CHAPTER 12
BAD KRAIT HABITS
Morning was hot in the Nest yard.
Kait had her Harley up on the stand, kutte hanging from a nail like it was watching. The bike looked mean even at rest—low, scarred, unapologetic—but time and weather had left their fingerprints in small, ugly places.
Mack crouched beside the rear end with a wrench, tongue pressed against his teeth like concentration was a physical thing.
“You ride this thing through a swamp or something?” he muttered.
Kait wiped her hands on a rag. “Denmark is just humid.”
Mack snorted. “That makes sense.”
He leaned in closer, thumb scraping at a flaking section near the rear brake linkage. Rust bloomed under his nail—nothing catastrophic, just persistent. The kind of damage moisture liked to do slow and patient.
“This here’s been eating itself for a while,” Mack said. “Salt air, rain, cold. All that romantic European horseshit.”
Kait watched him work, calm, present. “It never gave me any problems.”
“Doesn’t mean it wasn’t planning to,” Mack said.
He loosened the last bolt and pulled the corroded piece free, holding it up between two fingers like evidence.
“You’re lucky,” he added. “Another year of that weather, this would’ve snapped on your ass.”
Kait’s eyes flicked to the part, then back to the bike. “Noted.”
Mack stood and crossed to the workbench, already reaching for a replacement. “I’ll swap it out. Upgrade the seal too. You won’t have to worry about all that moisture in Dryden.”
He paused, then smirked. “Out here the air just tries to kill you with heat and dust. Much more honest if you ask me.”
Kait’s eyes flew open. “Hey, Mack… How many charters do we have in the US?”
“Shit, last I count, six? Us, Huntsville, Yuma, NOLA, Mike’s chapter, Loraine’s cousin… that’s uh… Jersey, then Georgia and Las Cruces? Yeah.”
“That’s seven. Where in Jersey and Georgia?”
Mack looked up looking for the answer in the back of his brain. “Fuck if I know, don’t remember.”
“Oh… okay.”
Mack slid the new piece into place, movements efficient, familiar. “You got anything else from overseas I should worry about?”
“Just bad habits,” Kait said.
“Those we can’t fix with a wrench,” Mack replied.
“Maybe if you throw it hard enough.”
They both laughed.
“You should smile more often, kid. That smile could cure cancer.”
Kait shook her head slowly, still smiling.
The cancer-curing smile was gone when she spotted Lane walking out with a football in hand, followed by Blaze.
“Gotta do better this year, man,” Blaze said as he pushed through the clubhouse door. “Six and ten was fuckin’ embarrassing.”
Lane snorted. “Every year it’s the same story. New season, same problems.”
“Hey, man. The Intimidator finally won Daytona this year, so maybe…”
“Did we even pick anyone worth a damn?”
Blaze shrugged. “Hell if I know. Whole team’s gotta reset, though. New players, new expectations. Somebody always thinks this is the year it clicks.”
“That’s why you need the veterans mentoring more,” Lane said, catching a glimpse of Kait in the garage. “New doesn’t always mean better. Everyone always overhypes the flashy new kid that has more ego than talent.”
He squeezed the football with both hands. “All right, let’s throw for a bit while it’s not one-fifteen yet.”
Blaze set his hat on the table and tied his hair back, already scanning the yard like it was a field instead of cracked concrete and gravel.
“Cricket! Heads up!” Lane called, and the ball left his hand in a tight spiral.
The prospect barely had time to look before it smacked into his chest and knocked him back a step.
“Jesus, goddamn missile—” Cricket grunted, fumbling it before getting both hands around the ball.
Blaze laughed. “Kount still go it.”
Cricket straightened, cheeks red, then lobbed it back—ugly, floating, but accurate enough.
“Never lost it,” Lane caught it one-handed without breaking stride.
“Show-off,” Kowboy muttered, already jogging out.
Tracy and Melanie came out and sat down to watch the boys.
Lane took two steps and fired the ball hard toward Blaze. Blaze barely moved, hands snapping shut around it.
“The Kowboy ain’t too bad, though,” Blaze said playfully. “Buster, go!” he said and threw a very long pass.
He turned and hurled it downfield toward Kowboy, who took off laughing, boots kicking up dust as he chased it.
Kait stayed where she was, half-leaning on her bike, watching the movement. The rhythm of it. Men she’d seen fight, ride like the devil and shoot now arguing over routes and catches like kids who didn’t know how to be anything else.
Lane jogged past her to reposition, eyes forward, jaw loose—not looking at her, but aware she was there.
Blaze jogged backward, pointing. “Cricket, you cover Lane. Mack—stop pretending you’re retired.”
Mack scoffed. “Do not even look my way. I am very retired from that shit.”
The ball snapped back into play anyway, arcing high.
Lane sprinted, boots pounding, shoulder dipping as Cricket tried—and failed—to stay with him. Lane caught it clean and spun away, laughing under his breath like the effort cost him nothing.
“Bullshit!” Cricket yelled. “You shoved!”
Lane tossed the ball back over his shoulder. “Then shove back, prospect.”
Blaze caught it, planted, and launched it toward the far end of the yard—long, clean, beautiful.
Kowboy dove and missed by inches, skidding on gravel and popping up with a curse and a grin.
“Almost had it,” he said.
“Almost don’t count,” Lane shot back.
The laughter echoed off the walls of the Nest, easy and loud, the kind that made the place feel less like a fortress and more like a backyard.
For a few minutes, there were no roads to watch. No Reyes. No Mondragón. No pressure pressing in from the edges.
Just dust, sun, Bawitdaba on the speakers, and a football cutting clean lines through the air.
Kait pushed off the bike and rolled it a couple steps forward.
The ball bounced once and she stopped it with her boot.
She lowered the kickstand on the Krieger and picked up the football without thinking.
Lane ran up short a few feet away, hands braced on his thighs, chest rising and falling hard. Sweat darkened the collar of his shirt, hair plastered back, jaw set like effort lived there permanently. He didn’t smile. Didn’t reach for the ball.
Just stood there, breathing, eyes lifted to hers.
“Nice catch, Lokken,” he said, sarcastically.
Kait turned slowly, the ball in her hands. The leather was warm. Scuffed. Familiar.
“You overshot it,” she said with a smirk.
Lane huffed a short laugh. “You weren’t paying attention.”
She tossed it back underhand, harder than necessary. He caught it clean anyway, like he always did—no stumble, no adjustment.
That was the part that got under her skin.
Not his body or the way his forearm muscles glistened with sweat. Not even the way his eyes locked in hers like nothing else existed once he focused.
It was the effortlessness.
How everything about him looked earned but never strained. Like the world owed him something.
Lane straightened, hands resting on his hips now, still breathing heavy. Sweat ran down his temple, disappeared into his stubble. He wiped it away with the back of his wrist, eyes never leaving her.
He watched her as she grabbed her kutte.
“You ridin’ out?” he asked with a nod.
Kait slid her arms into her kutte, snapping it into place. “Eventually.”
He took two breaths. Didn’t ask where. Didn’t ask why.
His eyes moved to the new Danish flag patch on the right side of her kutte.
“Wrong flag, ours is the one with stars and stripes. You know, old glory back there,” he said pointing his finger to the big flag hanging from the post near the entrance.
Blaze shouted something behind him. Buster laughed. The game kept moving.
“Well, if it bothers you, I’ll get a bigger one,” Kait asked with a smirk.
Mack laughed. “Oh, hey, Kount, where are the Georgia and Jersey charters at?”
Noooo. Goddamnit, Mack!
Lane began to squeeze the ball subconsciously making his forearm muscles swell and his veins pop out.
“Savannah and AC,” he said backing away a step, then another, positioning his fingers on the ball laces again. Eyes never leaving hers.
He knew she asked.
For a split second, Kait’s mind went somewhere else. What his hands would feel like on her, that same grip. What his control would cost him if he ever lost it.
Kait watched him go longer than she meant to and hated herself for it.
The sound of engines rolled in from the road—low, layered, unmistakable.
Kait’s attention shifted immediately.
She looked up as the bikes came into view: Klaus first, steady as ever. Don beside him, posture unchanged even at speed. Randy and Ram flanking them, dust kicking up behind their tires like a wake.
A second beat later, two more bikes followed.
Kolton and Kode riding tight behind him.
Lane and Blaze broke off from the game without a word and headed their way, instinctive, automatic. Blaze lifted a hand. Lane’s focus locked forward.
Kolton slowed as he rolled in, boots hitting the dirt, engine cutting clean.
But his eyes weren’t on them.
They were on Kait.
She stayed where she was for a moment, watching him watch her. Reading the set of his shoulders. The way he took her in like he needed to confirm she was real.
Then she headed upstairs to her room.
Not fast.
Not avoiding.
Just delaying.
Kolton hesitated half a second—then followed.
Lane saw it.
Saw the angle shift. Saw the way Kolton didn’t even pretend he was here for anything else.
Something sour twisted low in Lane’s chest.
The game was done for him the second they disappeared in the room.
Blaze clapped him on the shoulder, said something Lane didn’t hear. He nodded automatically, but his eyes were still following Kait and Kolton even after they shut the door.
Thoughts he didn’t want crowded in anyway.
Kolton sweet-talking her.
Kait giving him another chance.
Them skipping all the talking and him being all over her right now.
It irritated the shit out of him. And there was no reason he should feel that way.
Melanie fell into step beside him as he turned away from the yard.
“Kount, you want me to—”
Lane snapped without looking at her. “No.”
The word came out sharper than intended.
Melanie stopped short, confused. “I was just asking if—”
Lane didn’t hear the rest of it. Her voice blurred into noise, into pressure he didn’t have room for. He kept headed upstairs to his own room, passing theirs, shoulders tight, jaw set, boots heavy against the walkway.
He peeled his shirt off halfway, then he shut the door harder than necessary and kicked off his boots, tossing them aside. Sweat clung to his skin, dust streaked along his arms.
He turned the shower on full cold.
Stood under it without moving.
Let the water beat the heat and the irritation and the images he didn’t want, out of his head.
The lightness and fun from outside were gone.
There was only dread and irritation now.
And Lane had no interest in pretending he didn’t know exactly what that feeling was. But he fought it like hell.
Kolton walked into the room slowly and heard the faucet in the bathroom turn on. The door was open so he approached slowly. Carefully. Heart beating fast in his throat.
He lingered in the doorway, one hand braced on the frame. His face still showed the aftermath of Lane’s work — bruising along his cheekbones, his forehead, a split lip scabbed, shadows under his eyes that sleep hadn’t touched.
He didn’t smile.
“This a good time?” he asked, half-rhetorical, already knowing the answer could go either way.
Kait glanced at him in the mirror, then back to her hands and finished washing them. “Depends what you’re here for.”
He nodded, accepting that. “To talk. Just… talk.”
She shut the water off and dried her hands, then leaned back against the counter, arms loose at her sides. “All right.”
Kolton stayed where he was. Didn’t close the distance.
“I’m sorry, baby.”
Good start
“The only reason I talked to you like that was because,” he said quietly.
Kait watched him for a moment. Not cold. Just assessing.
“You were high,” she said.
He winced—not at the words, but at how calmly she said them. “Yeah.”
“And aggressive,” she added. “And insecure.”
He nodded again. He almost smirked. “All of the above.”
Silence settled, but it wasn’t sharp.
“I didn’t know you were using,” Kait said. “That doesn’t make it okay. But it explains it.”
Kolton’s eyes lifted to hers. “Thank you for seeing that, and sorry you found out that way.”
She tilted her head slightly. “That’s not the same as excusing it.”
“I know,” he said quickly. “I’m not asking you to.”
Kait crossed her arms—not defensive, just grounded. “I don’t care if you get high, you’re a grownup, and we all do it from time to time, but you need to understand something, Kolton.”
He got serious.
“I’m not a snakehole, or a honey or an ole lady,” she said evenly. “And I don’t owe you shit. Not an explanation or a reason.”
“I know,” he said, immediate. “I do. It’s just—”
She held up a hand, stopping him gently.
He did.
“Then understand. If I say no because I don’t feel like it, that’s all it is. And you need to fucking respect that. There’s plenty of girls here and at the D.A. to get that itch scratched.”
Kolton narrowed his eyes.
She studied him a beat, then softened a fraction. “We may have dated before but the way it is now—it’s new. I’m wearing a kutte. I took the bite. I have the ink, and I sit at the table.”
“And that is fucking awesome.”
“Well then you know that unlike a snakehole or a honey, or an ole lady, I don’t wait outside for you. I don’t cook for you. I don’t wash your clothes, and I sure as shit don’t so your laundry or change your sheets.”
Melanie flickered through her mind as she said it.
He let out a quiet breath and nodded. “I know. I’m still figuring this out too.” He gestured vaguely. “And I don’t want to fuck it up.”
Kait’s gaze flicked briefly to the bruises on his face, then back to his eyes. “Then don’t. You said it was supposed to just be fun, remember?”
He almost smiled at that. Almost.
“Then let me fix it. Let me do better.”
She considered him for a long moment.
Kolton shifted, easing back a step. “I promise I’ll give you space. But don’t shut me down.”
Kait pushed off the counter. “Just don’t pressure me.”
He met her eyes. “I won’t. I promise. I’ll even stay at Don and Loraine’s house. And by the way, I don’t need a free pass. I don’t want it.”
They held the look a second longer—quiet, honest, unresolved but steadier than before.
“Okay, well… we’ll just… see how it goes.”
“Okay,” he said quietly and stepped aside so she could pass.
She didn’t feel weighed down as she headed for the door.
Just thoughtful.
She opened the door and as soon as she stepped onto the walked way, she bumped straight into Lane.
“Watch where you’re going, Lokken,” he said.
She scoffed and went past him without a word.
Then Kolton came out and gave him a lazy nod before going downstairs. Slowly.
Lane couldn’t help but smile to himself.
The chapel lights were already on when Don called them in.
Not church. Not a sit-down. Just a pull.
They all took their spots, while Don stood at the head of the table, hands resting flat against the wood.
“Mondragón reached out,” he said. “They’ve got work lined up.”
That got everyone still.
“Protection runs,” Don continued. “Routine. They’re paying better for these, bigger trucks.”
He didn’t dress it up. Didn’t sell it.
“I’m putting people on it,” he said, and started assigning without pause.
“Prince—you’re lead.”
Kolton straightened immediately. “For sure.”
“Kowboy,” Don went on, “you’re back in rotation. Shoulder’s healed. Head’s clear?”
Blaze nodded once. “Good to go, Prez.”
Don’s eyes shifted to Kait. “You’re on too.”
Kait didn’t react. Just met his gaze.
“You’ve never run one,” Don said. “That changes now.”
Lane moved before he thought better of it. “But she’s got the Alley—”
Don lifted his eyes to him. Not angry. Just final.
“Ram can take over,” Don said.
“Oh, fuck yes,” said Ram.
Lane’s jaw tightened. “You’re throwing her in without—”
Kait leaned back in her chair. “Don’t you have to head back to Huntsville soon?”
A few heads turned.
Lane’s eyes snapped to her. “Don’t you have whores to babysit?”
Kait made a sour face. “Can we have Diablo back instead, King?”
The air went tight.
Don didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t need to.
“You two are starting to get my nerves,” he said.
“Starting?” said Randy.
Both of them stopped.
Don turned back to the room. “I said Kolton, Blaze, Kait and take Cricket.”
They nodded. Kait couldn’t help but look at Lane and smirked.
“But, tonight,” Don added, tone shifting slightly, “you don’t worry about any of that, though.”
A couple of glances were exchanged.
“You’ve all been wound tight lately,” he said. “So have some fun. Go for a night swim. Drink. Blow off steam. Tomorrow, we work.”
Kolton cracked a grin. “That’s the best thing I’ve heard all week.”
Don gave him a look. “Don’t make me regret it.”
The meeting ended as quickly as it started.
As they filed out, Kait caught Lane’s profile in her periphery—still tight, still simmering.
The first words of Fuel blasted out of the speakers hard enough to rattle the windows.
Someone whooped. Someone else cracked a beer open with their teeth. Engines revved in response, like the bikes themselves approved.
The yard lit up fast.
Blaze was already shouting over the music, beer in hand, shoulders loose for the first time all day. Kode stood near him mid-rant, gesturing wildly.
“I’m telling you, ninety-five was the year,” Kode insisted. “Best odds, best defense, best overall stats across the board.”
Blaze scoffed. “That’s nostalgia talking.”
“That’s math,” Kode shot back. “Look at the numbers.”
Lane stood between them, leaning back against a picnic table, half-listening, half-amused. Melanie hovered nearby like she always did, brushing his arm, laughing at things he didn’t say.
Prospects clustered close—Cricket and Buster watching him like he was a walking manual.
“So what’d they make you do when you were prospecting?” Buster asked.
Lane took a pull from his beer. “Mostly listen.”
“That’s it?”
“No,” he said flatly. “Mostly fuck up. Then listen.”
They laughed like it was a joke.
Lane didn’t smile.
“Did they ever send you on some crazy shit?” Cricket pressed.
Lane shrugged. “They sent me where they needed me. I just survived.”
That sobered them a little.
“You’re not gonna give us any tips on how to survive, are you?” Buster asked.
“Nope,” Lane said. “But if you earn your patch, I’ll make sure you do.”
Blaze put a fist to his chest. “Shit, man. That’s beautiful.”
“So… if a Krait hisses—” Began Cricket.
Lane put a finger up and looked at Melanie.
She immediately took the hint and moved away from the table.
“You’re fucking dead,” Lane answered.
Blaze chuckled.
“So you better fucking mean it,” Lane added. “That’s a Krait marking someone for death.”
“But, of course, it has to get a majority vote,” Kode added. “Can’t just go hissing around. As tempting as it may be.”
“And that’s how you go from Koil to Fang?” Buster asked.
“Depends,” Blaze said opening another beer. “You become Fang when you kill for the club for the first time. You only get one flasher.”
“But you can definitely hiss more than once,” Lane said.
“How come you’re still Koil, Kode?” Cricket said readjusting his ballcap.
“Because I have another set of skills that doesn’t require taking lives.”
The noise rolled on— Pardon Me thumping, bottles clinking, Kode and Blaze drifting back into football without agreeing on anything.
“Damn, so Toast is Fang, huh?” Buster said slicking his brown hair back.
Lane rolled his eyes but he couldn’t help but look for her. He found her talking to Ram and Mack by the pool. They were reenacting some old disaster, Ram had his arms wide. Mack shook his head, grinning.
Kait laughed—real laughter. Unforced.
Lane kept staring without meaning to.
She drifted away and found Klaus near the parking lot, the two of them talking quietly. Klaus listened, nodding, sponsor-mode engaged.
Lane turned back just as Kode launched into another stat-heavy rant.
“You’re ignoring context,” Kode said. “Injuries skew everything.”
“I don’t know what ‘skew” means, but you can’t ‘context’ your way out of a bad season,” Blaze shot back.
“You should know better than to argue with a geek, Kowboy,” Lane said, smirking despite himself.
Kode pointed at him. “I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘genius.’”
That got a dry laugh out of Lane.
Then his attention shifted again.
Kolton had come out of the clubhouse and was crossing the yard.
Lane watched his cousin slide into Kait’s space like it was already claimed. Kolton said something low; Kait tilted her head to listen. Klaus caught the shift and walked away.
The song kept pounding. Laughter rolled on. Someone cannonballed into the water.
Ram walked past them dragging Jojo by the hand towards the rooms.
Lane stopped hearing most of it.
Kolton’s hand found Kait’s back—casual, familiar. He leaned close to say something else and snuck a kiss on her jawline.
She didn’t pull away.
Lane’s jaw tightened.
Blaze was still talking. Kode was still arguing. Melanie came back with another beer for him, asking him something he didn’t hear. The prospects laughed, hanging on every word he wasn’t saying anymore.
Lane’s focus narrowed until the rest of the courtyard blurred.
Kolton laughed. Kait answered him, quieter now.
She looked at Kolton in a way Lane couldn’t explain. Lifted a hand, touched his face gently. Kolton closed his eyes. She kissed his bruised eyelid, soft and intimate, and they smiled at each other like the world had narrowed to just them.
The chorus crashed through, exposing more than he meant to show.
Across the yard, Loraine sat on the porch steps, cup warm between her palms, eyes following the same line Lane’s had taken without him realizing.
She saw the moment it changed—when Lane stopped being part of the party and started watching it.
She just noted it—and tucked it away.
Lane turned his head sharply, irritation flaring—not at them, but at himself.
Get a grip.
He shifted his weight, forced himself back into the noise, back into the circle—but his eyes betrayed him, flicking back again.
Kolton’s hands on Kait’s waist.
And again.
Kait’s arms around Kolton, fingers sliding up to the back of his neck.
Lane took a slow pull from the bottle and barely tasted it. His jaw tightened, then tightened again, like if he clenched hard enough the feeling might snap clean and fall away.
Who gives a shit?
He told himself that once.
Then again.
She wasn’t his.
Had never been.
But he felt something was being taken from him.
Kolton leaned in, murmured something, then moved to kiss Kait’s neck.
He went further and began sucking on her neck.
She didn’t seem to mind it.
At all.
Lane’s grip on the bottle flexed.
He looked away—forced his attention anywhere else. The girls. The pool. The firepit.
It didn’t help. Even if a girl caught fire and jumped into the pool to put it out wouldn’t have worked.
Maybe a little.
He hated it.
The feeling was irrational. Worse—it made him feel small in a way he hadn’t felt in years.
He’d survived worse than this.
Done worse than this.
And still—
Fucking idiot. She hates you anyway.
He looked one last time and there it was.
They were kissing.
I guess they made up.
Fuck this shit
“Melanie,” he said, already moving.
She scrambled to follow him to the clubhouse bathroom.
The night loosened.
Someone switched the playlist. High heels came off. The air grew warmer, heavier. Alcohol dulled the edges just enough to make everything feel simpler than it was.
Kolton’s hand found her waist again—familiar now. Easy. Like muscle memory. Kait didn’t stop him.
She leaned in to say something sharp in his ear and felt his body go still for half a second. That was enough to spark something low and reckless.
“You gonna keep looking at me like that,” she murmured, lips grazing the edge of his ear, “or are you actually gonna do something about it?”
She smiled—not soft. Not shy.
“I thought you didn’t want me to rush you,” he said.
She laughed quietly. “Maybe I changed my mind.”
Kait kissed him first this time.
Not deep. Not slow. Just a press of mouth to mouth that landed and lingered long enough to make the decision for both of them.
Kolton exhaled against her lips, hand sliding up her back, pulling her closer. The kiss deepened—familiar heat, familiar rhythm. Need more than want now.
They didn’t say anything when they broke apart.
Didn’t matter.
The walk upstairs was quiet. Purposeful. His hand never left hers, yet he kept looking back to make sure she wasn’t changing her mind.
In the room, the door barely shut before he kissed her—harder this time. Kait backed him toward the bed, hands already moving, relearning what they already knew.
Clothes came off in pieces. Not rushed, but not careful either.
She pushed him down onto the mattress and climbed over him, knees caging his hips. He pulled her close, mouth at her neck, hands everywhere—familiar paths traced without thought.
It wasn’t tender.
It was effortless.
It was hunger and the relief of not having to work for it or explain anything.
A bad habit that brought temporary relief. A quick fix.
When the lights finally went out, they lay tangled together, breath slowing, skin warm.
Kolton slept fast.
Kait took longer.
She stared at the ceiling, listening to his breathing even out, feeling the weight of his arm across her waist.
She eventually fell asleep wondering if Melanie made it to Lane’s bed and if she changed the sheets before she left.
