Adler (The Henchmen MC Book 14) Read online

  "If this were any other time, I'd likely get my arse handed to me. But he's got a lot on his plate. I'll probably just get a lecture."

  "Well then, no wonder you break out if a lecture is as bad as it gets."

  "What? Ya would prefer he beat the shite outta me?"

  "I'm afraid the fictional retellings of bikers make it a lot bloodier than it is in reality. What a letdown."

  "Ya wouldn't think that if ya had been around the past few years."

  "You haven't even been around the last few years."

  "No, but I've heard the stories. They could make movies out of the shite. Think the prez has dealt with crazier shite, so he is choosin' his battles with us these days."

  "I can see that," she agreed, turning at the end of the street to guide the dogs back up the other side, leading us back down toward Paine's place.

  "Were ya on a job all this time?"

  "In a manner of speaking."

  "Could ya be more vague?"

  "I could actually," she told me, sending me a look with quirked lips.

  "Are ya in town for a while?"

  "I never really know. I haven't told Geoff I am back yet. But even if I did, he might not have a case I want to take on."

  "Been gone a lot. Maybe ya should take a couple days. Settle in."

  "And settle you in my bed?" she asked, brow raised.

  "Well, I wouldn't turn down the invitation, would I?" I asked, thinking a slight blush might have crept up her cheeks, and deciding I must have been imagining it. She wasn't the kind of woman prone to blushing, no matter how coquettish she played it with that shite Thomas at the bar when she was trying to get him out of the casino. "And, let me tell ya, duchess. If ya settled me there, ya would never want to kick me out."

  To that, she snorted slightly. "Do I seem like a woman for commitments, Adler? I can't commit to a dog. I haven't so much as committed to a houseplant in a decade. There's no room for that in my life."

  "Lou, ya can commit to my cock for as long as ya want, and hear no complaints from me."

  "Not even if I drop it for a shiny new one?"

  My lips curved at that. "Might be difficult."

  "To lose me?"

  "For ya to lose me," I clarified, barely managing to keep a laugh out of my voice when she sputtered.

  "Arrogant much?"

  "Just honest, Lou. I'm afraid ya might get addicted to it."

  "To your cock?" she shot back, eyes rolling.

  "Did ya have someone?"

  "I'm sorry?"

  "When ya were out of town," I clarified. "Did ya have someone?"

  "You mean did I fuck someone?" she clarified.

  "Aye, that's what I meant."

  "Just five minutes ago, you were throwing out cocks and cunts, and now you can't even ask if I have had one in mine since I saw you last?"

  "Ya mocking me for trying to be a gentleman?"

  She chuckled at that. "You? A gentleman? Come on now. Not even deaf, dumb, and blind people would accuse you of such a crime. But, no. I haven't fucked anyone. I haven't had time," she rushed to clarify. "Why would it matter to you? If I fucked an entire jail-block, it wouldn't be your business."

  "No, it wouldn't," I agreed. "I was just curious."

  "Why?"

  I paused, unsure if I wanted to go there, if I wanted to expose that much, if I wanted to make myself seem foolish or, worse yet, romantic.

  "I haven't either."

  "And since you're bringing it up, I'm going to assume that this is unusual for you."

  "Aye. Never go more than a few weeks without a solid lay, duchess. That's just the way of it."

  "Itches that need scratching and all that," she agreed, nodding. "I've been in a dry spell for a long time. Things have been crazy."

  "Nothing to do with me, huh?"

  "If you are asking if I was offered a chance for mind-blowing sex, and turned it down because of you, then no."

  "Please," I scoffed, drawing her raised-brow-look. "Lou, walkin' around lookin' like ya look, the chance for sex is there practically every moment. Whether it would be mind-blowin' is yet to be seen. But don't act like ya didn't have a chance to get laid if ya really wanted it."

  "I know to a lot of guys, one snatch is just as good as the next for their purposes, but it doesn't exactly work that way when we're talking about dicks. Once you've had a lame one or two, you learn to be more selective."

  "Duchess, there's nothin' lame about my dick."

  She smiled at that, all teeth, but there was something sinister in her eye as she looked at me.

  "You know, I have a feeling you're not bullshitting. But that doesn't mean I am interested in firsthand knowledge."

  "Why not? You're in a dry spell. Ya said so yerself. And we both know ya wouldn't be in a drought with me around."

  "It's tempting," she admitted hesitantly.

  "Then why ya fighting it?"

  "Honestly? I don't know." Her voice sounded exasperated. If I had to guess, at herself. Because she was feeling as worked up about the whole situation as I was. Wanting it, but thinking maybe there was more to it, but being fucking terrified of that potential reality.

  Uncharted territory.

  And while neither of us were chickenshite, were the types to run away from risky new situations, we also had something else in common.

  Our guards.

  Our scars.

  Our pasts that clearly made us mirror images of fuckedupedness.

  Scared of shite like connection.

  Which this had the potential of having.

  If we let it.

  If we slipped.

  And as she handed me back the leashes when we came up on the side of her Mustang, dipping down to a squat to give each and every dog a goodbye like she was going off to war, and may never see them again, I felt something inside I hadn't ever felt before.

  A crack.

  Small.

  Infinitesimal.

  But there.

  And I swear to fuck, she started to slip in.

  SIX

  Lou

  It was my birthday.

  And I almost forgot.

  That was how you knew you were pretty much alone in the world.

  Forgetting your own damn birthday.

  Had I not stopped at the liquor store for a bottle of Turkey, and the guy at the counter carded me, and proceeded to wish me a happy birthday, I likely never would have realized it myself. I had skipped it entirely the year before.

  Thirty.

  It was supposed to fill me with some existential crisis, make me think my youth was over, make me contemplate the things on my bucket list that still needed to be notched off before I was too old and arthritic to get them done.

  And, sure, there was some shit on there. Stuff I had been too busy with work and other things to get around to. Things I thought would bring some more joy into my life. Or, if I were being completely honest, put it there for the first time since I was a little girl.

  Big things.

  Like traveling, seeing more of the world.

  Little things.

  Like getting a dog, rock climbing, sitting on a beach with no dark thoughts crowding my mind.

  But other things took precedent.

  Other things mattered more.

  I was supposed to feel other things too.

  Like my clock ticking.

  Like my eggs had an expiration date.

  Which, well, they kind of did.

  But I wasn't sold on the kid idea.

  And producing life was one of those things you needed to be pretty fucking certain about if you asked me.

  So if they went bad, they went bad.

  Thirty was, well, just another day.

  Nothing to go batshit over.

  And, quite frankly, not something I needed to celebrate at all.

  Because, well, there was nothing so pathetic as a birthday-for-one. What, was I supposed to sing to myself? Light my own candles and blow them out?

&n
bsp; No.

  That sounded like a night that would end with my head in an oven. And I wasn't even suicidal. But just the mere thought of that kind of evening had me contemplating it.

  I just was going to pretend I never found out, go about my day like any other day.

  I grabbed my booze, got my car washed, hit the food store, went home to straighten up, and started to cook.

  It was all of twenty minutes into simmering some veggies in a frying pan when there was a knock at my door.

  And I swear to God... a sniff.

  With furrowed brows, I padded across my cool hardwood floor, careful to avoid the piece a foot from the door that was uneven, jagged, perfect for gashes and hellish splinters - something I had learned the hard way.

  I slid the lock, pulling open the door, paying no mind to my pantslessness because well, I never paid mind to that. Even if I wasn't sure I had shaved my legs that morning... or that week at all.

  "Are ya cooking?" Adler asked, leaning forward.

  "Are you... literally sniffing at my door?"

  "Listen, that was not an answer. And this is serious business."

  "How so?"

  "I'm hungry."

  "How is that my problem?"

  "Take pity on me with yer soft, feminine heart," he suggested, knowing there wasn't a damn thing soft or feminine about me. At my raised brow, he smirked. "Aye, I figured that was a long shot. What's the occasion?"

  "The occasion?"

  "You've been here on and off for the better part of a year. I haven't smelled anything cookin' in all that time."

  Don't ask me why I said it, what prompted it, why I felt the need to have someone know, but I did.

  "It's my birthday," I supplied.

  "It's yer birthday?" he asked, almost seeming taken aback, his eyes... sad? No. That couldn't have been right.

  "Yep. The 'Big Thirty' or whatever the phrase is."

  "And ya are cookin' for yerself?"

  "Don't give me pity, Adler. I don't want it."

  "Wouldn't insult ya with pity, duchess," he immediately shot back, shaking his head. "Invite me to dinner," he suggested. "Ya know ya want to."

  Damn if he wasn't right.

  Maybe it was pure loneliness, a need for human contact, a desire for normalcy after so much crazy, so much aloneness.

  "I am making enough for an army." That was as close to an invite as I could get. A hostess I clearly was not.

  "That's good. Since you eat like one," he agreed, smirking at me. "How long?"

  "Ah... an hour. Or hour and a half maybe."

  "Good. I'll be back by then. Don't ya dare eat without me. I want to eat with ya." My dirty little mind maybe dropped the 'with' in that sentence as it digested it, making a heat flare up in my belly, something that clearly must have been in my eyes because Adler's dark eyes went wicked. "With ya, Lou. But if ya want me to eat ya too, I am always game for some sweet dessert," he informed me, rushing off before I could shoot him down, leaving that invitation open.

  Damn him.

  I could think of nothing else as I threw the rice in the nifty rice cooker I bought four years before, but never even bothered to take out of the box, as I sliced meat to add to the veggies and beans slowly simmering, as I brought down plates, mismatched because, well, I wasn't even sure where they came from since I didn't remember ever actually going out to buy dishes.

  By the time I heard boots in the hallway again, my body was humming with need, my nerves on high alert, sure just the scent of him - leather and a hint of soap - was going to cause all kinds of chaos.

  After I heard the knock, I made sure to take another long swig of my drink, hoping to find some steadiness in the liquid. Or simply the lack of defenses that would allow me to fucking jump him, and get it over already.

  "Happy birthday!" he called as soon as the door slid open, standing there holding a cake in one hand and a leash in the other.

  My gaze flew down, finding a soft-looking tan Pitbull, all wide face, and stocky chest, but with a bright, cunning look to its eyes.

  "Dog sitting again?" I asked as I dropped down, both hands reaching out, as they always did when a dog was around, landing on the collar around its neck only to pause, pulling back at finding something foreign situated there. "Why does it have a bow on its collar?" I asked, brows drawing low at the pink thing settled there. Almost like a prese... no.

  My gaze flew up to find Adler grinning down at me "Had to get ya a present, didn't I?"

  "Adler," I started, hearing a sound in my voice I was sure had never been there before, a sound that reminded me of being young, doing something foolish, and having my parents confront me about it. "You can't just... buy someone a dog."

  "Adopt. And ya can. As ya can see. Well, I told 'em she was mine. But since we are gonna need to share her, I figure it wasn't too big a lie. Ya can't tell me ya don't want her, Lou. Ya know ya do."

  I did.

  I had always wanted a dog.

  But seeing one in front of me that could be mine, yeah, it was doing something to me. To the heart I had thought hardened long ago. It was softening it, melting it.

  And as she leaned forward, raking her dry tongue across my cheek, I knew there was no way I was going to be able to send her away.

  "Do you think I can train her to chase down skips with me?" I asked, making no attempt at all to hide my smile.

  And I would swear his eyes warmed at the sight.

  Or maybe that was just my imagination, my wishful thinking.

  "Linny is gonna hang home on the couch with me while Mama tracks down the bad guys by herself."

  There was a completely unexpected gut-punch sensation at those words.

  Because nothing in me rebelled against them. Like it should have. I should have bristled, or snorted or... something. Anything else than what I felt right then.

  Which was excited.

  Pleased.

  Maybe even... hopeful?

  What the hell was that about?

  "I got a ton of shite to bring up," he told me, shocking me out of my thoughts. "Took her to the store to get food and toys and beds and shite. Roderick is waiting down in the..."

  "Roderick was sick of sitting in the thousand-degree SUV for your ass," another voice called, moving down the hallway with a giant thirty-pound bag of dry dog food slung over his shoulder, arms and hands weighed down with bags, a plush bed wedged just barely under his arm. His eyes slid to me, doing the quickest, most respectful of once-overs I had ever gotten in my entire freaking life. "Que pasa, mami?" he asked, clearly picking up on our shared Hispanic heritage even if I got a feeling he was Puerto Rican, and I was Dominican. "I'd say you could do better than this bastard," he added as he stood behind Linny while I got back to my feet, "but he bought you a dog. That's some rom-com shit right there. You cooking?" he asked, stepping over the leash, and inviting himself into my apartment. "Fucking lucky SOB," he added as he walked right over to the stove, taking a long sniff before backing away, shaking his head in envy as he dropped the bag down next to the end of my counter. "I'm heading out before I invite myself to stay, and end up ruining whatever filthy way you plan to thank this lucky fuck. Nice to finally get to meet you, Lou," he added, giving me a warm smile before moving off.

  "Finally, huh?" I asked as Adler led Linny inside, her head angled up, sniffing around. "You been talking about me?"

  "Every chance I get," he affirmed unexpectedly, doing something to my stomach I swore I was too jaded, too realistic, too hardened to feel. A fluttering. Freaking butterflies.

  And, sure I would expose that somehow if I continued the topic, I side-stepped the fuck out of it. "Let her off the leash so she can explore. What's her story?"

  "We can talk over food, can't we?" he asked, not even trying to hide it as he sniffed the air again, nudging some of the bags Roderick had dropped on his way to the door out of his way so he could settle the cake on the counter.

  "That looks good," I admitted.

  "I owe Gala an
untold favor for it since that was meant to last the whole night at the shop. And I dunno if ya know Gala, but an 'untold favor' is a mildly terrifying prospect. Might just want to come to a Henchmen party, might need me to help bury a body. But I've had it before. It's fuckin' worth a possible felony," he informed me, pouring another round of drinks as I portioned out dinner onto two heaping plates.

  "I don't have a dining table, obviously," I said, waving one arm out toward my slightly battered-up camel-colored leather couch, worn to softness, the material splitting a bit in areas, but the most comfortable thing I had ever sat on. I crashed there instead of my bed some nights.

  "Guest's choice, right?" he asked, dropping the drinks on the scuffed coffee table. I was always terrible with the manners thing, often propping my feet up there carelessly. It came from a garage sale anyway.

  "Hm?" I started to ask but noticed him reaching for the remote. "Nothing action," I specified. "I get enough of that in my daily life."

  "A little action?" he asked, flicking through the OnDemand menu.

  "A little," I allowed, remembering I forgot forks and other civilized things like napkins, placing the plates down to run back to grab them, smiling when I saw Linny circle then curl up on her new bed, half-asleep as her head hit the soft fabric. "Right," I grumbled to myself, realizing I didn't have napkins. But, then again, I was hosting a biker an outlaw biker. He and his brothers likely wiped their hands and mouths on sleeves. My paper towels were likely fine dining worthy. "What's this?" I asked, seeing the words Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang on the screen.

  "Robert Downey Jr. and Val Kilmer in this smart-as-fuck noir. I've seen it a dozen times, but pick up on new shite each time. You'll like it," he informed me, patting the seat next to him, making me realize I had been standing there. Like I was afraid of sitting down.

  Hell, maybe I was.

  The couch was small.

  We'd be brushing the whole time.

  And we'd already established that my system was having issues controlling its urges around him.