Page 349 of The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The Second Collection
It certainly does.
“Napa, I’m so sorry I’ve involved you?—”
He cuts me off with a rough, “Don’t apologize. We offered protection and we offered for a reason. This is the brotherhood, Mac. This is what I meant when I said we will always stand shoulder to shoulder and you will never need to say thank you or I’m sorry.”
He did say that during the party. Was it only two nights ago? With everything that’s happened today, it feels longer. “I appreciate it.”
“Text me the address. Cinder and I will head over.”
“Head over?” I ask, not quite following.
“This is an Oidhri problem now. Taco might just be a prospect, but he’s our prospect and we protect our own. Cinder and I’ll sit down with you and figure out how to deal with these assholes. Time to put them out of business.”
I look at Logan, who is listening to the conversation intently.
“Funny you should say that,” I tell Napa. “See you soon.”
With the two bikers, Max, and Manny, Logan’s office feels a little crowded. Emily’s taken her laptop and disappeared, but Bren’s curled up beside me on the couch. She’s still wearing Logan’s bathrobe, because she’s having trouble staying warm even though the house is balmy. Underneath the terrycloth, she’s wearing her soft, black pants and my Black Sabbath concert T-shirt. I’d intended to save the shirt as a reward until after I’d given her the permanent collar and claimed her holes a third time. Seeing her look so small and lost after she woke up from her nap made me bust it out early. Her grin made it worthwhile.
While Max walks the bikers through all his surveillance of Mad Bob and the skinheads, I cuddle Bren to my side and speak softly to her. “How are you feeling now, sweetheart?”
“Warmer, Sir. I don’t remember getting cold like this after fights when I was with the East C girls. I’m not sure what’s wrong with me.”
“You haven’t fought since your hip was crushed, right?” At her nod, I continue. “That was a decade ago, girl. Your body isn’t geared to violence anymore. Sparring’s not the same. I should know. There’s a world of difference between a boxing match and a firefight. Battle hits you right in the adrenal gland. Think of it like a scene. You used up a hell of a lot of calories and chemicals during the fight just like you do in a good scene. Your body’sdepleted. It’s going to take a while to build back up to where you feel normal again.”
She lets out a little huff. “Only I would get post-fight sub drop.”
“Could be a lot worse, sweetheart. Your body could be trying to heal a broken arm and a concussion as well.”
“I feel terrible about that, Sir. There I was thinking he was eating his way through the East Village and instead he was getting beat up.”
I squeeze her shoulders. “I feel the same way. I apologized to Napa for getting them tangled up in this. You want to know what he said?”
Bren nods.
“He said this is the brotherhood.”
She looks impressed.
“This is the brotherhood I’ve been looking for, girl.”
“I can see why, Sir. If you do join up, I want one of the Ladies’ Auxiliary shirts.”
“You have a Black Sabbath concert shirt, girl. That’s all the shirt you’ll ever need.”
“The Oidhri T-shirts are so much cooler.”
“That’s a clothespin on the tongue, you cretin.”
She laughs for the first time in hours.
I smile at the sound and kiss her temple. “If I haven’t said it in the last fifteen minutes, I’m proud of you, girl.”
“Why? I’m a shaking wreck. A jab, two kicks, and an elbow, and I’m such a mess you’d have thought I was in an all-day cage match. Not a lot to be proud of here, Sir.”
I gather her dreads in my hand and gently pull her head back until she has to meet my eyes.
“I. Am. Proud. Of. You. Girl,” I say.
