Brittany’s POV

I keep my eyes fixed anywhere but on his face, terrified that if our gazes lock, he might catch a glimpse of something I don’t want to reveal—like the possibility that I recognize parts of his world. I know nothing specific about the Hellbound Legion, but I absolutely do not want to entangle myself with bikers—or with anyone, really.

“So… you’re my girl now?” he asks after a pause, his voice laced with curiosity.

Before I can formulate a response, Maris strides up to us, her footsteps sharp with purpose.

“Are you trying to pay at the counter? Most folks let the staff handle that part,” she teases, her eyebrows raised in mock scorn.

“Actually, no, I haven’t even ordered yet,” he answers, a faint chuckle accompanying his words.

“Well, no surprise there, considering you’re sitting in Aisby’s section,” she mumbles, but the grumble isn’t quiet enough to escape his notice.

“So she is here!” he exclaims, triumphant, flinging his arms outward in an overly dramatic motion before resting them back on the counter. “Where is she? Is she on break or what?”

Maris narrows her eyes, studying him like his face holds the answer to a bewildering puzzle. I can tell she’s already pieced together that he’s Aisby’s boyfriend—or at least something close to it. Every part of me wants to stay uninvolved, but I’d be lying if I said this isn’t entertaining. Maris is about to reach her boiling point, and though I hate how she gets worked up sometimes, I can’t deny there’s something satisfying about it, too.

“Oh, would you like me to take you straight to her?” Maris asks him with a sugary sweetness that’s as fake as plastic.

What?

“Maris,” I whisper, my tone warning her to think twice.

She cuts her gaze to meet mine, her expression defiant and set in stone. There’s no backing down now. Once Maris decides she’s done with something, that’s it, and no amount of reasoning will change her mind. Tonight, though, part of me agrees with her attitude.

“He has a right to know,” she mutters under her breath, just loud enough for me to catch.

I glance at him again. He’s still watching the exchange with an inquisitive smile, unbothered by the tension brewing. He seems so laid-back, almost too warm to be real.

“Why are you even with her?” I blurt out, the question slipping out before I can stop it.

His eyebrows lift sharply, and the friendliness in his expression gets replaced by something harder.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Because she’s waiting tables while I ride with a club? Or are you saying she’s too good for me, that I’d ruin her or something?” His voice tightens with defensive heat. “Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. Jealousy doesn’t suit you.”

Now it’s my turn to be caught off guard.

“Jealous?!” Maris shrieks, so loud and indignant it’s as though the accusation was aimed at her directly.

Before he can say more, I burst into laughter. It sneaks out in sudden sputters before escalating into a full-blown fit. Bending over, clutching my stomach, I can’t remember the last time I laughed this uncontrolled.

“Wasn’t that funny,” he mutters, giving me a side-eye.

“Actually, it was,” Maris chimes in. “Because jealous is probably the last thing anyone here feels about Aisby.”

The atmosphere shifts as the door to Jorah’s office creaks open. Giggles echo through the air, followed by hushed but unmistakable voices.

Speak of the devil, I think, as Aisby finally makes her entrance.

From where he’s sitting, the biker has a perfect view of whatever’s unfolding back there. My back’s to it, but if past encounters are any indication, Aisby and Jorah are probably entangled in some way or another. His whole body tenses, his jaw tightens, and I can tell by his clenched fists he’s debating whether to storm over.

“I can get you Jorah’s home address if that would help,” Maris says cheerfully, as if offering directions to a tourist.

“Nah, forget that. She’s not worth the bother,” he grumbles, voice low and laced with contempt.

“Fine, but at least make a scene or something,” Maris begs, her tone pleading. “This is honestly the most interesting part of our night.”

The biker side-eyes her like she’s grown a second head, utterly confused by the suggestion. Instead of replying, he glances between us and shakes his head slightly, as though concluding we’re both lunatics.

“Sorry about jumping to conclusions earlier,” he says, looking straight at me now. His tone carries a resignation that almost sounds genuine.

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it,” I reply, shrugging it off.

“Oh, and for the record,” Maris pipes up, redirecting the flow of the conversation, “you’re one hell of a man. Seriously, you can do so much better than someone like Aisby.”

He sighs, dragging a hand through his dark hair as his eyes drift beyond us.

“I thought she was different,” he admits quietly, almost to himself. “She’s in school, working hard to make something of herself. She told me she’s studying to be a children’s therapist. Takes care of her grandma, who helped raise her. She seemed genuine… kind, even.”

Maris and I exchange wide-eyed looks that he doesn’t notice. For a moment, the room is silent, long enough for that tension to simmer again. Then Maris spins around like a woman on a mission, fury blazing in her expression.

“You conniving liar!” she yells, drawing the attention of everyone nearby as gasps ripple through the air.

I bite my lip to stifle another laugh as Maris marches up to Aisby with all the subtlety of a hurricane. Aisby finally turns, her face frozen as she catches sight of her supposedly loyal boyfriend watching the scene unfold.

“You’re out here pretending to live my life just to bag hot biker guys?” Maris shouts. “Are you out of your mind?! It’s bad enough you fabricate stories to lure all the guys in your little fanclub, but dragging me into it? And HOW is this fair? You hijack my life and end up with the hottest guy I’ve ever seen, while I can’t even get a text back!” Her voice cracks with frustration. “I’m done!”

The biker leans on the counter beside me, soaking in the chaos Maris just unleashed. His gaze shifts to me, brows raised in question.

“Her life?” he asks casually, though it’s clear he’s intrigued by what he’s learning.

“Yep,” I confirm. “Maris is the one busting her ass in school and taking care of her grandma. Aisby… let’s just say she’s not exactly pulling double shifts.”

He frowns but doesn’t seem completely surprised by the revelation.

“And Maris…” he starts, trailing off as his eyes drift back toward her.

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?” I suggest, smirking knowingly.

“You think she really believes I’m the hottest guy she’s ever seen?” he jokes, his tone laced with unexpected playfulness.

I laugh again, shaking my head. “If you’re smart, you’ll book an STD test, stat.”

“Yeah, probably not a bad plan,” he mutters dryly. “I’ll get tested tomorrow.”