“So, cars, huh?” Breaker asked as I took a mouthful of the instant coffee he’d made me. International Roast, yuk. It was bitter going down, so it certainly matched the tone of the day.

“Mostly,” I said, leaning on my forearm as I moped against his table. “I was always about opportunity more than planning, though. I tend to think well on the fly.”

“These brothers, they’re about plannin’?”

“Down to the last detail.”

After finding the hotel empty, Breaker told me I could come back to his place, and he’d help me get to Torquay since that was the only option left. I really hoped he was legit with that, because I didn’t want to be forced into becoming some biker whore like what happened on TV. But, so far, he’d been nothing but helpful, and my gut said to trust him. Go with your gut.

“Are cars good business?” He slid a cigarette between his lips then lit up.

“They’re OK. Do you mind?” I asked, pointing to the pack in front of him, he pushed it across the table and held the lighter for me. “Thanks.” I tucked my feet up on the chair and blew out some smoke.

“Seems you’re a long way from home pullin’ a job that just does OK.”

“What’s with all the questions?” I narrowed my eyes. “You the feds or something?”

“Just checkin’ what kind of criminal I’m aidin’ and abettin’.”

“What kind of criminal are you?”

He inhaled deeply, and I took a moment to inspect the tattoos on his hands, the words ‘respect’ and ‘honour’ in script just above his knuckles. Each finger seemed to have a rune on it, partially hidden by chunky silver rings. There wasn’t a lot of bare skin.

“You read the papers, watch the news? You already know.”

I nodded. Drugs, guns, violence. It was all the media could talk about whenever the Grim Order MC was mentioned.

“How long have you been doing it?” I asked.

“Became a prospect at fifteen. A full member at eighteen. I don’t know much else.”

“Do you ever regret it, getting involved so young?”

He shook his head slowly. “You?”

I pulled at the inside of my lip with my teeth. “I don’t know. This is really all I’ve ever known.”

“Then I guess you’re well ahead of most others your age.”

“How’s that?”

“You’re already followin’ your callin’.”

“All set,” Breaker said, handing me a prepaid phone and a bag with some chocolate cupcakes inside it. “Buzzard’ll take you all the way to Melbourne. You can make your way home from there. That work for you?”

I nodded. “Thanks for everything.”

“Call me when you get back. I wanna know you’re safe.”

“Sure thing.”

In the last few days, I’d learned a lot of things about bikers. Namely that, they did regular things like the rest of us. They didn’t go around purposely trying to frighten the life out of people for fun, and when they did, there was a reason behind it. Essentially, they were doing their thing and providing for the people they loved—just like the rest of us. Sure, they smuggled drugs to do it, and some of the women at the clubhouse were pretty strung out on the stuff—I’d been there with him to ‘pick something up’—but really, they were no different than the Cartwrights. Just way hairier and a bit more scary-looking.

And Breaker really liked to bake. I’d eaten more cake in his house than I’ve ever had at my birthdays.

“You ever decide to kick that guy of yours to the curb, my door’s always open to you.”

He’d also made it no secret that he was interested in me. But he didn’t like to mess with another man’s woman so never made any advances. Thank God. He was lovely. But my heart and body belonged to someone else.

“I didn’t know bikers were such gentlemen.”

He winked. “Don’t tell anyone.” Then he opened the passenger door on the Mack truck that would take me home. I couldn’t wait.

One of the other club members drove a truck to Melbourne once a week, transporting goods for a national grocery chain. I was pretty sure they were using him to smuggle drugs too, but with a BOLO out with a somewhat grainy image of me from the service station cameras, I had to take what I could get and cross my fingers.

Buzzard was already in the truck’s cabin.

I figured he was called that because he had little beady eyes. He also looked about sixty and had questionable personal hygiene.

Another thing I learned about bikers—they weren’t all hot like the ones on TV either.

“Let’s go,” he yelled.

A cool wind whipped at my hair. “Thanks again,” I said, smiling at Breaker before remembering I was still wearing his jacket. “Oh, I should give this back.”

Breaker pulled the collar of the leather jacket up around my neck and zipped me in. “You keep it. To remind you there’s more to life than surfing and stealing cars.”

“Like Harleys and cupcake-baking bikers?”

He chuckled and pulled me a little closer. “If you weren’t already spoken for, I would have fucked you so hard you’d never want to leave,” he said close to my ear. His lips brushed my cheek, and I placed my hand on his chest as a barrier.

“And if I wasn’t already spoken for, I might have fallen for that line, but I think we both know you only want what you can’t have.”

He grinned, brown eyes twinkling. “You’re good at reading people, Ronnie. Make sure you use that.”

“I will.”

He stepped back as I climbed into the truck. “I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave,” he said, making me laugh.

“Goodbye, Breaker. I hope I never see you again.”

He smiled. “Me too, babe. It’s been real.”

Ten hours in a car took more like fifteen in a truck, and Buzzard wasn’t much of talker. He wouldn’t even go for a game of dirty license plates. I wanted to stick a needle in my eye just to alleviate some of the boredom.

But once in Melbourne, I quickly made my way to Southern Cross Station and hopped a train to Torquay. Another hour and a half and I had the salt air of my home against my skin.

I closed my eyes and breathed in. It was only a week since we’d left, but God, I’d missed it. It felt like a lifetime had passed, the entire time I’d been away from Kristian, from my family, was a slowly ticking clock. I wasn’t secure enough in my position with them to feel confident that my return would be parades and roses. I expected a little hostility over another job gone sideways, but I only hoped they’d hear me out and forgive me for sending them running unnecessarily.

Needing the comfort and reassurance that only Kristian could give me, I headed towards the beach shack, hoping that maybe he was there instead of all the way out at Jasmine’s. The sooner I saw him, the better it was for my nerves.

My step was light, and I hummed a nonsense tune out of hopeful comfort. I hadn’t even walked that far when I saw Kristian’s Ute parked at the curb. I wanted to clap my hands and jump up and down. I’d never been so happy to see that stupid vehicle in my life.

Elated, my heart light in my chest, I ran to it, hoping to find him—or even Abbot—inside it. But it was vacant, locked up tight.

That’s OK. I can wait. I’ve already waited days, so a few more minutes won’t hurt.

When the minutes stretched from five to twenty, I climbed up on the bonnet and sat with my bag beside me, the leather jacket bundled up to the side. It was late afternoon. I’d been travelling since late the night before, and at some point, I think I dozed off because a sudden noise scared the shit out of me.