Page 32 of Damascus & The Wildfire
Kenna smacked my arm and laughed. “We’re here for the Mavericks Motorcycle Club appointment.”
“Ah, yes,” the woman said. “Please, take a seat. My name is Maria. I’ll bring the samples and sketches out.”
Kenna and I sat at a small table in the corner as Maria brought out fifteen mini cupcakes, labels placed below them to indicate the flavor. She set a fork and a plate in front of each of us.
“Here are a few sketches that you can look through as you taste. Because the fiftieth anniversary is the golden milestone, I’m proposing a three-tiered cake with buttercream and gold leaf. The gold motorcycle you showed me would look great on top. You can pick a flavor for each tier. We could add sheet cakes as well, depending on how many guests you’ll have. I’ll be back to check on you in a bit.”
Kenna carefully cut a cupcake in half. “Let’s start with the lighter flavors, and then we’ll eat the chocolate ones last.”
“We’ll be heading back to the clubhouse with paper and diabetes,” I joked.
We tasted each flavor, each better than the last. Kenna released a sexy moan when she tried the final one—a rich espresso fudge cake with a whipped cream topping. “This is definitely my favorite. It might be better than sex.”
I laughed. “You must not be having the right type of sex.”
She snickered as she reached to wipe a crumb from my beard. “To be fair, it’s been a long time, and cake is all I have right now.”
I caught her hand and held it for a moment before Maria cleared her throat. Kenna pulled her hand away as she looked up at the baker.
“Any thoughts on the sketches? Have you chosenthe flavors?”
Kenna smiled. “They look great. The tiered cake can be the chocolate whiskey, salted caramel, and the orange chocolate flavors. And then we can have sheet cakes of vanilla, lemon, and the espresso fudge. To be honest, the espresso fudge might not get served. I’ll take it home and eat it for a week.”
“You should get Funfetti, too,” I suggested. “Kids love that shit.”
“I knew you were here for more than just eye candy.”
“After all that cake, I don’t think either of us needs any candy,” I muttered.
We left the bakery with the windows down, the air thick with sticky Texas heat and the lingering smell of buttercream. Kenna hummed under her breath, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. I’d never seen anyone take dessert so seriously, and I had to admit, she had good taste.
I spotted the parts store as she headed back toward her house. “Hey, can you swing in there?” I asked, pointing to the next turn. “Need to grab a clutch cable.”
We pulled into the lot, gravel crunching under the tires. “Be right back,” I told her, already halfway out the door.
She hummed in agreement and turned up the music.
The store was quiet, just a baseball game playing on a small TV near the register and the faint hum of a fan. I found what I needed in two minutes flat.
That’s when I heard the yelling.
I glanced out the window, and my stomach dropped. A skinny man wearing a green bandanna stood at Kenna’s window, shouting through the glass. Fear shone on her face from across the lot.
I threw cash on the counter, grabbed the part, and hit the door at a run. My hand went straight to my holster, fingers closing around the grip of my Beretta.
He didn’t spot me until I was almost at his back. “Hey!” I barked.
The man turned, startled, and I realized he couldn’t be older than sixteen. He wore the same colors as the bastard who’d attackedKenna downtown. My blood went cold. He might be a child, but he was clearly a member of the Jackals.
“Back. Off,” I growled, every word slow and clear. He squared his shoulders and tried to look tough as I leveled the gun at his chest.
“Get away from her. Now. I have no problem putting a bullet hole or two in you.”
His eyes darted from me to the gun, then to Kenna. Her eyes shone with relief. For a second, I thought he might do something stupid. But then he bolted, stumbling over his own feet as he took off across the lot. I lowered my weapon after he disappeared behind a row of battered trucks.
I holstered the pistol and knocked on the window. Kenna gripped the wheel, still frozen with fear. “Unlock the door,” I commanded.
I heard the click and opened the door, taking in the pale sheen of sweat across her forehead.
