Chapter Nine
Bones
“It’s not a good idea to go on your own.”
“Regardless, I’m going, Tank. I don’t need a freaking babysitter to shop for fabric. Stop trying to parent me.”
“Trust me, woman, parenting you is the last thing on my mind.”
“Bubby, get control of your friend before I throat punch him.”
“You can’t reach that high, baby sister.”
Typically, I’d tune out the background noise around me. Filter out the petty bickering, the back-and-forth banter that comes with clubhouse life, but watching Tank slowly lose his mind over a woman he swears he doesn’t deserve?
Yeah. Mildly entertaining.
Mostly because I know the feeling.
Tank’s pacing the floor like a caged animal, fists clenching and unclenching like he’s trying to hold onto whatever self-control he has left. Spoiler alert: he’s losing.
“You’re not going alone,” he growls, moving to block the doorway like his sheer bulk will change her mind.
Abby crosses her arms, chin tilted with that same defiance I’ve seen in Spike when someone questions his orders. It’s a family trait, apparently.
“I’m not asking for permission,” she says, voice sharp enough to draw blood. “I’m telling you I’m going. Whether you like it or not.”
I raise my coffee cup to my lips to hide the smirk. Damn. She’s got bite.
Tank swears under his breath, glancing at Spike for backup.
“I ain’t getting in the middle of this,” Spike mutters, flipping a page of whatever inventory sheet he’s pretending to read. “I value my life.”
“Coward,” Tank huffs.
“Survivor,” Spike corrects.
I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, letting the scene unfold while pretending like I don’t give a shit. But I’m watching. Every word. Every movement. Abby’s fire. Tank’s restraint. The way her brother isn’t worried at all…which tells me two things.
She’s more than capable of handling the big guy on her own. And he trusts Tank. With her life and her heart. Too bad he doesn’t see that.
I drain the last of my coffee and set the cup down with a thud. “Don’t let him bully you, Abby. He can shade you from the sun but he’s big and slow. Aim for the knees and run.”
“Shut up, Bones,” he mutters.
I chuckle, but it fades fast. Because while Tank’s over here wrestling with feelings he doesn’t want to admit, I’m the one still watching Sunny from a distance, pretending I’m just protecting her. Pretending I’m not already too far gone.
“Fine,” Abby screeches. “Send a dozen freaking Prospects with me if you must. But don’t come whining when they start complaining that I spent too long in the fabric store. I will be taking my time.”
Tank pulls out his phone, apparently satisfied. Abby clearly doesn’t expect him to take her seriously about that many men, but she’s in for a surprise when her personal escorts show up at the gate.
“Brother, I need you to assign someone else to watch your girl tonight,” Spike says from behind his desk. “I might need you if my meeting with the Vipers goes sideways.”
“She’s not my girl,” I growl, jaw tight. “And why the hell are you even meeting with the Vipers? Those psychos don’t have two brain cells to rub together.”
Fuck. I don’t want anyone else watching Sunny but I also can’t let Spike walk into that pit of snakes without me. He might get himself shot just for breathing wrong. And if something happened to him while I was off playing guard dog? I’d never forgive myself.
“Because he’s an idiot,” Tank mutters, still looking down at his phone. “He thinks if he can get their president on our side, the rest of those feral bastards will fall in line.”
“I don’t think it,” Spike says, tone flat. “I know it. Their prez has sway in Mexico. Sway we may need in the coming days.”
“They’re all just lapdogs,” I mutter, arms crossed over my chest. “You trust ‘em, you better dig your grave first. Saves time later.”
“I’m not trusting them,” Spike says, locking eyes with me. “I’m sending a message. And I need my enforcer there to make sure they understand it loud and clear.”
I grunt my understanding. I hate that he’s right.
“Fine,” I grunt. “But I pick who takes over Sunny’s watch.”
“Fair,” Spike says with a nod. “Just make sure it’s someone she’s met so she doesn’t get scared when she sees some stranger watching her.”
I already know who it won’t be.
Across the room, Skip is practically vibrating, one hand raised like he’s in kindergarten and just dying to be picked. The bastard’s even hopping a little.
“No,” I say flatly.
“You don’t even know what I was gonna say!” Skip argues, still grinning like a lunatic.
“You were gonna offer to watch Sunny.”
“I could watch Sunny,” he says innocently. “I’m great at surveillance. And I make excellent snacks.”
“Surveillance doesn’t require interaction,” I snap.
Spike chuckles from behind his desk, and even Tank cracks a smirk. Skip shrugs, entirely unbothered, and lowers his hand with a dramatic sigh.
“Fine. You guys never let me have any fun.”
“You’re a menace,” I growl. “You think flirting is a public service.”
“It is ,” he shoots back. “You’re just grumpy because you’re in love and still pretending you aren’t.”
My head snaps in his direction so fast my neck pops.
“I ain’t in love.”
Skip cackles. “Whatever you say Pinocchio.”
“Do you want to die today?” I ask, stepping forward.
“I mean, only if it’s by your hands, Bones,” Skip says, eyes sparkling.
Tank whistles low. “You two need couples therapy.”
Spike just shakes his head. “Enough. Bones, pick someone who won’t scare her or hit on her. We meet with the Vipers in three hours.”
I grunt and storm out. I’ll figure it out. But if Skip even thinks about showing up near Sunny, I’ll break both his legs and call it a damn favor.
***Sunny***
“Who are you?” I ask the strange man leaning against my apartment door.
The man simply points to his vest. Or, as Abby corrected me once, his cut.
“I can see that you’re part of the Iron Shadows,” I smile. “But I don’t think I’ve ever met you before.”
“Names Foster,” he says, his voice low enough to cause an earthquake. “Bones sent me to watch over you until he gets back.”
“He really doesn’t need to be doing this,” I mutter, mostly to myself. “I don’t even know why he’s doing this. It’s been weeks since Josh was killed. No one’s bothered me. Not a single ominous note. Not even a shady guy in a hoodie. I think I’m good.”
Foster doesn’t respond. He just stands there like a giant, unmovable piece of furniture with a tactical stare.
“You want to come in for tea?” I ask because apparently, I’ve given up on normal boundaries. “Or coffee? I’d offer you a beer, but I don’t have any. Unless you count a can of ginger ale that might be expired.”
I expect a chuckle. Maybe even a smile.
Instead, the man frowns at me like I just offered him a live grenade.
“You shouldn’t be inviting strange men into your home,” he growls, low and sharp.
I blink. “Okay, well, first off…rude. And second, I may not know Jack, Abby, Riley, or the rest of you guys personally, but I’ve seen enough to know none of you would hurt me. I trust the Iron Shadows. Ergo…”
I gesture toward his cut like it’s a full-on Harvard diploma.
He doesn’t even blink. “Doesn’t matter.”
I pause. “I’m sorry?”
“Just because I’m wearing this cut with the club’s name doesn’t mean I belong to them,” he says, voice deadly calm. “Maybe I killed the real Foster. Stole his shit. Followed Bones to find you. Killed him , and now I’m here to finish the job.”
I stare at him.
He stares right back.
Okay, this guy definitely doesn’t do lighthearted.
“That was a lot of plot for one sentence,” I say slowly. “Have you considered therapy? Or maybe fewer late-night crime documentaries?”
Still no smile. He’s the human equivalent of a bunker wall. Almost as intense as Jack…almost.
“Point is,” he says, finally breaking the silence, “don’t let a man’s vest make you forget he’s still a man. Not everyone deserves your sunshine.”
I suddenly feel a little bit shaken.
“Are you?” I ask, my voice not as steady as I’d like it to be. “Here to kill me?”
“No, Sunny,” he says, smirking. “I’m here to protect you. But my point still stands. Now go inside. It’s chilly out here.”
I know deep in my gut that this man isn’t moving. He’s planted himself outside my door and will remain there until he’s ready to leave. I could argue all night, but I’m not going to win.
So, I do the only thing I can do.
I sigh, turn on my heel, and go inside. I slam the door for emphasis, but it’s mostly for me. Because if I can’t chase the guard dog off my porch, then I might as well feed it.
Ten minutes later, I step back outside with a plate and a bottle of water. He’s exactly where I left him, arms crossed, scowl firmly in place, like he’s posing for a “Don’t talk to me” poster.
“Here,” I say, holding the plate out like a peace offering. “Turkey sandwich. Extra mustard. It felt like a mustard kind of night. And water because you strike me as the broodingly hydrated type.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Cool. Then it’ll sit here until you either eat it or let it rot and feel guilty for wasting food while starving children exist.”
He grunts and accepts the plate…which I take as a thank you.
I lean against the wall next to him, not too close, not too far, mimicking his whole tough-guy stance in the most dramatically awkward way possible. “You know, when Jack’s the one doing this whole protective shadow-dance thing, I never actually see him.”
Foster doesn’t answer, so I keep going.
“He’s never close enough for me to catch. Like some kind of emotionally damaged Batman.”
Another grunt. A chew this time. Sandwich: 1, Grim Reaper vibes: 0.
“But I always know he’s there,” I continue, glancing at him. “It’s a vibe. Like the air gets ten percent more intense and at least fifteen percent more sexy-dangerous.”
Foster chokes slightly on his sandwich.
I nod. “Exactly. So, if he can lurk in the shadows and protect me from a distance, I feel like you can do the same… with a snack.”
“Bones said to stay close,” he mutters through a mouthful of turkey.
“Well then,” I shrug, “good thing I didn’t poison that.”
He finally looks at me, really looks at me, and there’s just the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile, but maybe the prequel.
“You’re a strange girl.”
“Compliment accepted,” I chirp. “Enjoy the sandwich. Try not to scare my neighbors. And if you do kill me, I hope you at least feel bad about it.”
I walk back inside, victorious in my own weird way, and close the door with a smile.
He doesn’t follow. But I know he’s still there.
Just like Jack always is. Which is something we’re going to have a talk about.