“Yeah, I didn’t figure. It’s up to you if you tell her.”
Toly frowned. “If it happened once, it can happen again.”
“Nah. I’ll make sure it doesn’t.” He rapped his knuckles on the island and slid off the stool.
Toly sent him an oddly appraising look. “Don’t get arrested.”
“Never have, never will. Enjoy the diapers.”
Toly had too much coffee and baby in his arms to shoot him another bird, and Shep laughed his way to the door.
Four
Shep warred with himself about tactics. Should he leave his cut and bike at the apartment so no one at the house would know he was club affiliated? Or should he use the Lean Dog angle as a bludgeon?
Given the Dogs’ standing globally, the sheer heft of their soft and hard power, he decided to roll up flying colors. He did, however, angle his bike so no one in the townhouses could get a glimpse of his license plate.
He didn’t have to look the address up; the route was ingrained in his mind, as was the exact house, with its white stone, and its black trim, and its arched red front door. He parked, took off his helmet, but left on the gloves and shades. Marched up the wide front steps and pounded on the door with the side of his fist.
He wondered, idly, why Raven chose to live in a high-rise rather than a place like this, with its clean sidewalks, and its staked trees. The housefronts boasted bow windows, and little iron fences to cordon off the basement doors, and each stoop bore some sort of seasonal decoration. This house had a pair of topiaries he thought looked like sex toys, but who was he to judge? Décor wasn’t his strong suit.
Putting the fear of God in shitheads who deserved it was.
He pounded on the door again, and then hit the doorbell three times in quick succession.
Finally, he heard the lock disengage. “Alright, alright, Jesus,” a male voice muttered as the door swung inward.
Shep caught a glimpse of tousled ginger hair and a slack, exhausted face—enough to know this wasn’t the kid from thesidewalk last night—and shoved the door the rest of the way open. Hard.
“Ow! Hey!” The boy who’d answered the door stumbled backward and then went sprawling across the floor, clutching his face. “Who are you? What the fuck! You can’t come in here!”
Shep ignored him. There was a fancy-ass sitting room to his left, and a staircase straight ahead, with no one in sight. He stalked deeper into the house, around the stairs, and arrived at a big, high-ceilinged family room crowded with overstuffed furniture.Herewas the aftermath of the party.
Young people were sprawled everywhere in various states of undress. Some of them sat up, groaning and rubbing at their eyes and heads when he entered, but most of them stayed asleep. The coffee table was a wreck of spilt popcorn and chips, and a bevvy of cups and empty bottles. The TV was paused on some sort of brightly-colored video game and the room stank of weed and puke.
“Excuse me. Can I help you?” A boy stepped out of the kitchen, more alert and put-together than the others, a steaming mug emblazoned with some sort of school crest in one hand. Last night’s beanie had been blue, and this one was tan, pushed halfway off his head and barely hanging on, a fashion statement rather than protection against the cold. His arms were skinnier than Cass’s, and his clothes hung off his bony frame.
Thisis what you’re into?he wanted to ask her.Seriously?
“Are you Sig?” Shep demanded.
The beanie kid pointed to himself, brows lifting in a smug way. Little brat. He had a face like someone who’d never been denied a damn thing he wanted. “And you are?”
“I was looking for ‘yes,’ but you’re not denying it, so…” Shep charged forward.
Somehow, little Sig must not have expected Shep to keep coming when he charged toward him. He had his coffee halfwayto his mouth when Shep grabbed the front of his shirt and shoved him deeper into the kitchen.
“Ah! What the hell?!”
Coffee fountained in a black spray, and the mug hit the floor and shattered.
“Hey!”
Sig scrabbled at the back of Shep’s hand, trying to claw him loose, so Shep shook him like a rag doll and dragged him across the room so he could spin him around and slam him face down on the counter. His cheek hit the marble with a satisfying smack, and he screamed.
“Shut up,” Shep ordered, and wrenched his hands behind his back to hold them pinned together.
“What—what the—you can’t—”
