I shook my head. “Tinted windows.”
Archer flicked open his phone. “Got the plate. Texted it to Linc already. He’s on it.”
“Thanks,” Merrick gruffed before returning his eyes to me. “One of us will follow you to and from work for a while, just to be sure.”
I raised a brow. “Seriously? I’ll just start carrying again. I don’t need a bodyguard.”
“You’ll carry a gun, and you get a bodyguard,” Hatchet insisted. “I’ll take you to the range tonight to make sure you’re sharp.”
I scoffed. “I’m probably a better shot than you. Remember? Reaper’s the one who trained me because Merrick said I was ‘difficult.’”
Hatchet grinned. “I have no doubt—that you’re a great shotandyou’re difficult.”
My brother appraised me once more, making sure I was OK. “Kenna’ll have dinner done in half an hour. I’ll see you at the house.”
I kissed the puppy on her cute snout, and she nipped at my nose. “Can’t come tonight. Once the pizza is here, Hatchet and I are going to fight over what to name this cutie.”
Right on cue, a beat-up car pulled in. My stomach growled at the smell of melted cheese and pepperoni. Hatchet handed the driver a wad of cash, and we headed inside.
The jukebox thundered a classic rock track across the clubhouse lounge. Bones and Don nodded at me from the bar. I waved at Fuse, Bayou, Dixon, and a man I didn’t recognize from across the room, where they played pool.
“Hey, prospect!” Hatchet bellowed as we climbed the stairs. “Grab a cold six-pack and bring it up to my room.” He glanced back at me, one brow raised. “You want anything else, doll?”
I shot him a sharp glare. “Call me ‘doll’ again, and I’ll rearrange your jaw. What’s wrong with eating at the bar?”
“Because all her toys are in my room. And she needs to be crated while we eat.”
“Crated?” I echoed. “She’s a puppy, not an inmate.”
“All the dog books say to crate them during meals.”
I blinked. “Dog books? Wait—you can read?”
He snorted. “I’m not just a dumb biker.”
Hatchet pushed his door open, and I stopped short. Fifteen—maybe twenty—stuffed squeaky toys blanketed the floor in the small studio he called home.
“Buy her a few toys, did you?” I asked dryly.
The pup squirmed in my arms until I set her down. I watched as she charged a pink stuffed pig with reckless joy, oblivious to her unsteady gait as she wobbled on three paws.
Hatchet laughed, setting the pizza box on the small table by the window. “Only the best for my girl.”
The prospect trailed behind us, a bucket of ice clinking around cold bottles of beer.
I smiled at him as he set it on the counter. “Thanks,” I said, taking one and cracking it open. “You’re new. What’s your name?”
“I go by Rev.”
“How’d you end up with these guys?”
“Met Hatchet at a street race.”
My eyes flicked to Hatchet’s. “Street race? Because you haven’t crashed enough bikes already?”
“Get out of here before you get me in more trouble,” Hatchet ordered.
Rev chuckled. “Don’t worry, babe. We’re safe. Mostly.”
