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“Clean up, clean up,” Kadey sang as I stepped out of the kitchen and stormed through the living room to the back door. I could still hear her as I walked out onto the concrete porch and around the side to the kitchen window.
A ten-foot-wide space ran down that side of the house, leading to the driveway and garage. A tall fence on one side kept out any nosey neighbors, and a garden alongside the house held a few sparse plants in some dirt.
I walked past the kitchen to the front of the house, my finger firmly curled around the trigger of my gun. The street lights lit up the quiet street, and my eyes scanned the shadows for several minutes, searching for any signs of movement in my front yard or anyone else’s.
But there was nothing.
No strange noises or hidden surprises.
Quiet, just like it normally was—my brothers and I were the loudest bastards living there, but even we tried to be respectful to the neighbors.
Bishop lived directly across the road—I’d grown up in that house on this street. It was just a couple of blocks from the clubhouse, and while we all had rooms there, some of us preferred to have our own space.
Some of us wanted a home.
So a few of the boys and I had taken up residence here too. Any time a place on this street came up for sale, one of us snatched it up.
Feeling a little less tense than before, I turned and walked back down the side of the house, where the path was lit by the lights from inside—a path which would be a lot nicer if it had a few more plants in the garden. Maybe some flowers.
I made a mental note to get some to make the house a little more colorful and inviting.
Not for me.
But for a certain single mom and her energetic daughter, who I was hoping one day might see this as a place they’d want to live. I’d already cleaned out the rooms upstairs, where I’d been storing boxes and motorcycle parts—like any other single man—but they were mostly pushed to the side so Kadey could at least have a bed.
But I wanted to give her more.
I wanted to give her and Missy the fucking world.
And I couldn’t do that with some old boxes and a few greasy motorcycle shocks.
I paused for a second, looking down at the garden and gauging how many bushes I might need to cover the dirt when something caught my eye. I shoved my hand into my pocket, pulled out my cell, and switched on the flashlight.
“Motherfucker,” I cursed when the bright light illuminated a goddamn footprint in the dirt.
As if someone had stepped there to get a better look through the goddamn window.
I need to call Bish—
“Hawk!” Calli’s shout cut off any previous thoughts to the only one left—run.
I sprinted around the corner of the house, gun still in one hand, phone clenched tight in the other. My shoulder collided with the doorframe as I took the sharp turn from the patio, in through the rear doorway and down the short hall to the living room, holding my gun straight out, level, ready to end someone’s fucking life if they had their hands on my family.
But there was no one.
“What the hell?”
Calli held out her cell. “Dad said he tried to call you, but you didn’t answer.”
I plucked the phone from her hand. “You fucking psychic or something?”
“Just giving you a heads up, some guys came into the bar. Missy said they knew her name and were creeping her out. So she had to tell them to leave,” he explained, making me frown.
“Okay, why—”
“She told one of them with her fist.”
I smirked, shaking my head. “Of course she fucking did.”
