It’s not cold out here in the living room, but sleeping, even if it’s just for a few minutes here and there, without a blanket just isn’t right. My brothers used to tease me that I needed a blankie all my life. And maybe I do. All I know is, I won’t be getting much sleep as I try to force myself to relax into the soft cushions.
For anasshole, he has soft things. The guest bed was amazing—just need to get rid of the kicking kangaroo. But that will never happen. If I have to live with bruised, even broken, ribs, I’ll do it to keep him in my life.
I feel the softness of a blanket float over and on me. I stiffen, gripping the knife tight to my chest. Panic runs through me that I didn’t hear him move, proving I’m not a superhero and the lack of sleep is affecting me more than I want it to. I peek from under my eyelashes as I turn my head slightly to see Bass’s back as he moves back to his spot on the couch. Not a word out of him, and I say nothing either.
He goes back to watching his show and drinking his beer, pretending I don’t exist and he didn’t just show kindness to a stranger. A stranger who’s been forced into his world. And if he’s anything like me—which I think he is—it’s a world he tries to keep separate from others. Not saying this guy doesn’t love his club or his club brothers, but this place doesn’t radiate hospitality. Hell, other than his vest that he hung up on the back of an island chair, nothing else here screams Hounds of the Reaper. Rather, it screams nothing but solitude. There aren’t pictures of friends and family on the walls. Not that they’re barren, but it’s just not the home of a person who seems to need to see a picture to remember their friends. This place, even if I haven’t seen his room, says it’s his sanctuary from it all.
And Ollie and I are desecrating the grounds by being here.
But fuck it. I can’t remember the last time I got a gift, and while this might just be a borrowed blanket, I’m taking it for what it is—a peace offering, at least for tonight, so I can rest easy. Who knows if that’s what he meant it for, but that’swhat I’m taking it as. He can take first watch, guarding me and Ollie, and when he goes to his room, I’ll hear him and wake up for my turn to watch over things.
I’ve slept lightly for three years. It’ll be a damn miracle if I don’t wake at the sound of crawling bugs or a shutting door.
With the resolve in place to accept sleep for a few hours, I finally settle in enough and let my brain shut off.
Rest now, fight later.It’s a mantra I’ve lived by, even before Ollie, and it hasn’t failed me yet.
Chapter 9—Bass
Not showing any emotion on your face when staring down a killer isn’t as easy as the movies portray. Maintaining eye contact with psychopaths is a trained talent, not something a person is born with. Watching people get abused and being told to maintain position, not to react and just let it happen, is one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done.
But all of that is a piece of cake compared to having a possible ten-year-old watch your every move.
I’m not opposed to kids. I’m not aiming to have some anytime soon, but I’m not anti-kids. Not that I make time for them when I see them around the clubhouse. I acknowledge them, keep eyes on them to make sure they stay out of trouble, but that’s about it for my interaction with them. They don’t come to me, and I don’t go to them. It’s the natural order of things. We don’t seek each other out.
But this kid does, though I doubt it’s because he wants to interact with me. More like he’s watching me. With his mom still passed out on the couch, last I saw, he’s on guard duty, it seems.
I’m not faulting her for sleeping, of course. It took her a while to fall asleep last night. It’s obvious that she’s been on her own for a while, just her and the kid. Can’t blame her for taking some time to settle in. Even then, she jolted awake more times than not at any noise, ready to jump into action. I even noticed the small knife at the ready during a particularlyloud cricket chirping moment. She doesn’t know me or the club. No matter that we wouldn’t hurt a mom and her cub, she isn’t going to understand that after one night. Especially since we’re forcing her to be here.
Not that I trust her. God knows I didn’t get enough sleep myself. After I saw her finally fall into something more than just a nap, I made it through the rest of the Royals’ game recap, then went to bed. Even though I had the alarm set and had a club brother monitoring the surveillance around my property all night, I couldn’t get a full two hours before I was up again checking on my new houseguests. I walk softly, knowing how not to make noise, but she sensed me anyway and tossed and turned each time I checked on her. Once I gave up on trying to sleep through the night at half past four, I ventured out into the living room. To my surprise, Ollie was sitting in front of his mom on the couch, watching cartoons on mute.
He didn’t say anything when I got up, and I didn’t have the urge to talk myself as I went about making my coffee. I actually like that he doesn’t talk much in the morning. I’m not as bad as Mama Bear with her addiction to coffee, but I’m not a morning person if I don’t have to be. But the kid and I could communicate enough that when I pulled out the bowls, he grabbed the spoons.
There are many things I love about my club, but what I love most about prospects is when they’re on grocery duty. Since they want to get in good with us, especially an officer like me, they tend to go above and beyond. The one who filled my pantry this time wentwaybeyond by picking up three types of cereal. I’m not picky, and I’m not sure if the kid is or we just got lucky, but he seemed content with the Frosted Flakes.
We ate in silence as we both watched the cartoons. I had to turn it up, just enough to hear but not enough to wake Sleeping Beauty. I think the fact that she never stirred as we made our food and cleaned up was the most surprising thing. Sleep had either consumed her completely, or she faked it and knew what was going on enough not to worry.
Once we were done, I headed out to my garage to put my stuff away. Yesterday, I just secured my pack, but today, I plan to clean and store everything properly.
And that’s how I got my shadow. He doesn’t say much, and neither do I. But I don’t have a problem asking him to hand me things.
Granted, I didn’t ask him to touch the guns, the bullets, the knives, or my grenades. And yes, I have those, plus a few more things that some might see as extreme. What can I say? I’m a collector. The kid didn’t shy away from anything, but I also made a point not to bring out my trench blade. Left that in the house, locked in my bedside table. I might not be a nice guy or care about kids, but I don’t want to cause trauma if I can help it.
And while I’m not expecting this to be a quiet morning, I’m enjoying it as much as I can. I know it won’t last. Brooklyn chick doesn’t seem like the type to not start yelling as soon as she wakes up. And the thought of it has me adjusting my dick—discreetly, of course. Not sure why I like it, but her yelling is like Viagra to my cock. Never had that reaction before, but I bet it has something to do with her accent. Always was a sucker for someone who had something unique about them that just set me off. Got me into more than one situation. Most of them involved me and a bed for the night, but I’m not picky. Had a few on a table, in the back seat, evenagainst the bathroom wall. When the moment hits, I take it. Learned long ago that you never know how long it’ll be before you get another moment or two to be alone with someone.
And since I’m on a sabbatical of sorts from our little mercenary setup, I might as well make the most of it. But I’m not about to shit where I eat and fuck this dude’s mom. For one, I don’t like complicated, and two, I don’t bring chicks here to sleep with. That’s what the club is for. Mostly because they know where the exit is at the clubhouse, unlike my house, where they seem to think the door is no longer an option and feel the need to lay a claim on me and my things.
I make the decision that getting out of the house might be the best option for all of us. I’m less likely to slip and fall with my dick in the woman if we leave here—I can do that with any of the vamps at the club. I also don’t like people in my place longer than necessary. The club knows this, which is why I don’t get many visitors. Not going to send a brother away who shows up, but I rarely offer a spare room unless I must.
This place is sacred to me. My gramps left the land to me and not his asshole of a son-in-law, much to his chagrin. I just shrugged when the will’s reading deemed me the property owner. My dad went all shades of red and started screaming, but I enjoyed the karma of it all. At seventeen, I was already well aware that my dad was an ass. He only cared about himself, a fact he proved each time he went out for a four-course meal and left me at home with an out-of-date can of tomato paste and no can opener.
My dad was such a class act that he would have left me at the doorstep of an orphanage if he could, but Grampswouldn’t let him. When his daughter died while giving birth to me, Gramps saw me as the last good part of her left in the world. At first, my dad could con my gramps into footing the bill for “kid expenses,” but instead of using the monthly allowance to buy me clothes or vitamins or whatever kids need, he used it to make himself look like a god to those who he associated with. He spent the monthly allowance on lavish trips and dinners, all to improve his status in life, while I was left home alone, searching for food that we didn’t have.
Gramps became wise around my fifth birthday when he showed up with a gift, expecting a birthday party since my dad claimed he needed money for it, only to find me alone eating uncooked rice. Things changed for me after that, and I couldn’t have been happier. Dad still tried to take what he could, but he got cut off unless he started taking better care of me. I would have rather lived with Gramps, but the guy was already in his eighties, and his health was deteriorating, so I had to stay with my dad. He rarely paid attention to me unless he wanted something, but at least he made sure I was clothed and fed. But I grew up with a chip on my shoulder since I was on my own most of my childhood.
Looking back, I guess I had it better than some. Sure, my dad was a dick, but at least he never hit me or anything—mostly because he forgot I was there to begin with.
This land was one of those “golden goose” opportunities Gramps ran into in his youth. It was cheap at the time, so he bought it as an investment. Gramps was always doing that, buying low and selling high. Dad even worked for his company for a bit when he met Mom. It was just a coincidence that this land that Gramps bought for practically nothing was sitting on an untapped oil field. As soon as Gramps found that out, he got everything in place, to includegetting the mineral rights for all of his properties, starting with this one. He only set up one pumpjack, but apparently the land is rich enough to hold half a dozen. Gramps didn’t want the property ruined; he just wanted to make enough money to start a nest egg. Funny really, since that nest egg was used to raise me before he died, and now I’m building my own rainy-day fund out of it.
