrow your microwave. Or stove. Or kettle. It won’t take long—just a few minutes to heat up his milk.”
The biker kid with his Prospect patch stares down at the bottle like it holds shit.
“You can’t do this at your place?”
I shake my head. “Ah, no. Appears there’s some kind of power issue.”
Adam chooses that second to let out a screech, letting the world know exactly how hangry he is.
“I’ll pay you,” I say, desperate to avoid the forthcoming meltdown. “Please. It’ll just take ten minutes to?—”
“We all good here?” A hand settles on the curve of my lower back.
I twist, holding Adam close as I stare up into the eyes of yet another biker—the same one who’d yelled at me when I had my freak-out.
Oh, shit.
His glower makes it very clear he isn’t pleased to see me.
“You,” I murmur, my chest tightening.
He wears dark, worn jeans, thick boots, and a once-black shirt that’s faded to grey. On his chest sits a leather cut, the patches just visible in the dark. They readStoneheart MC, Sergeant at Arms,andHawk.
I’ve been around enough bikers at the shop to know what those, and the other patches I can’t yet make out, mean—this guy is club through and through.
A flush burns hot under my skin, the memory of him catching me on the front lawn crashes back with humiliating clarity. He’d seen me—raw, unsteady, completely unraveling. My stomach twists with shame and embarrassment.
No one sees me so vulnerable, so uncontrolled. They can’t. I don’t let them.
But he did. And I hate that he did.
I can’t meet his eyes, not fully. Not when I can still hear the sharp edge in his voice and feel the judgment in his gaze. I shift Adam in my arms, a weak distraction from my discomfort.
Hawk’s jaw clenches, his gaze dropping to the baby in my arms.
“You bringing a baby to a biker’s party?” Hawk asks.
I shake my head, stepping away from his hand and moving backward to give us space.
“No,” I reply, trying to get a grasp on my emotions. “I’m bringing a bottle to my neighbor in hopes you might be able to warm it up for me.” I hold up the frozen milk. “I just need to zap it in the microwave for a few minutes, otherwise he’s gonna freak.”
Hawk looks from the frozen bag to Adam, then meets my gaze.
“You can’t do this at your place?”
I swallow. “It appears we’re without power. Or water.”
A muscle jumps in his jaw, and for a beat I think he’s going to refuse me. “Follow me.”
