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I genuinely believe if he didn’t come in that night, I’d be dead right now.
He’s the one who supported me enough to walk away from cocaine, and now I haven’t had it in over three weeks.
Razor clears his throat and calls up, “Come on downstairs. I’ll be finishing up here in a bit.”
I nod and leave the balcony, heading inside to meet him.
As soon as I hit the bottom steps the scent of bacon and eggs wafts in from the kitchen.
I raise my brows, “Who the hell is cooking?”
Dante’s sitting on one of the new couches Amara had delivered, “Amara,” he says it with an amused tone.
Cocking a brow, I have to verify what he’s just said. “Did you say Amara, or did I hear you wrong?”
Dante’s eyes lock onto mine and he chuckles. “Amara’s in that kitchen fuckin’ cooking breakfast for dinner for the prospects.”
I blink a couple of times and process what he’s just said.
Dante is Amara’s husband, and his family is very important.
They run a cartel here in Mexico, but from what I understand they’re not at the top of the food chain.
Since coming to Mexico, I’ve been cooking a good bit more, but I’m not the best at it so I let Razor cook for me most days.
I don't know what's gotten into Amara, but I will totally take some bacon and eggs for dinner.
Razor comes in through the garage door, “Holy fuck it smells good in here.”
Dante pipes up, “Yeah, I was just telling Oak that Amara’s cooking for the prospects. They should be here any minute, right?”
Razor nods, wiping his sweaty hands on his jeans. “Yeah, I’d say. Last update we got was about an hour ago.”
Razor’s clad in dark gray jeans, a wife beater, and his cut.
I lick my lips as I take him in, knowing he’s the hottest guy on the fucking planet.
Razor pulls me out of my thoughts, “Oak? Did you hear Dante?”
I shake my head and look at Dante. “Sorry, what was that?”
He chuckles and sits up a bit straighter on the couch. “I was asking if you knew any of the prospects.”
Nodding, I fill him in. "Yeah, I've met Doom before. But Lashes and the others are new to me,"
It’s been a while since I’ve seen him, and meeting him was very brief.
They happened to be around the clubhouse in Billings before I moved to Los Angeles.
Razor chuckles. "Don't worry, she's cool. You'll get along just fine."
Out of nowhere, there’s a pang of jealousy at how cool and collected his tone is.
Why does Razor think she’s so cool?
Did they have something when he was in Montana?
I anxiously lick my lips and grow quiet, thinking about what could have happened between them.
