Chapter 6
Four Months Later
Gl!tch.OS: That’s not flexibility. That’s chaos with extra steps.
Gl!tch.OS: Well, excuse me! I want a CHEESEburger, not a PICKLEburger.
Gl!tch.OS: Now, you’re getting nasty.
Gl!tch.OS: Ooh, I’m thinking tuna mac n cheese for lunch.
WiseWave620: Tuna?? Really? What are you, a cat?
Gl!tch.OS: Meow…
WiseWave620: Now who’s being nasty??
Gl!tch.OS: Fine. What are you having for lunch??
WiseWave620: I don’t know. Probably going down to the diner to get something to eat. I need real food, not another microwave meal.
Gl!tch.OS: And you got on me for tuna mac n cheese? Get your ass to the diner! No wonder you’re so grouchy this morning.
WiseWave620: Grouchy? Me? Really? I’m not the one who changed the subject and bugged out of our argument.
Gl!tch.OS: Oh, it’s on, bitch. Go feed your little tummy and when you get back, I’ll prove to your little junior developer brain that tabs are just spaces that haven’t grown a set of balls yet.
* * *
Keys landed on his back, coughing as he fought for breath. Even so, the groans and laughs from his club brothers in the audience rang loud and clear. Because, of course, he had to have a fucking audience as he got his ass handed to him by a woman who had a baby less than a month ago.
A shadow fell over him, and Keys squinted up at Angel. “Why are you so freakishly strong?”
Laughing, Angel offered him a tattooed hand down. “I barely touched you, you big baby. Ophelia has tougher skin than you. Want to take her on next?”
Keys let her pull him to his feet, his eyes falling on Cage at the edge of the mat and the small bundle strapped to his bare chest. Keys didn’t know a lot about babies, but he was pretty sure Cage was milking the skin-to-skin rule.
The man never wore a shirt anymore—whether he had the baby or not!
—and as a result, Angel’s eyes rarely strayed from her husband. Typical.
“I’m not going to fight a baby!” Keys argued, indignant. He thought he was getting better! He felt stronger, and he recently had to go up a shirt size because of the muscle he’d gained.
Angel crossed her arms over her chest and raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? From the pathetic attempt I just saw, I have no trouble believing she could take you down, too.”
Keys knew that Angel was baiting him, but in his defense, he was having a really hard time concentrating.
Angel was wearing tight booty shorts and a sports bra with her sneakers.
Keys had no issue with a woman wearing such clothes or even seeing the changes Angel’s pregnancy had done to her body.
But he was trying to be a gentleman, and there was no denying that Angel’s breasts were like five times their usual size right now.
In fact, they were so big, that her muscularly lean body looked top-heavy.
Especially with her crossing her arms over her chest.
No matter how hard he tried not to look, his eyes kept flicking back to her cleavage. “You just had a baby!” he defended, counting ceiling tiles. “I was trying to take it easy on you.”
Angel snorted. “There’s a difference between taking it easy and being fucking sloppy, Keys. And you were fucking sloppy. Come on, again.” She slapped him on the upper arm before stepping back to take her fighter’s stance.
Keys followed suit—only to pause when his eyes landed back on her breasts. Christ, he was going to Hell!
“Concentrate!” Angel snapped. “If a pair of tits is all it takes to distract you, your fight’s already lost.”
Fuck. Face flaming, Keys closed his eyes and shook his head. “It’s not that! I swear!”
“Then what is it? You’ve been off all day. Your opponent is never going to wait for you to get out of your head so the two of you can have a rule-abiding, sensible fight with a fucking referee.”
Keys squinted one eye open, and then forced his eyes to meet hers. “I don’t mean this in a bad way, but are your boobs humming? Your bra keeps shifting.”
Angel didn’t look down, nor did she look embarrassed by the question.
“I’m pumping, Keys.” She said it so nonchalantly that Keys’ jaw dropped, because he was pretty sure he understood what that meant.
Angel snapped her fingers in his face. “Concentrate, and I swear to God, if you fucking try to ‘hold back’ again, I will attach these things to your nipples and see how well you like it.”
Keys blanched. Why were the women in his life all choosing violence today?
* * *
Innocent giggles ricocheted off tile as the water resistance claim of the bath rug was tested.
Knowing how rambunctious her son got in the water, Rose had long since been wearing a swimsuit for bath time.
The house they were renting outside of Seattle, Washington, had a bathtub the size of a small pool or large jacuzzi.
It was perfect for allowing Oscar to swim without taking him to a public pool or beach.
Her son was going through an anti-clothing phase.
In which, she had to bribe him to leave his clothes on in public, which of course all the Mommy Blogs made her feel like a bad mom for doing.
But there was no fucking way their kids were as perfectly behaved and well-rounded as they claimed for social media.
Oscar might have been a quiet two year old, but his personality was becoming more pronounced now that he was three. Especially his laugh.
Rose didn’t want to push him too hard, but she saw no harm in starting him off young with reading and math.
She was already starting to look into the best homeschooling programs. It wouldn’t be anything official, because there was no record of Oscar’s birth or the fact that he was living in the United States.
But Rose wanted to be ready for when he was old enough to start real lessons.
He was so smart and inquisitive that Rose was looking into what could be taught to him now.
Was there such a thing as teaching kids too early?
It only drove home how isolated she was, and made Rose feel all the more inadequate as a mother. Hell, she hadn’t even graduated high school, so Oscar might surpass her sooner than later.
Rose’s phone pinged, and she blindly reached for it behind her on the bathroom counter.
Oscar was a fantastic swimmer, but he was still only three.
She filled the tub enough that he could float and play, while also keeping it shallow enough that he could stand if needed.
But she wasn’t taking any chances. She was pretty sure she’d read somewhere that it only took two inches to drown in.
Keeping one eye on Oscar and the other on her phone, Rose looked at her screen. Crap. It was Poison.
Another splash hit her chest as Oscar’s feet kicked against the water. Rose moved back to sit on the closed toilet lid so she could still see Oscar in the tub while also looking into what Poison had sent her.
The club was tracking a group of looters stealing cargo from box trains in the Midwest, but the last Rose had checked in with them, half were finding a motel to crash for the night while the other half were staying on the hunt.
Most of the items that were taken were being sold at low-end pawn shops that didn’t bother checking proof of ownership.
What surprised Rose was how much of the more expensive things were being left behind, like crates of printer ink, textbooks, industrial ball bearings, and even spices like saffron and vanilla.
Instead, they were grabbing items like clothing, alcohol, phone cases, cheap jewelry, and in one case, an entire pallet of candles.
The thefts were happening mid-transport, utilizing drones and bridges for the heavier and/or bulkier items.
Poison picked up the call as soon as Rose made the connection. “Hey, MV. We caught one, but you’re not going to believe this. He’s only thirteen!”
Fuck. Thirteen? Really? At least she’d waited until she was done with puberty to start her criminal enterprise.
The program Rose used to modulate her voice also allowed her to text a phone conversation without the receiver knowing she wasn’t speaking out loud. It also allowed her to communicate without risking background noises, like her son splashing around in a bathtub.
“I wish I was more surprised. What are you going to do with him?”
“Well, ten minutes ago, I would have said I was going to beat the shit out of whichever one we caught to lead us to the rest, but now that’s out the window.
” Poison’s frustration could be heard in every word.
“Kitty thinks I should be all nice to him and shit. See if we can bribe him with food or something.”
Rose could only laugh. Poison talked like being nice to someone was against her morals. Rose wouldn’t be surprised if she was as squeamish about the concept as normal people were about torture.
“Take a picture of him and I need a clean fingerprint, please.”
“How the fuck am I supposed to get you his fingerprint?” Poison snapped back at her at the same time that a picture message came through.
“Don’t worry, baby. I got it,” Rose heard Kitty say in the background. A moment later, another picture came through.
“Give me a few minutes and I’ll get back to you. And Poison? Try to be nice, okay? Wouldn’t kill you. Kid probably hasn’t been shown much compassion in the world. Most of us who start out this young haven’t.”
Poison snorted. “You forget who shares my bed, MV. Not exactly the Poster Boy for reform.”
“I am far too incredible as is to even attempt at reform,” Kitty replied, completely unapologetic.
“You keep telling yourself that, Kitty Cat,” Poison grumbled, unimpressed.