Page 10 of Bloody Jack's Treat
I moved to the door, pausing with my hand on the knob."Try to get some sleep.You're safe here."
As I stepped out into the hallway, I cursed under my breath.Whatever was waiting for me better be fucking important, because the only place I wanted to be right now was back in that room, finishing what we'd started.
Chapter 4
Honey
IstoodinJack'skitchen,fidgeting with the leather vest that now marked me as his "property."I'd found it hanging on the bedroom door this morning with a note that simply read "Wear it."No please, no explanation.Just a command I didn't dare ignore.Now I stress-cooked enough food to feed a small army, hoping the familiar motions would calm my racing thoughts.
After Jack had left last night, I'd tossed and turned on his bed for hours before finally passing out from exhaustion.When I woke, he was gone, but fresh clothes had appeared.The jeans fit surprisingly well, a simple black tank top, and this leather vest with "PROPERTY OF BLOODY JACK" emblazoned across the back in blood-red stitching.The front had the club's insignia.Which was a skull dripping blood into cupped hands.Charming.
I stirred the massive pot of chili with more force than necessary, splashing a drop onto the counter.After wiping it away, I checked on the cornbread in the oven.The kitchen was industrial sized, clearly meant to feed dozens of hungry bikers, but right now it was just me, drowning in my thoughts and the smell of spices.
"Smells good."
I jumped at Jack's voice, nearly dropping the wooden spoon.He stood in the doorway, filling it with his massive frame, those glacial blue eyes fixed on me.His gaze traveled slowly from my face down to the vest and back up again, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
"I, uh, hope you like chili," I said, hating how my voice squeaked."I found everything in the pantry and freezer, so I figured..."
"I like anything that isn't takeout or burnt to shit.Unless it’s grilled hotdogs.Those need to be just this side of burnt."He moved into the kitchen with that predatory grace that seemed at odds with his size."Didn't expect to find you cookin'."
I shrugged, turning back to the pot to hide my flushed face."Cooking calms me down.Helps me think."
"And what are you thinkin' about, darlin'?"He was closer now, right behind me.I could feel the heat radiating from his body.He only stayed long enough to peek over my shoulder at the cooking brew before sitting at the small table in the corner next to the stove.
"Oh, you know.Just how I went from serving lattes to being kidnapped by a motorcycle club president in the span of twenty-four hours.The usual.Which reminds me.I need to call my boss and ask for some time off."
To my surprise, Jack chuckled, a deep rumble that I felt more than heard."You weren't kidnapped.You walked in here all on your own, sweetheart."
"And now I can't leave," I reminded him, turning to face him with the wooden spoon still in hand."That's pretty close to the definition of kidnapping."
His expression sobered slightly."It's the definition of protection.”
Before I could argue further, the timer dinged.I turned away to pull the cornbread from the oven, grateful for the interruption.The cornbread came out a perfect golden brown.I set it on a cooling rack and began ladling chili into bowls.
"I made enough for leftovers," I said, placing a heaping bowl in front of Jack along with a generous square of cornbread."Figured you'd be busy, so this way you'd have something to eat later."
Jack didn't respond.He just dug in with the focus of a man who hadn't eaten in days.I sat across from him, picking at my own bowl, watching in fascination as he devoured the food.When he finished, he pushed the bowl toward me without a word, his gaze hard and demanding.I huffed out a breath but stood and refilled it for him.He attacked the second serving with the same intensity and suddenly I didn’t mind so much he’d same as demanded a second helping like a grumpy toddler.No please.No thank you.Just “gimmie more!”.
By the third bowl, I was starting to wonder if he had a hollow leg."Where do you put it all?"I asked, genuinely curious.
He glanced up, those blue eyes crinkling slightly at the corners."High metabolism.And your cooking's good.Real fuckin’ good."
Something warm unfurled in my chest at the compliment.It was stupid to feel pleased over something so small, especially given my circumstances, but I couldn't help it.
The kitchen door burst open as Jack was starting on his fourth bowl.Two men in leather cuts similar to Jack's sauntered in, their nostrils flaring.
"Holy shit, what smells so fuckin' good?"the taller one asked, eyeing the pot on the stove.
"President's old lady’s been cooking," the other one said, already reaching for a bowl."‘Bout time we got some decent food around here."
Before I could react, Jack's hand shot out, grabbing the man's wrist."You askin' permission to eat my food?"His voice was deceptively soft, but I caught the dangerous edge to it.
The man froze, eyes widening."Uh, no, Prez.Sorry."
"That's what I thought."Jack released him and jerked his chin toward me."Now ask her proper."
Both men turned to me, looking thoroughly uncomfortable.Again, the thought of how they reminded me of children flitted through my mind.I supposed the description fit.They were guys in a male dominated environment where they had all the power.Stood to reason they’d act like children.The taller one cleared his throat."Ma'am, would it be alright if we had some of your chili, please?"
