Page 29 of Forbidden
“I want to talk to you about something.”
“Yeah?”
Maybe shedoesknow and is finally coming for help.
“I was thinking…I don’t want to be a Hound anymore.”
I should have known better. “That’s your choice. No one’s keeping you here.”
“I know, but I want to be an old lady.”
Good luck. Who the fuck’s going to want you after you’ve fucked every man in the club? Definitely not me.The hopeful look in her eyes makes me think she’s actually serious.
“Anyone in particular?”
“Yes.”
“Well, does he know?”
“No.”
“If the guy has no idea, don’t you think you should talk to him, and not me?”
“I was hoping he’d realize on his own.”
“Nothing I can do there. You need to sort that out with him. I’m not getting involved.”
Her face falls and she stares down at her hands in her lap. If she thought I was going to talk one of my brothers into claiming her, she’s insane. Maybe I should talk to her about Raven. She’s her guardian, after all. Then again, she’s probably not in the most receptive mood right now. Fuck it, I don’t need her. I’ll be around now, so I can figure shit out on my own. Whoever the fucker is, his days are numbered.
“Is there something else?”
“No. I just thought you should know.”
“Okay. Close the door on your way out.”
She walks out, head down, dragging her feet. The hip swing is gone. Who’d have thought Lonnie would want to settle down? Again, not me. Raven though, she’s definitely the settling down type. I can see her wanting the house with the picket fence, the kids, and the dog. Am I the man to provide that for her? Hell no. But she’s young. She has time to work on her suburban dream if that’s what she wants.
By the time I finish working, I realize that I missed lunch and I’m starving. Hell, it’s damn near dinnertime. Maybe I should go to Millie’s and pay my little bird a visit. I lock the office door and head straight to the bathroom for a shower. I can’t wait to see her.
I step out of the shower, singing “Sympathy for the Devil” as I dry off. Fuck me, but I haven’t felt this good in a long time. After dressing in a white t-shirt, straight jeans, and white Jordans, I stand in front of the bathroom mirror contemplating whether I should comb my hair. Nah. I put in some Bedhead molding paste and run my fingers through it. I decide to leave my cut behind but not my Glock. I never leave home without it. A little of my current, favorite cologne, Gucci Guilty, and then I’m out the door.
Out in the bar, I find Razor getting the guys together while some of the girls are packing supplies. He’s a giant of a man, towering over me and about three times my size. He’d intimidate anyone without even trying. He got the nickname because he always had a disposable razor he would pull out at random times and just start shaving. I’ve never seen him with hair on his face. He’s a rock, though. I can count on him for anything, which is why he’s my Sergeant. He’s a mean son-of-a-bitch and won’t hesitate to kill a man. He’s good at it, too. Second to me, of course.
“Pushing out?” I ask him.
“Yeah. Talked to Mission. Everything goes okay, we should be back by this time tomorrow.”
Mission is the President of our Jacksonville charter. They run pain meds – Oxy, Vicodin, Percocet, you name it. They’re setting up a new base of operations and I’m sending some of my guys down there to help with securing the location.
“Cool. Let me know when you get there.”
“Yeah. Where you off to, pretty boy? Hot date?”
“Nah. Just to get some food.”
Lonnie saunters over, slips her arm around mine, and smiles up at me.
“Want some company?”
