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Rarely do I see Harlem in a bad mood. When he is, it’s catastrophic.
I know it’s because he wakes up next to a beautiful woman every morning.
Indigo and her daughter, Cami, just moved in with Harlem. While we’re still on the lookout for Indigo’s ex, a man named Forger, who kidnapped her kid and locked her in a fuckin’ crypt that almost burned down with her inside, everyone is on tenterhooks.
Forger was trying to put back together an old club and our biggest rivals, the Devils Ink MC, and when they got wind we’d found their hideout, they split and left Cami inside.
Word is they’ve gone underground, but it won’t take long for us to find out where they are.
Forger won’t be able to sit tight for long. If he’s gonna kidnap his own kid and almost kill her, then he won’t stay down forever. And when he does, we’ll be waiting for him.
“Had a nice early mornin’ wakeup call.” He grins.
Indigo isn’t just a nice piece of ass, she’s also the co-owner of the bakery NOLA Sweet Treats, and she’s also eighteen years his junior. I’d be smiling too at his age.
“Don’t make me puke before my second breakfast.”
“You made your first breakfast?”
I look at him like he has two heads. “Manny had leftovers.”
We head to the machines, and I sling my bag down and pull out a towel. Nothing frustrates me more than bad hygiene.
“So. Why are you all pissy?” he asks.
I roll my eyes.
Harlem has a bullshit radar sharper than mine. Being my best friend, he also knows when I’m lying so there’s no point.
“Usual shit.”
“You talk to Luna?”
I give him a look. “Can we go one training session without talkin’ about Luna?”
He shrugs. “Whenever you have a face like you’ve sucked on a bag of lemons, that means it’s usually to do with her.”
The trouble with that statement is that itisabout Luna, but not in the way he thinks. She won’t let me within a ten-foot radius without shooting her mouth off. If she were mine, I’d fuckin’ shut that smart little mouth up…
“Sorry to disappoint.”
He shakes his head. “Well, if you wanna talk. I’m here.”
I grunt. When do I ever wanna talk? I sort shit out the way the good Lord intended, in my own head. No need to go around burdening others. It’s selfish.
Plus, I don’t like other people knowing my business. Not that I’d mind Harlem knowing, or Cash, but this is different. Yet somehow, I feel like I have this fuckin’ secret that’s burning a hole in my goddamn chest.
Maybe Harlem is right?
“You sure you’re not goin’ all Dr. Phil on me?”
He chuckles as I adjust the leg curl. “Nope.”
“Goddamn fuckin’ women,” I mutter.
“I knew it. I thought things had cooled off with Luna?”
I exhale. “That’s because she’s always over at Rock’s.”
