Marked
883 Words
Later that afternoon, the sky turned gunmetal gray over Willow Creek, and the scent of rain tangled with flour and brown sugar in Abby’s bakery.
She was boxing up pastries when the front door slammed open.
Her heart jumped—until she saw the uniform.
No patch. No bike. No danger.
Just her older brother in his sheriff’s deputy khakis, red-faced and storming in like he was still the king of her childhood.
“Close up shop, Abby,” he barked.
She blinked. “Good to see you too, Jake.”
“Now.”
She narrowed her eyes, folded the pastry box closed, and handed it to a waiting customer with a smile. “Thanks, Mrs. Lanning. Enjoy the lemon bars.”
Jake waited until the door closed behind her customer, then slapped both palms on the counter.
“The Black Reapers are trouble. And you are not gonna be the reason they get their claws into this town.”
She crossed her arms. “Funny. Last I checked, you don’t control who buys cinnamon rolls.”
“I saw you talking to him. Maddox.”
“Jax,” she corrected before she could stop herself.
Jake’s eyes flared. “You don’t even know what that club is capable of. Weapons. Trafficking. God knows what else. The feds have them on every list that matters.”
Abby stiffened. “Then why are they still riding free?”
“Because they’re smart. Careful. But that doesn’t mean they’re good.” His voice dropped. “They use people like you, Abby. Sweet girls with no record and big hearts. You think you’re helping, but they’ll burn your whole life down if it suits them.”
Something inside her coiled tight. “I’m not a girl anymore, Jake.”
He shook his head like she hadn’t spoken, already halfway out the door. “Stay away from him. That’s not a request.”
She waited until he left before she exhaled.
And that’s when she saw it.
Sitting on the stool where Jax had been earlier.
A black leather glove. His.
And tucked underneath?
A torn scrap of paper with a phone number and one word in blocky ink:
“Use this. No matter what.”
Her breath caught.
Was it just about the bakery? Or something more?
She didn’t call.
But she didn’t throw it away either.
☠️ Meanwhile… Across Town
In the back of a warehouse behind an old auto body shop, the Black Reapers’ clubhouse buzzed with tension.
“Why her?” Ace asked, pacing. “You’ve got every club bunny between here and Baton Rouge ready to drop to their knees for you.”
Jax leaned against a metal table, eyes on the glove he was no longer wearing. “She’s not one of them.”
“That’s the damn point,” Scar growled. “She’s too clean. Too visible. If someone comes looking, she’s the first soft target they’ll go after.”
Jax’s jaw flexed.
“I’ll protect her.”
Ace barked a laugh. “You can’t even protect us from the feds crawling around our old supply line.”
Jax stood slow. Final. The room went dead quiet.
“I didn’t ask permission.”
No one spoke after that.
🌩️ That Night
It was after nine when the knock came.
Abby had just finished wiping down her counters when the tap on the back door rattled her bones.
Not the front door. The delivery entrance. The one nobody used.
She opened it—and there he was.
Wearing the same black T-shirt, sans leather cut, and rain dripping down his shoulders.
“Forgot something,” Jax said simply.
She handed him the glove. “And left a note.”
“Didn’t want you thinking I was done.”
Her breath hitched. “Are you?”
He looked down at her, quiet for a beat. Then reached out—slow, deliberate—and brushed a drop of rain off her cheek with his thumb.
It lingered. His hand, rough and warm against her skin.
“I meant what I said, Abby. You need something—anything—you call that number.”
“I don’t even know you,” she whispered.
His eyes dropped to her lips. “Then get to know me.”
He stepped closer. Inches away. Heat curled between them like smoke rising from a match.
“Or don’t,” he added. “But I’m not walking away just because your brother doesn’t like me.”
“I told you about my brother?”
“No,” he said, voice a little rougher. “He told me.”
A beat passed.
Then she did something stupid.
She stepped forward. Barely. But enough that her apron brushed his chest.
And he didn’t move.
His voice dropped. “You keep testing me, sugar.”
“You keep coming back,” she whispered.
He smiled.
Then he leaned down, just enough that his mouth brushed her ear.
“That’s because you taste like trouble. And I like trouble.”
Then he turned and walked away, disappearing into the rain.
Abby stood frozen in the doorway, pulse pounding, mouth dry.
Still holding his glove.
Still wondering if she wanted to be saved from this—or if she was already too far gone.
- Writer
