Page 16 of Risk
“They were fucking dicks who didn’t want to answer any of our questions,” Regulator adds. “McKenna and Risk may not be together, but she’s still an old lady and when she’s threatened in any way, we act.”
“I’m not saying y’all did anything wrong,” Kodiak states. “I’m just curious if you got any clues about why they were there.”
“None. They were tight lipped outside of threatening us,” I inform him.
“Risk lost his temper when they asked him if he was there for some action. That alone wasn’t the bad part,” Conan surmises. “It’s when they nodded at McKenna’s window that he lost his shit.”
“They insinuated she was a prostitute?” Kodiak asks, his face shocked.
“That was my take on it,” I growl.
“Fuck that shit! Let’s go wake our new friends up, guys. I have some questions and they are going to answer every motherfucking one of them,” Kodiak thunders. “And they better do it quickly so I can get back to Luna and our son.”
“That’s what I’m talking about!” Conan shouts, rubbing his hands together.
I nod my head because it’s hard to talk through clenched teeth. As it’s been stated, we don’t know why they were surrounding her home, but the fact that they muttered something about peep shows, and asked if I wanted some action while pointing at where I saw my wife earlier that evening popped my top and I reacted. If my old lady is in trouble, and didn’t come to me, these men aren’t the only ones who are going to feel my wrath.
Before we parted, it was told to her, in no uncertain terms, that if she ever found herself in trouble, trouble that she couldn’t handle on her own and she needed the club, my brothers, or me, she wasn’t to hesitate in seeking us out. The proof that she ignored that pisses me off and if she thinks she can shake me off after this, she’s dead fucking wrong.
“I’m coming for you McKenna,” I warn her even though she can’t hear me. “And when I get my hands on you, you aren’t going any damn where.”
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
McKenna
When my alarmsounds off the next morning, my body protests and I groan as I reach out and my hands flail as I search for the offending object to shut off the shrilling sound. I have a severe case of the ‘I don’t wanna’s’ and decide to hit the snooze button so I can rest my eyes a little longer. The only problem is, it’s set to go off every fifteen minutes and because of my exhaustion, when I finally do crawl out of bed, I’m in a foul mood.
“Stupid obligations,” I complain through puckered lips, life is souring on a good day let alone one like today. As I drag my feet to the bathroom and turn on the shower so the water can warm, I pout. “I don’t wanna adult anymore.”
While that’s in progress, I grab my toothbrush and paste out of the drawer, spread it along the bristles and wet it before zombie walking my way to the toilet to relieve my bladder. In between brushing, I wipe, flush, and run back to the sink to spit out the foam. I’ve always been a gagger when it comes to brushing,and no matter how much I age, that’s something that I’ve never grown out of.
“Damn toothbrush trying to choke me,” I say, looking at it as if it’s my enemy.
Snorting to myself, I step into the shower and start my routine. Once my skin has been scrubbed and my hair is squeaky clean, I grab my beach towel and wrap it around me and tuck the sides in and toss on my hair wrap to hold it in place until I’m ready to brush and dry it. Even though I’m beneath a prostitute on the totem pole and just above a stripper doesn’t mean I shouldn’t take care of myself. Every single day, no matter how I’m feeling about myself, I moisturize my face, pluck my eyebrows because they’re hairy beasts that tend to bristle overnight—I’m beginning to think Big Foot is one of my ancestors—and lotion my body from head to toe before going in search of my morning caffeine.
When I make it into the living room, I jump a mile high when a chirpy voice says, “Good morning, sunshine.”
I grunt before bellyaching. “You’re a morning person, huh? That sucks because I don’t play nice until after my second cup of coffee. You have been warned.”
“Good to know,” she snickers, waving me off. “Where do you want me to store my blankets and pillows during the day?”
“Don’t care,” I mumble as I place my favorite tumbler underneath the spout of my Keurig and reach into the cabinet to grab a pod and my three packets of cane sugar. As it brews, I stumble my way to the fridge and grab my creamer then dazedly make it back over to the machine just as it whistles letting me know it’s done. “Did you get any sleep, Isla?”
“An hour here and there. I’ve never required a lot of sleep. What about you, McKenna? Did you manage to get any?”
“Not much. My brain likes to punish me when I close my eyes by reminding me of how much of a failure I am,” I admit, lifting up my cup and inhaling the aroma. I sigh before lifting it up to my lips and taking a small taste. It’s hot so I only drink enough to coat my tongue and start the process of getting my java into my system. “This is heaven.”
“Coffee tends to make me jittery,” Isla tells me. “I usually have a glass of juice in the morning to give me a kickstart.”
“You offend me,” I tease. “If I don’t have a mug as soon as I hop out of the shower, I’m a bitch.”
“At least you’re an honest one, McKenna.”
“Don’t know how to be anything else when my brain isn’t functional,” I murmur. “Put your juice on the shopping list that’s on the fridge and I’ll grab some for you when I go to the store tonight.”
“Thank you, McKenna. I know you have suspicions about me, but you’ve still made sure I have what I need.”
