Sweet Enough to Sin

Trouble, Straight Up

The next morning, the bell above the bakery door rang before Abby could finish her first cup of coffee.

She didn't have to look up to know who it was.

The scent of motor oil and cold air had already reached her—clean leather, faint tobacco, and something sharp she couldn’t name but was fast becoming addicting.

Jax Maddox.

He walked in like he owned the place, slow and steady, like time bent around him. And he wasn’t alone.

Two other men trailed in behind him, both younger, both leather-clad and tattooed. One with a snake curling around his throat. The other with a scar across his cheek.

The bakery went silent again.

Mrs. Danvers quietly slipped her purse off the chair and made a hasty exit. A mom scooped up her toddler, pretending to have just remembered something urgent. The rest of the shop froze in place, pretending not to stare.

Jax, of course, noticed it all. And didn’t give a damn.

He took the same stool at the counter and gave Abby a slow, heated once-over.

“Morning, cupcake.”

She shot him a look. “That’s what I bake. Not what I answer to.”

His grin widened. “Shame. You’d make a sweet one.”

She turned away before he could see her blush and grabbed a clean mug. “You’re back early.”

“You remembered how I take my coffee?”

“Black and arrogant?”

He laughed—a real one this time. Deep and rough and honest.

Behind him, the two club members hovered by the pastry case. Abby’s stomach tensed as one of them reached for a croissant without using the tongs.

“Hands off unless you’re paying,” she snapped.

The younger one—Snake Neck—snorted. “She’s feisty.”

“I said pay,” Abby repeated, stepping out from behind the counter.

“Ease up, darlin’,” Scar Cheek said, raising his palms. “We’re just looking.”

Jax didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He just looked at them—and the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.

The two men backed off instantly.

“Go wait outside,” Jax said calmly. “I’ll bring your shit.”

They grumbled but obeyed.

When the door shut behind them, Abby looked at him. “You always speak in death threats?”

Jax shrugged. “Only when someone touches what they shouldn’t.”

Her heart skipped. Don’t read into that, she told herself. He’s just playing with you.

He took a sip of the coffee she’d just poured. Didn’t break eye contact. “You didn’t flinch. When they did that.”

She arched a brow. “I run this place. Nobody touches my pastries or my customers.”

He leaned closer. “You always this mouthy?”

“Only with men who come into my shop acting like they own the world.”

A pause.

Then Jax reached into his cut and pulled out a twenty. “Then let me be clear. I own nothing here, Abby. Not yet.”

She narrowed her eyes. “But you’re planning to?”

He didn’t answer. Just slid the bill across the counter and reached for a cinnamon roll.

Their fingers brushed.

Electricity. Raw and dangerous.

She didn’t pull away.

He did.

“You’re not like the others here,” he said quietly. “They see me and run. You see me and… what? Want to fight me?”

“Maybe I just want you gone.”

“You don’t,” he said, like he knew it in his bones.

He stood up, grabbing the roll and his coffee.

She watched him head for the door.

Halfway there, he turned back.

“I’ll be around, Abby. If anything happens—you call me. No cops. No drama. Just me.”

“I won’t need to.”

He smiled. But it didn’t reach his eyes. “You will.”

Then he left.

And Abby Wells, small-town baker and rule-follower extraordinaire, realized her heart was racing faster than it ever had for a boy in town.

Because Jax wasn’t a boy.

He was a man.

And she was in trouble.