Bridgette

 

Bridgette paused, her hand hovering on the car door latch. She stole one final glance at herself in her rearview mirror, trying to assess how she looked.

 

Like shit. Still. The coffee hadn’t helped her at all. And she didn’t have time to run to the drugstore for concealer. She had to open the bakery soon or she’d start the morning behind, and she couldn’t handle that stress on top of everything else.

 

It hadn’t been a good night. Kyle coming back to town had left her head spinning, and she’d agonized until the early hours of the morning about how she wanted to handle things. Sure, she’d told him that she wanted nothing to do with him and that he should just fuck off, but part of her wanted him to stay.

 

As much as she wanted to lie to herself about that kiss—that he’d forced it on her, that she felt nothing—she knew there had been a spark there. The taste of him was addictive, and she wanted more. The past be damned.

 

For the first few hours of lying awake she’d almost convinced herself to take him back and just see what happened. It would be like letting go and letting gravity do its work, she thought. Because her attraction to him seemed like a natural law of the universe—a force beyond her power to control. She’d missed him so much for those first months.

 

Not that she wasn’t still pissed at him.

 

She’d shaken herself out of those plans, though, when Gabby had come to crawl into her bed, claiming she’d had a bad dream. Bridgette had stroked her little girl’s red curls until she’d drifted back off to sleep, Gabby’s tiny body curled against her side.

 

Kyle may not have been good for her, Bridgette thought, but she was a big girl capable of dealing with the fallout.

 

Kyle definitely would not be good for Gabby. He was too rough, too wild. He wasn’t a father—only a baby daddy—and she was determined to keep it that way. She wasn’t about to let him into her life only to have him walk back out. She could survive another heartbreak, but she wouldn’t put Gabby through that.

 

That should have been the end of it. But the decision to keep Kyle out of her life, even when he was so close, had unsettled her. She’d tossed and turned for hours, desperately trying to devise a way to reconcile everything—her lingering anger at him, her desire to be with him, her need to protect Gabby.

 

And now she saw the price for her fitful night. Deep, bruise-colored rings under her eyes, a thin spider web of red over the whites of her eyes, and a dead stare fit for the walking dead. She’d seen better days.

 

She turned from the mirror and forced herself to leave the car. No time to worry about it now. There was too much to do. She was almost looking forward to losing herself in the monotony of her morning routine, making up the doughs and batters she would need for the batches of sweets scheduled for the day.

 

She made the trek from the parking lot to the street her bakery was on, already starting to break down and organize the tasks she’d have to accomplish in her mind. But as she rounded the corner onto the street, she found herself face to face with Kyle. Again.

 

He was in the middle of a call, phone pressed to his ear. “I don’t know, six or seven,” he was saying. He locked eyes with her, and the warning she saw flashing there was enough to arrest her in her tracks. “I have no idea.”

 

Bridgette tried to shake herself from the paralysis his dangerous expression had induced. She stalked over to him, fuming. What in the hell was he doing here again? Christ, did she have to bash him over the head with a frying pan before he got the message?

 

“You need to leave,” she spat, “this instant—“

 

He raised his brow at her, seeming to dare her to continue. There was an intensity in his expression that seemed to hold some kind of power over her, because her words died in her throat.

 

“You might have to,” Kyle replied to whatever had been said. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on here, but it doesn’t smell right to me. Okay, man, thanks. See you soon.” Kyle hung up the phone and slipped it back into his kutte.

 

Something caught the corner of Bridgette’s eye. She shifted her attention from Kyle to the door of the bakery, searching for whatever detail had set her off. The glass was cracked a little, the door pushed open, and part of the welcome mat caught in the door….

 

Her heart seemed to stop in her chest. She’d locked up last night. Hadn’t she? Yes, of course she did. She always locked up. It was a habit. When the door closed behind her for the night, she would reach back and give the handle a little tug just to feel the resistance of the deadbolt. It was one of the little rituals she’d developed over the years, something that gave her reassurance.

 

So why was the door open?

 

“Bridgette,” Kyle began, but she ignored him.

 

She flung the door back and hurried inside, her eyes searching the whole place over, checking for signs of damage. Nothing had been shattered or rearranged—not that she could tell. She rushed over to the cash register. It looked completely undamaged.

 

She fumbled for her keys, searching for the little stubby one that would unlock the register. The money had to be there. She couldn’t be short this week. She hadn’t had a chance to run to the bank yet to make her cash deposit.

 

God, why hadn’t she sprung for the credit card reader? Why had she opted for the cash-only model? If it was gone, she had no rent money for the apartment or the bakery, no grocery money, nothing for the heating or electric…The whole life she’d sweated and bled to build for herself would collapse like a house of cards. There was no room for error in her life, not yet.

 

The drawer sprung open with its characteristic shudder. She nearly collapsed to her knees in relief. It was all there, the neat stacks of bills. She thumbed through the larger bills quickly just to reassure herself that a would-be thief hadn’t tried to pad the stacks with paper so his crime would go unnoticed. No, not a bill was missing.

 

The bell on the front door jangled, and in came Kyle, followed by three dangerous-looking men. They were all dressed like Kyle, in some combination of well-worn leather and denim. Most were unshaven, with a few days’ worth of stubble lining their chins. One was massive, at least a few inches taller than Kyle—who certainly wasn’t short. He looked to be a body builder, judging by the size of his muscles and his wedge-like chest. The two others were about Kyle’s height, though they looked a little leaner.

 

Bridgette’s attention was immediately drawn to the vests they wore. When the leaner one turned to glance back out the door, she saw the emblem on his back—a grinning red devil’s face with “Raging Reapers” emblazoned between its horns.

 

She shook her head to herself. She didn’t have time to deal with whoever Kyle had gotten himself mixed up with or whatever mess he’d likely made. She needed to make sure she wasn’t missing anything. She continued her careful inspection of her workspace, trying to mentally inventory all the most expensive pieces of equipment that she owned.

 

“Bridge, it looks like there was a break-in,” Kyle informed her.

 

“No shit, Sherlock,” she muttered. “I saw the door. What the hell are you doing here? And who are your friends? No, you know what, don’t answer that. Just…please, leave me the hell alone.”

 

Kyle didn’t seem to be paying attention to her. He’d started touching along the paneling of the wall. His tall friend shouldered his way behind the counter and began pulling wire racks of ready baked goods out. The two others began kicking at tiles.

 

Bridgette let loose a growl of frustration and stormed over to the basement steps that led down to the bakery’s storage room. She couldn’t deal with this right now. She couldn’t deal with him. “If you creeps aren’t out of here when I get back, I’m calling the cops,” she snapped, and headed down the stairs.

 

She couldn’t believe him. She wanted to go full shrieking-harpy on Kyle for letting his friends tear through her place like that. She didn’t know what they were looking for and she didn’t want to know. The fewer questions she asked, the better; she’d learned that long ago with Kyle. And she didn’t want to start anything with guys connected to a MC. That was just asking for trouble.

 

She just hoped they wouldn’t find whatever it was they were looking for and move on. She could clean up afterwards, maybe file an insurance claim.

 

She stopped at the bottom of the steps, fumbling for the light switch. The design was terrible. There was no way to turn the light on from the top of the stairs, so she ended up feeling her way down the steps and groping blindly in the dark for a few minutes. As soon as she had the money for it, she planned to hire an electrician to rewire the whole thing.

 

She flipped the light on and froze, a scream catching in her throat.

 

Every cupboard, every shelf, every crate that she had storing dry ingredients had been smashed to pieces on the basement floor. There was flour everywhere—so much that in places it almost looked like snow. Whoever had done this had used some force, because there wasn’t a piece of her cupboards left larger than her forearm.

 

Sprinkles and sugar and shards of glass…it was like some bizarre Food Network crime show. Or like someone had murdered Strawberry Shortcake.

 

But that wasn’t the worst of it. The white brick walls had been smeared with some red substance. She hoped it wasn’t blood, but deep down she knew that was what it had to be. She only hoped it was animal blood.

 

She heard footsteps behind her and saw Kyle coming down the stairs, his face set in a grim expression. “Fuck,” he muttered when he saw the mess. He turned around and yelled to the others, “Down here!”

 

The numbness broke then, and a tidal wave of intense emotion washed over her. She vacillated wildly between terror and fury as she worked out what she needed to say to Kyle. “What’s this? What have you done, Kyle? What the hell have you done?” Her voice rose from low and forceful and grew to a cracking scream as the meaning of the horror show before her sunk in.

 

Least of her concerns was that she had just lost hundreds of dollars in supplies. Losses that she was not sure she could recoup, seeing as she had no new product to sell and a tight budget as it was. This might be enough to sink her budding enterprise.

 

But that was nothing compared to the blood on the walls. That screamed bad news—the kind of thing that maybe ended with her buried in a hole out in the desert. This was related to crime or drugs, or at least something illegal and organized. Kyle had been back for maybe a day and already managed to get her tangled up in something involving dangerous people with no concern for who got hurt in their operations.

 

There had been a few little run-ins before, back when Kyle younger, but he’d always wised up and steered clear of anything too serious. But now…now it looked like he’d crossed a line.

 

The three other bikers filed down the stairs, stopping short of the landing. One let out a low whistle when he saw the damages. “Shit,” one of the lean ones muttered. “Gotta be Martin’s guys. Benny tell you what they want, Falcon?”

 

Kyle shook his head, still surveying the scene of destruction. “Said something was stolen…I don’t know what they’re doing here, though, with this shit.”

 

Falcon. So he had a new name now. If she weren’t so shaken she might have tried to mock him for it. It sounded so over-the-top. But when she looked up at him to study his face—the hard lines, the scar, the clenched jaw, the steely glint in his eyes—everything about him seemed dangerous.

 

Her badass-wannabe boyfriend was gone, replaced by the powerful man she saw before her. He had the look of someone who wouldn’t take shit and who had a tolerance for pain. Like someone who got what he wanted.

 

He looked deadly.

 

Yes, Falcon suited him.

 

But his new name didn’t change a damned thing about the quagmire he’d thrown her into.

 

“You know who did this,” she hissed. “And you know what they want. This…Martin. You tell me what in fuck’s name is going on right now, Kyle.”

 

A ripple of pain passed over Kyle’s features. “Don’t worry about it, Bridgette. We’re going to take care of it. You’re going to be just fine, you hear me? Shark, Leo, Bill, and me, we’re going to handle this. No one’s going to lay a fucking hand on you.”

 

Bridgette wanted to smack him with one of the fists balled at her side. She wanted to pound him until he stopped playing these games and ruining her life. But she restrained herself, choosing to rip into him with her words instead.

 

“You ruined my life, you know that? You broke my heart, and left me penniless, and for six years—six goddamn years, Kyle—I wondered whether you were alive or not. Whether you ever even loved me, whether I even meant anything to you. I was a wreck. But I pulled myself together and I busted my ass. I got a business loan and I opened this bakery, and I thought to myself, hell, maybe I’ll make it after all. Maybe my kid’ll have a decent life. Maybe we’re going to be okay.

 

“And then you show back up, out of the blue, and what do you do? You ruin my life again. I know you’re involved in this somehow. I’m owed a fucking explanation. Hell, I’m owed a lot of explanations, but I’ll settle for this one: what is going on here?”

 

By the time she finished her rant, her chest was heaving, and she could feel the blood in her face. She could only imagine how she looked in that moment. She was so full of rage that it was a wonder that steam wasn’t pouring out her ears.

 

“Fuck, Bridgette,” was his only response, and he shook his head. He almost looked sorry, like he wanted to explain but something was holding him back. “You don’t need to know, okay? Listen, this isn’t going to take long. Maybe a few days. Things are going to get ugly here, but I’m going to keep you out of it. You’re going to just have to stay with me while we figure this out and clean a few things up. You just pack a bag and close up shop for a couple of days, and I promise we’ll take care of everything.”

 

She scoffed. “This is so typical. There is no way in hell…damn it, Kyle, I’ll lose the business! I can’t shut my doors for that long. And I’m not staying with you! You’re a snake! Christ, how do I know you didn’t do this just to scare me back into your arms? You screwed up. We had something, but you destroyed that when you left—“

 

“Shit, Bridgette, this isn’t about us! This is about keeping you safe and nothing else.” Kyle slammed his fist against the side of the stairwell, hitting it with enough force to leave an indent in the drywall. “You don’t have a choice in this.”

 

“The hell I don’t! And I’m not buying that load—that you want to keep me safe. You just want back in my pants.” One of the bikers gave a wolf whistle at her accusation, but Bridgette ignored him. “You didn’t care about me before and you don’t care about me now,” she yelled.

 

“I do!” Kyle thundered. His words were so loud that she felt them vibrating through her. Something she said seemed to have really hit a nerve. He was breathing hard, his body trembling, and his blazing eyes scorched her. He closed his eyes for a moment, visibly composing himself. Then he continued, his voice lower. “I do. I know it’s hard, but you just have to trust me.”

 

She could have laughed. Trust him? Had he heard a word out of her mouth?

 

Instead, she turned wordlessly and started heading up the stairs. She sidled past Kyle’s three acquaintances, keeping her gaze focused far ahead of her. He didn’t want to tell her anything? Fine. She would handle this herself.

 

She heard footsteps behind her. She didn’t have to turn around to know they were his. She reached the top of the stairs and slipped behind the counter, barely registering that things had been returned to their rightful places. At least Kyle’s gang of assholes had cleaned up after themselves, she thought bitterly.

 

“Bridgette, where are you going?” Kyle demanded. “What are you doing?”

 

She picked up the landline phone from its stand behind the register and drew in a deep, calming breath.

 

“Answer me!” Kyle growled. He closed the distance between them in a few long strides. He reached her side and spun her by the shoulders to meet his fierce eyes.

 

Again, the intensity of his gaze threw her off balance. But she quickly recovered, angry that he could still get this kind of reaction from her. It doesn’t matter how attractive he is, she reminded herself. He is trouble. He isn’t worth it.

 

“You want me to answer you?” she inquired through gritted teeth. “When you haven’t told me a damn thing?” She dialed 9-1-1 and pressed the receiver to her ear.

 

Kyle ripped the phone from her hands and cancelled the call before it even rang once. “Don’t do that.”

 

She slipped away from him, searching for where she’d set her purse down. She needed her cell phone.

 

“I’ll make you a deal,” he said, dropping the phone on the counter. He grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her over to him. She struggled against his grip, but she didn’t have the strength to match his. “Stop, stop. Listen, if you come back with me and just wait this out, I promise I’ll tell you everything. Why I left, where I’ve been, what’s going on here. Fucking everything, okay? You come back to my place and I’m an open book. But if you call the cops, things are going to go south really fast. The guy who did this has a few of the force in his pocket, and he hates snitches.” Kyle let her go.

 

Bridgette’s eyes darted back to the phone. “You’re not going to stop me? Have your guys rough me up if I make that call?”

 

Kyle held his hands up innocently. “The choice is yours. I’m going to do whatever the hell I have to do to keep you safe either way. You’re just going to make my job a lot easier if you come with me, no call to your friends down at the station.”

 

Bridgette continued to study him for a while, searching for any sign of insincerity in him. But he seemed genuinely committed to protecting her, hard as it was to believe.

 

And the way he stared down at her, cool and absolutely confident, made her believe he could. He wasn’t cocky, just self-assured.

 

And hell, she needed to know what had happened. Imagining why he’d left so suddenly and never even tried to get back in touch had almost driven her mad. She could always just stay with him for the night, get her answers, then ditch him and call the cops anyway.

 

She didn’t owe him a damned thing, especially not honesty, and it was gratifying, in a way, to feel like she was the one deceiving him for once.

 

Gabby. Hell, she couldn’t take Gabby to his place. She didn’t even want her daughter on the same side of the planet as her father, but there was nothing she could do about that.

 

What else was she going to do, though? Call the police and hope Kyle—or Falcon, rather—kept his promise rather than just forcing her to go with him? It wouldn’t even be difficult. He had the numbers. And she needed her answers. There was no guarantee she’d ever have another opportunity after this.

 

Maybe it was time to cash in on a huge favor with Marcy. She was, after all, partly responsible for the mess Bridgette was in. If Bridgette hadn’t agreed to cater her stupid charity event, she never would have ended up staying late and never would have run into Kyle. The woman owed her.

 

“Well?” Kyle demanded impatiently. His hands flexed at his sides.

 

“You’ll tell me everything?” she clarified.

 

He nodded. “As much as I can.”

 

“Fine. I’ll go.”