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"As if I have a choice," she said, shooting small eyes in my direction.
"Have you guys called Teddy?" I asked, ignoring her comment. She would get over it. "It might be a good idea for him to distance himself from us for a bit. Ayanna, too. Tell Booker. He'll keep her stubborn ass away even if she doesn't want to."
"On it," Che agreed, reaching for his phone.
"You," I said, nodding at Remy. "I need you to get in touch with that guy about the ballistic steel for the walls. And some sort of security system to hold us over until Booker can fit us in."
"Consider it done," Remy agreed, moving off to make his calls."
"So, am I going to be on room arrest, or can I move around the house?" she asked.
"Both," I told her. "You can walk around unless we say you can't. Some shit, you don't need to know about," I told her, trying to soften the blow of my words.
"Oh. Yeah. right. Murder plotting," she said, looking a little lost.
"Alright. Come on. I'll bring you upstairs. You can get settled. Then you can get some coffee," I said, ushering her up the stairs. "No, here," I said when she moved away from the bedroom door.
"That's your room," she said, stiffening.
"Yeah," I agreed, opening the door.
"I can stay in the guest room," she said, backing away.
"Relax, I'm staying in the guest room. Figure if I have to turn your life upside down, the least I can do is give you the better room, the better bathroom. Plus, there's room in here to move your desk in if it comes to that."
I didn't want to tell her so, but it was going to come to that. She was freaked out enough. I wanted her to be able to process one thing at a time. But unless Seeley saw a face—which I doubted—or Arty pulled off a miracle, it was going to be a bit before we found the threat, scoped it out, then made a move to take them out.
Luckily, it wasn't like we had to fuck up her whole life, or rip her away from work, friends, and family.
She lived and worked alone. Sure, her brother was in the picture, but it didn't seem like they were that tight.
If anything, it might be good for her to be able to spend some time around other people.
"Huck," she said as I backed up toward the door.
"Yeah, babe?"
"Thanks. For coming when I called," she said, shaking her head. "I know I probably seem ungrateful. It's just... this is all a lot. My life is usually so, ah, boring. And predictable. This is overwhelming. And I don't want you to think I'm blind to the fact that you're trying to do the right thing."
"You want to thank me, you could walk around in that thong I saw you pack."
"What is your obsession with thongs?"
"Have you seen your ass, babe?" I asked, shooting her a smirk, liking the way her cheeks looked a bit pink, but forcing myself out into the hall, closing the door before I got ideas about going over there and sinking my hands into that ass of hers.
Sure, being at the clubhouse might be the best place for her.
But keeping my hands to myself wasn't going to be easy.
"What?" I asked when McCoy raised his brow at me.
"That look," he said, nodding at me. "I know that look. It was the same look West had when he was falling for your sister."
"It's not like that."
"Yeah, think I remember him saying something like that too. Now look at them."
Living up in Jersey.
Gus was shacked up with a member of the mother chapter of our club, after he'd come down to help us set up our chapter.
But it wasn't like that.
Was Harmon hot? Yeah. Did I want to see her bent over in bed, that amazing ass of hers just begging to be smacked while I fucked her? Of course.
But that was it.
I wasn't the settling down type.
Nothing—and no one—was going to change that.
I liked my life exactly as it was.
Or, you know, so I thought.
Chapter Seven
Harmon
For all my original objections, staying with the guys wasn't actually that bad.
When they weren't partying, they were a pretty chill group who hung out, ordered take out, flicked around at the TV while paying most of their attention other phones.
You know, just like normal people.
Except I knew, of course, that they weren't mindlessly scrolling through social media or reading stupid puff piece articles with clickbait titles.
I caught Huck shooting off texts to some guy named Reign about how things were fine.
As if getting shot at and attacked was just status quo.
Hell, maybe it was.
No one seemed overly anxious about the whole thing. Not even Seeley who'd come home from the hospital the day after he'd gone in after being there for observation because of his concussion.
