Finding Mayhem

by Layla Frost

When I didn’t move, Ward tugged one of the chairs out and touched my shoulder. I jolted before sitting as he tossed my lunch down on the table. “What do you want to drink? Got Coke, water, club soda. I can make you a nonalcoholic margarita—” I must’ve visibly perked up at that because he raised his chin. “Got it.” “No, water is fine.” He ignored me as he headed through the open sliding glass door. Judge stood and gripped Ophelia’s chin to tilt it up. “Hollywood said he stocked your pineapple vodka. You want that?” At her nod, he kissed the top of her head. “You got it, princess.” God. My heart. “Don’t bother fighting it,” Ophelia said, confusing me for a second. “They’re typical Mayhem men.” I knew what she meant because of the emblem on the back of the leather vests, but she explained anyway. “It’s their motorcycle club, and I think being bossy is part of the criteria to get patched in.” “I learned that yesterday.” At her raised brow, I explained, “When I was unloading the moving van, Ward tried to make me sit while he did it all.” “‘Tried’? You mean he didn’t get his way for once?” “No.” I raised my chin and fought to keep a straight face. “I stood while he did it.” “I bet he didn’t know what to do with himself,” Ophelia said with a laugh, making me lose the battle as I smiled. “How do you think I felt? I was losing a battle with a stuck tote, and suddenly there’s a wall of tattooed stranger ordering me to rest.” I shrugged. “But Ward unloaded it faster than I could’ve, ...