Page 31 of Warrior

My mouth feels weird. I lick my lips, then lean back in the chair.

“I… it’s my turn to do inventory. With Ginger and Barry.” She squints at me. “I saw the light on. But, Tem, we all heard about what happened?—”

With Antonio still in the hospital, how has this place been functioning?

“Vittoria.”

I flinch.

Mel comes in and sits. “She was in Antonio’s office yesterday. She did payroll for us… I thought you knew?”

“Of course,” I lie. “I just…”

My desk is clear of paperwork. My laptop is… I don’t know. Home? In the apartment downstairs?

Stolen?

“You look like you could use a drink,” Mel says.

I narrow my eyes.

“Coffee,” she clarifies. “Come on.”

A giggle bursts out of me at the misunderstanding. I cover my mouth, but the sound still slips out. It tugs at my muscles—the injured ones—and my stitched skin. I wave off her questioning glance and follow her through to the kitchen.

I sit at one of the outdoor barstools. She fixes me a cup and one for herself, setting cream and sugar down in front of me with a little spoon.

I stir in the sugar slowly, then a dash of cream.

“Want to talk about it?”

I laugh. “So you can tell whoever you’re fucking at the Hell Hounds’ compound? No, thanks.”

She starts. Coffee spills over the edge of her cup.

The faintest hint of smoke is on the air.

“I deserve that,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

I wave her off. “I don’t forgive you for sharing my business. But I’ve decided not to fire you this time.”

Mel blows out a breath.

We drink the coffee in silence, and when both of our cups are empty, I collect them to wash.

What Ishoulddo is go to the hospital and see how Antonio is doing.

The heroin numbs the pain of being stabbed, and it even eases some of my worry over the closest man to a father I’ve had.

I snort to myself. If I see them, they’ll seeme. As in, they’ll see right through me.

“I’m taking off,” I tell Mel. “Have fun with your inventory.”

She murmurs a goodbye, and I manage to avoid Barry and Ginger on my way out. I’m not too close with either, which would just make their pity worse.

I don’t need pity. Or anything.

I have to return to my apartment to get my bike keys and helmet, then trot downstairs and find my bike exactly where I left it.

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