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I check my watch. It’s almost seven-thirty. Those girls better be damned sure that they’re dressed. I pick up my pace, turning left down the hallway and then right into the corridor. The small apartment housing my sisters is on the other side of the compound, furthest away from the partying and all the action. I’ve got to make their breakfast or the girls will be late for school.
When I reach the door, I almost barge right in. Then, I catch myself at the last second and tap my knuckles against the heavy wood. I hear one of them call for me to come in and I take a deep breath and pause. Outside of this door, most men fear me just based on sight alone. My sheer size demands respect. But when I walk through this door, everything changes.
My little sisters have me wrapped around their little fingers.
“Good morning,” I call out, keeping my eyes on the ground in case one of them is not yet decent.
“Morning, bro,” Kiki replies cheerfully and I decide that it’s safe to look up.
Kiki, the oldest of my younger sisters, is transferring plates from the counter of the kitchenette to the small drop-leaf table. It’s all set up for breakfast for three, complete with napkins, place settings, and glasses of fresh orange juice.
I feel a lump in my throat. I’m touched, but also a bit horrified.Kiki is so grown-up. They barely need me anymore.
“Did you make all this?” I grumble. It always does the trick to cover up whenever I’m havingfeelings.
“Yes, bro,” Kiki laughs. “Are you impressed?” She raises one eyebrow at me and her hazel eyes sparkle. I want to tousle her auburn hair, just like when Kiki was a little kid, but she’d scream at me for messing up her hairstyle. I know from experience.
“Definitely,” I grunt in reply, and Kiki beams at me before moving the last plate over to the table. She plants a soft kiss on my stubbled cheek.
“Kitty!” Kiki calls, looking over her shoulder towards the bathroom. “Breakfast!” She’s impatient, but her voice is still sing song. She’s always so cheerful in the morning.
There’s an exaggerated groan and shuffling footsteps, but Kitty appears and plops down into her seat at the little table.
“Morning,” Kitty mutters. She’s a carbon copy of her sister, except in disposition. Kitty is more like me.Nota morning person. She’s still rubbing her eyes, even though she’s applied a thick layer of eyeliner.She’s only fifteen. I really wish she wouldn’t wear so much make-up.
I hold my tongue as I stab at my scrambled eggs with my fork.It’s good.I grunt in appreciation. My little sister is really becoming quite the cook.
“So, what’s going on today?” I ask. All I have to do is chew, nod, and swallow for the next twenty minutes. The girls talk my ear off about the school day ahead. Kitty has a math test and Kiki is turning in a research paper. They fill me in on all the hottest gossip, tales of teenage rivalries, and who is going with whom. Luckily, Kiki and Kitty mention no crushes to me. They’re never, ever allowed to date.
I make sure that they each have cash for lunch and walk Kiki and Kitty to the bus stop. I wait with them, keeping them company until the school bus picks them up.
When the bright yellow bus squeals to stop, we say our goodbyes, but I don’t make physical contact. It’s been years since the girls wanted a hug for a farewell.
I watch as Kitty and Kiki climb the stairs and weave through the narrow aisle to plop down in a bench seat in the back. Kitty presses her face to the window and the corners of her lips turn up slightly. My work here is done.
I’ve taken care of my little sisters. Now, it’s time to go back to the business of being a Grim Rider.
Chapter 9
Marigold
When I first wake up in the morning, I’ve forgotten where I am. I blink my eyes slowly. These sheets are soft, but not as soft as the six-hundred thread count I’m accustomed to. I’m covered with a flannel quilt instead of my regular down comforter.
My entire body jumps when I remember. I’m at the clubhouse of the Grim Riders, being held captive for the sins of my father. I swing my legs over the side of the bed, but I’m suddenly dizzy. My head is pounding.
This must be what a hangover feels like,I think and I rub the spot on my forehead, right between my eyebrows. I spot a bottle of water and some little pills on the bedside table and thank the heavens.
I make sure that the seal on the bottle breaks when I twist it open and gulp down the room-temperature liquid. It doesn’t even matter that it isn’t cold. Water has never tasted so good. I eye the pills suspiciously, deciding that they’re probably pain relievers. But I’m better safe than sorry. I flick them into the wastebasket.
Cautiously, I stand up and walk the few steps to the bathroom. I have heard no one. Is there any chance that my captors have actually left me here alone? I strain my ears while I do my business and flush. There’s nothing but silence, so I take a few moments to run my fingers through my hair and wash the make-up from underneath my eyes.
I think I hear something and I freeze in place, standing in front of the bathroom sink. There’s a rustling of metal on metal and the swooshing sound of the door opening. I swing open the door tothe bathroom, ready to confront the heavy footsteps. This morning, I want answers.
I stalk out of the bathroom, but when I see him, I suddenly lose all of my nerve. Gunner is standing in the entrance, each hand holding a styrofoam cup that can only be one thing: Coffee.
“Good morning,” Gunner grumbles, awkward but still gruff. He shifts from one foot to another before holding out one arm in an offering to me.
“Coffee,” He says, more of a statement than a question. Gunner shuffles over to place the white cup on the coffee table and plops his large body down onto the leather sofa cushions.
