Joker (Hell's Ankhor #8) - Aiden Bates Page 0,4

a background in carpentry, but not woodworking. But I know it’s not easy.”

Joker still looked a little guarded, like he was waiting for some sort of qualification to the compliment.

“How’d you learn to do this?” I asked.

Joker shifted his weight again and allowed himself to look almost a little pleased. “It’s just a hobby. Started when I was a kid and just never quit, I guess.”

Jeez. If he was this good just from screwing around, he really had a talent. There weren’t a lot of good woodworkers out there anymore—he could make a killing as a wood turner, or a cabinet maker, with that level of natural skill.

“You ever think about taking a course or something?” I asked. “With a few certifications, you could really turn this into a moneymaker.”

It was like a switch flipped in Joker. He rolled his eyes, snorted, and snatched the carving out of my hand. “Not everything’s about money. And I don’t need no fuckin’ class.”

His frown deepened even as he cut his gaze away from mine.

I pushed down the little flare of heat that ran through me again. When he got all riled up like that, some of the control slipped out of his voice—it went a little deeper, a little rough around the edges, and I couldn’t deny the thrill it sent through me. But at the same time, I was frustrated. We’d been having a normal conversation, even getting to know each other a little—and then just like that his defenses had come slamming back up. What was his problem?

“That’s not what I meant,” I said, but the damage had been done.

Joker sucked his teeth then shouldered the bathroom door open and walked back out. And before I even thought about it, I was following him. There was no reason for me to follow—if he wanted to act like an asshole, the best thing I could do was ignore it. That’d proven to work. But I didn’t want him to think I was the one being an asshole, especially about something that was clearly important to him.

“Will you stop?” I asked as I followed him through the clubhouse. Joker stomped through the back door to the porch again, and nearly swung the door into my face.

Undeterred, I pushed back onto the porch.

“Why are you even here, anyway?” Joker snapped. “You’re not a club member. You’re just the guy who fixed the bakery.”

And you know what? Fuck that. I’d thought I’d seen something in Joker, however briefly. But as soon as I’d pressed some unknown button, he’d flipped and gone back to being an asshole. If Dawson were here, he’d be laughing his ass off at me. It always went like this. I was wasting my time trying to see if there was something beyond Joker’s cocky exterior. Dawson was always telling me: “When people show you who they are, trust them.” And yet I still couldn’t help but think there was something Joker wasn’t showing me.

But if I kept looking for something that wasn’t there, I was just going to end up hurt.

3

Joker

“You’re not a club member. You’re just the guy who fixed the bakery,” I snapped, and then cringed as I watched Brennan stop dead in the doorway to the back porch.

As usual, my anger had bypassed my brain-to-mouth filter. And to my shock, Brennan actually looked hurt. But… was I wrong? He wasn’t really a friend of the club—he’d just been hired to help out.

I didn’t mean to make him feel bad, though. I just didn’t want him to pry anymore into my life. There was no fuckin’ way I could pull off an actual woodworking class. That required all sorts of shit—math, for starters. And probably a textbook. How the fuck was I supposed to take a real class? Reading? Writing? Math? I couldn’t do any of that shit—I worked with my hands. And I intended to keep it that way. That was the other great thing about the club. I always had a place to live, and a way to make a decent living, be it in the bar or the garage. I knew how hard it’d be for someone with my brain and lack of education to get ahead in this world otherwise.

Brennan opened his mouth like he was about to respond, but before he could, Blade cut in. “He’s here because I invited him.”

Fuck. I pressed my lips together hard. I hadn’t intended for Blade to hear my little dig.

I respected Blade—liked him, too—but it wasn’t