Page 23 of That Girl is Trouble

“No.”

“Then got nothing to say, brother.”

I lift a brow. Even when Preach is quiet, he’s loud. He says things with his eyes and his face and the small sighs he lets out when he’s disappointed or feeling betrayed by the man he prays to every night.

“Get it out, dude.”

He treads over to my fridge and helps himself to a beer. “We’re taught that temptation is… well, it’s a way to test a man’s ability to choose good over evil. Men like me and you, we’re not good at that—making the right choice, choosing good.” He grins. “And we both know that living life choosing the bad is a lot more fun.”

“But?”

He shrugs. “No judgement, brother. But I think whatever was going on there might not be a question of right and wrong. You get my meaning?”

I rub my hand over my mouth. Jesse would survive. He’d get over it. But Graves? He’d lose his fucking mind if I touched her. Don’t matter that I’m his prez, the guy would fucking level me. “Yeah, I got you.”

“Shit’s tense right now. A rift between you and our VP wouldn’t do the club any favours. He’s imprinted on that girl. She’s like his little sister. Not sure how he’d take that—you and her.”

No shit. And Kat? She’s… I don’t know what she is. All I know is that when I let myself get too close, it doesn’t feel like I’m choosing the good.

But Preacher’s right.

Doing the wrong thing, choosing bad, has always been way too much fun.

8

“Happy Birthday!”

I adjust my phone where I have it propped against my pillow and smile down at my sister. “Hey! Thanks! What are you up to?”

Triss rolls her eyes and balances her phone on her countertop, then shrugs out of her jacket. “Been swimming in paperwork all fucking day. I swear to God, Kat, these idiots are going to run me into an early grave.”

“Who’s in trouble now?” I ask.

My sister scowls. She’s been working as Axe’s legal counsel for almost two years now. It’s her responsibility to defend every Sinner who finds himself in a bad spot with the law. So she’s busy. Like, all the time.

“Fucking Bane. Spit on a cop car,” she says, shaking her head. She pours herself a glass of red wine before picking up her phone and walking into the living room. “Prosecutor was trying to get him for eighteen months. Can you believe that? Assault of a peace officer. Give me a fucking break.” She drops heavily onto her couch, making the picture of her jostle, and takes a big gulp of her wine. “I think I can get them down to six months probation. Court date’s Monday. And Bane’s all pissed because they’ll probably stick him with community service. Like it’s such a big inconvenience over literal prison.”

I laugh. “That sounds like Bane.”

A muffled voice sounds in the background, pulling Triss’s attention. She tilts her head up as Graves enters the frame and circles his hand around her throat, pulling her into a kiss.

“Ew, Graves. Get your hands off my sister.”

He chuckles against her lips and then grins at me. “Hey, Kitty. Happy Birthday. How’s school?”

“It’s… okay. Boring,” I say, because that’s what I’d say if I was actually there. Three hours away in a dorm room instead of one town over in my small apartment. Guilt twists in my stomach, and I quickly change the subject.

None of this was on purpose. Leaving school, lying to them, getting a job at the Garden.

School was… unfulfilling. I had no fucking clue what I wanted to do, so I picked a little of everything—Intro to Psych, Intro to Poli-Sci, Philosophy, English Lit, Economics.

Not one of them excited me.

After my exams, I jumped into my car and drove until I couldn’t anymore. I ended up in Eden Hills, wandering aimlessly in its small downtown until I found Jade and her pole dancing class.

My lies started that night.

I told my sister I needed a break from South Bay, from the Sinners. That I got a job at the university, and I wouldn’t be home for the summer. Since I’d started school, I hadn’t made it back to South Bay much. I barely even showed up for Christmas. Every time an opportunity to go home came up, I avoided it. And she let me, even though it was obviously hurting her. Trauma healing, she called it, and she was proud of me for taking time away.

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