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Luckily, pleading fatigue hadn’t been a lie. They had given her a host of pain medication and something to calm her raging nerves, and the combination exhausted her. Her fib about a nap became real within minutes, and sleep pulled her under.
If the hypnotizing sound of his steady breathing combined with the safety of his presence allowed her to slip into oblivion without fear, no one had to know.
CHAPTER THREE
WELL, HE’D FUCKED that up right good.
Tyler stormed into the clubhouse, plowing into a thin man with a receding hairline as he burst through the door.
“H-holy cow!” The man stumbled backward, eyes wide and terrified.
“Fuck.” Ty reached for him, but he wasn’t quick enough.
The guy landed on his ass with a grunt. He gaped up at Ty as though he were the devil himself who had come to claim his soul.
Ty reached out a hand. “Shit, man, sorry.”
The guy shook his head and waved away the offer of help. “No worries. I’m good.” He climbed to his feet with a wince, wiping invisible dust off his navy pants. It was then Ty noticed the logo on his evergreen polo, Bugger Off.
Right. Curly had mentioned something about a pest control company coming out to spray for mice. Their clubhouse was a resurrected old farmhouse that came with a few unwanted guests. Maybe they should get a cat or two. A few good mousers would solve the problem better than this man.
Now standing, the guy refused to look Ty in the eye, but he didn’t move either.
For fuck’s sake. He didn’t have the tolerance today to deal with this shit.
“You need something?” Ty barked.
“Uh, no. Well, I mean… I was trying to leave.” He stared at the floor, practically trembling. The guy needed to grow a pair. What the hell did he think was going to happen? He’d lay out some mouse traps, then get robbed blind by the club?
Idiot.
“And now I’m blocking the door.”
“Um, yes?”
Christ.
Ty threw his hands in the air. “So, tell me to get the fuck outta your way. I’m not a goddamned mind reader. Jesus Christ.” He powered past the man who probably shit himself as he scurried toward the exit.
“They can fire me for all I care,” the guy mumbled, yanking the door open. “Never coming back here.”
Ty whirled around. “The fuck was that?”
Before the door slammed shut, he heard a squeak and the pounding of desperate feet on the steps.
“Say it to my fucking face next time,” he muttered as he ran a hand through his hair. “Fuck, I need a drink.” As he turned toward the bar, he caught sight of his cousin leaning against the open doorway of his office with his arms folded across his chest and a raised eyebrow. Now that his hair had grown past his shoulders again, he tended to pull it back to keep it off his face, but today, it hung long and wild with curls. Curls ran in their family, but Ty hadn’t been blessed with the hair women went wild over.
“What?” Ty snapped as he walked to the bar. Curly wasn’t someone he had to pull his punches with or censor himself around.
“Having a good morning?”
Ty grabbed the bottle of his favorite tequila and a glass. “Fucking spectacular.” He poured at least two shots worth into the glass, then downed it in two large swallows with his eyes shut and head tipped back. The familiar burn singed the back of his throat and nose.
So good.
But not enough to fix his foul mood.
He set the glass down, opening his eyes. Curly hadn’t moved an inch.
