If something had happened to his own father… Well, he also didn’t want to think of that either. His father was his foundation.
His gaze connected with Dev’s who watched him climb to the top. Dev’s foot kicked out toward him, drawing his attention. “Why do you look like that?”
Cash didn’t miss a beat as he turned to head down the stairs again. “Because you need to be doing this with me. Makes your heart strong. It’s never too late to start…”
Dev barked out a loud, harsh laugh. “I’m never gonna run up and down those stairs.”
“Yeah, he has a point. It doesn’t look like too much fun,” Shanna teased.
Trace, who kept the door to his apartment open when home, came out, showing he was always listening, doing his job twenty-four seven. “Running those stairs does look like its own kind of hell.” Trace dodged his way around Cash to climb up the steps. “Is that food I smell?”
“Nothin’ you’re gonna like,” Dev said, finally admitting his true feelings. He’d spoken his truth louder than necessary to make sure he was heard.
“I like a lot of different things,” Trace hedged.
Cash smirked at that neutral answer. “It’s cauliflower chowder,” Cash said, breathy as he tried to suck air into his lungs. The workout was finally settling in.
“What did Joe think about that meal?” Trace asked, taking a seat on the floor next to Dev.
“You don’t see him out here, do you?” Dev answered snidely.
Shanna defended him, whacking her hand against Dev’s chest. “Stop being mean. At least he tried.”
Dev started chuckling as Cash narrowed his eyes.
“No. I think it’s good, Cash.” She lacked the conviction she’d used moments ago.
His thighs burned the more he climbed. It didn’t matter. The criticism rolled off his back. He was determined to put some health in Dev’s diet. Even if the man hated every bite.
Chapter 30
Dev came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the parking lot, his cell phone rammed against his ear, trying to hear Millie better. She spoke while he registered the appearance of the clubhouse. They had somehow made a decent advancement. The prospects were hard at work. From every angle, men were fixing the decades of damage. Con-man took his new position as property overseer seriously, barking out orders while a steady stream of men and women came in and out the front door, taking full trash bags out and a bunch of new shit in.
He had no idea how they were going to pay for any of this. The fucking funeral was like throwing a goddamn party he didn’t want to have. He had no idea what the Disciples finances were or if he even had access to the club’s money.
It didn’t matter. This had to happen. It was fucking Cash’s fault anyway.
Fucker.
Cash had an everything-needs-to-be-clean-all-the-time issue that seemed to be rubbing off on Dev. They probably needed to burn the clubhouse to the ground in a bonfire type environment. Maybe at the one they were having over the weekend.
Did insurance pay if he destroyed the building himself?
Did they have insurance on the clubhouse?
It had to be far less expensive to rebuild the compound than try to make this shithole habitable.
With extreme effort, he concentrated on Millie’s words. Not really concentrating as much as trying to time his grunts appropriately to all the information she was dumping out about the ink parlor, his schedule, and who was going to clean up the carnage outside the bike shop.
She didn’t think his clients were going to be happy with all the blood stains. She was probably right. People were oddly sensitive.
“This dog’s a pain in the ass,” Millie said with a rare moment of foul language. Luckily, she’d agreed to be at his apartment during the day rather than collect the unemployment she probably had a right to have. “She has too much energy and needs to be engaged every minute or she turns into a little shit. And you living on the second floor makes her every ten minute potty run harder than it already is.”
He couldn’t help the commiserating chuckle he gave. The dog was a pain in the ass.
“I thought a hound dog was supposed to be more docile. That fuckin’ mutt chews on everything. Caught her gnawin’ on the windowsill this mornin’,” Dev said, feeling the stirs of pissed off forming inside him.
“She’s not a hound dog, Dev. She’s a beagle.” Millie said it as if he was stupid. He didn’t even get lost in her tone as he tried to bring the dog’s image to his mind.
