Page 12 of Rooster

"Kincaid has a presidential patch," I mutter, doing my best not to grin when he huffs in irritation.

If I'm going to be in a shit mood, then I might as well bring him right along with me.

"For Vegas," he snaps.

I shake my head, eyes still locked in front of me. "I haven't heard anything."

"Do you think..."

I watch his reflection as he shakes his head, and my eyes narrow.

"Do I think what?"

"That maybe you could listen a little harder?"

I nearly stumble again, and this time, I have to hit the emergency stop button on my machine to keep from face-planting.

I grab my towel and swipe it over my face, glaring at him the second my eyes are no longer blocked.

"Are you fucking asking what I think you're asking?"

At least he has the wherewithal to look a little chastised as his eyes drop to his sneakers.

"What do you think I'm asking?"

This motherfucker...

"You want me to violate New Mexico's privacy to see if they're trying to decide on who should be president."

"I wasn't—"

"I think you were, and if I'm right, do you really think you deserve it?"

His jaw flexes.

I know Bandera isn't a bad guy. He's very goal-oriented. He wants to be a leader, but being sneaky like a child unwrapping Christmas presents a week before the big day isn't the way to go about it. Not to mention the hit to his integrity.

"Forget I said anything," he grumbles as he steps off the treadmill and makes his way out of the room.

Just when I think I'm going to get a reprieve, Twisted catches the door before it can close all the way. And fuck me if Morgan isn't right there with him.

I don't know what would make this situation worse—if I walked out just as they arrived or if I stuck around?

One makes melooklike an asshole, and the other one makes me one.

Something about her keeps me locked in place for a few moments as her eyes assess the room.

"Hey, man," Twisted says, his hand dropping to her lower back as she freezes at the sight of me.

I can't fully decipher the emotions on her face, but I see more curiosity than fear.

"Good morning, Morgan. How are you?"

"I'm good," she says, her eyes darting to the floor.

The submissive response does nothing for the fucking urges I've been battling on this damn treadmill all morning.

"Were you leaving?" Twisted asks, and I can see the annoyance in his eyes as if I have some nerve to even speak to her in the first place.

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