CHAPTER NINETEEN SCHEDULES AND FASHION-FORWARD GUNS
CHAPTER NINETEEN
SCHEDULES AND FASHION-FORWARD GUNS
LUNA
What idiot is at the door this early?
I jumped out of bed and grabbed my gun before my brain was even alert and then stuttered to a stop. It took me a full five seconds to remember I wasn’t in my apartment. I used the minimal sunlight streaming in to find where my phone had dropped at some point.
I need to get a nightstand.
After I deal with whoever is here at this ungodly hour.
I ignored all my notifications as I brought up the stream from my porch cameras.
Fuck.
Without a second—or even first—thought, I took off toward the front door. My socked feet slid as I came to a stop with an ungraceful thud that rattled the locks I was working to disengage. My frantic question spilled out before I even had the door fully open. “Why’re you here before the sun is up?”
“It’s ten. It’s just cloudy as hell.”
Oops.
To be fair, I wasn’t late. We’d agreed that I would come in for the last day of fake training at one.
Yet there he was, showered and dressed.
“Okay, why are you here?” I corrected since it was far from sunrise.
“Glitch just texted. He said he found something odd.”
“Did he say what?” I asked because in my line of work, that could be a latch partially undone or a severed head.
“Something with the wiring.”
That was better than appendages.
“I’ll get ready real quick and meet you there.” I tried to close the door, but a shitkicker biker boot blocked my way.
“I’ll drive.”
If something was off, it was smarter for us to ride together. “Okay, I’ll text you when I’m ready.”
But he didn’t return to his house. The heavy wood was pushed open, and Rhys was there.
In my space.
Thank God I cleaned up before bed last night.
That would’ve been embarrassing.
His eyes dropped to the gun in my hold. “Do you always extend such a warm welcome?”
“To men who show up unexpectedly on my doorstep? Yes,” I said honestly.
“Is that a common occurrence?”
“No.” I closed and locked the door. “Usually, there’s a schedule the men stick to so I know when to expect everyone. Otherwise, a line forms, it becomes a fire hazard, I have to get a special permit for that size gathering. It’s a whole headache.”
I thought I was funny.
I was clearly the only one since it was silence behind me.
His lack of humor wasn’t my problem. More than that, I kind of liked the fact I’d left him speechless. I was feeling pretty damn proud of myself as I made my way across the room.
“Lo,” he called, breaking the moment just as I neared the hall.
I paused and looked back at him.
His mouth was curved into a smirk as his oceanic blue-green eyes scanned down my body like something corporal. Visceral.
Carnal.
That last one was a reach courtesy of my overactive libido and still mostly asleep brain. I knew it when he raised his gaze to meet mine, and there was nothing but teasing amusement.
A look that matched his tone when he said, “Cute pajamas.”
I mean, he wasn’t wrong. The blue bow print on the soft pajamas was cute, but they didn’t exactly portray the kind of somber command of a detective.
I faked it anyway. “Thanks. It complements my gun.”
His low chuckle made me almost as proud as his speechlessness.
I need to get myself together.
Ohhhh shit.
After the world’s speediest shower, I’d gotten ready and come out to find Rhys sitting on the coffee table. In his words, it was a fuck-ton more comfortable than my shitty couch.
He wasn’t wrong.
We’d made the drive to Rye mostly in silence, each lost in our own thoughts. I knew that was the case for me, at least. My brain had shuffled through a plethora of possibilities about what awaited us. And as we pulled into the employee lot, the answer was clear.
Bikers.
Bikers awaited us.
The usual work van the MayCo guys had been using was there but also double the motorcycles as the day before.
“Shit,” Rhys muttered, echoing my thoughts rather than easing my worries.
I went even more alert. “As in, there’s someone here who annoys you? Or more like it’s a good thing that my gun also coordinates with this outfit because I might need it? What kind of shit are we talking about?”
“That it’s not a good sign they called in the whole club.” He tilted his head out the window. “All the brothers you’re about to meet are the nicest fuckin’ people in the world.”
That seemed to be a thing with his friends.
It made me a little envious.
Okay, a lot envious.
It was shocking since I never really cared about my lack of a social life.
Most little kids said they wanted to be a police officer at some point. Usually, that changed on a whim to a baseball player, a construction worker, a firefighter, a vet, and whatever other career they viewed with the same awe as a superhero.
I didn’t waver.
Not when I was a kid.
Not when I was a teenager going through my dramatic phase—which I was still kind of in, but whatever.
Not when I did my two years of college because my dad had promised my mother on her literal death bed that us kids would travel or go to school before joining the academy in case we discovered a hidden passion.
Being a cop was my passion.
No.
Being a good cop. The same kind as my dad had been. That my brothers, uncles, and cousins—minus one shady cousin, but we didn’t talk about him—were. I wanted to be who those little kids thought cops were.
A superhero.
Between my size, gender, and age, I’d known it would always be an uphill battle. Women were on the force in increasing numbers, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a boy’s club. It also didn’t mean those badass women weren’t forced to ignore misogyny from men they could run laps around.
Murdoch and I were firsthand proof of that.
My father had never pulled any punches with me. If anything, he was harder on me. He pushed me more. Taught me more. He knew what I would be up against, and he’d made sure I knew, too.
But still, I never wavered. I locked in, kicked metaphorical ass, and pushed myself to be the best so no one could ever question how I got to my rank.
They still did, of course, but not in any official capacity.
Theirs came in the form of the usual crass jokes—I used that word loosely—about how amazing it was that I could reach such heights from my place on my knees or back.
The usual BS that they used to comfort themselves rather than face the fact a woman had bested them up, down, and all around while also minimizing my hard work and sacrifice.
Sacrifices like sleep. Peace. Safety. And, yes, friendships.
And I’d been fine with that.
Right up until that week.
When did I suddenly decide I wanted bestie time?
I would be an absolutely shitty friend, so hopefully the whim passed quickly.
We climbed from the car and went inside to find MayCo.
We didn’t have to go far.
Glitch, Hollywood, Jury, and an unknown biker were right inside the employee entrance. Two control panels were on the table, and when the unknown man turned at our arrival, I saw there was a hole in the wall where one had been.
The man smiled as he looked between me and Rhys before breaking away to come greet us.
“Been a while, man,” he said as they did the man-hug.
“We say that every damn time. Pretty fucked up that I gotta get shot at for you to come visit.” Rhys rubbed a hand across his bearded jaw. “Wait, you didn’t even come see me after that. I had to get shot at and have faulty wiring for you to drag your ass here.”
The man gestured to Glitch. “I sent my best.”
It was Hollywood’s turn to look insulted. “Wow. I see how it is.”
“You’re still on my shit list for stealing O’s waffles from the freezer.”
“I told you, I thought they were the ones Swedes left for Mac.”
What do the Swedes have to do with some frozen Eggos?
“It was an accident,” he continued. I would’ve bought it, too, if he didn’t immediately catch my gaze, shake his head, and mouth, “It wasn’t an accident.”
That envious pang hit me again even as I shared a conspiratorial smile with him.
I tuned back in to what Rhys was saying in time to catch him ask, “Can’t come in for a drink?”
“Sorry, brother. Pregnancy is kicking O’s ass, and she’s usually crashed out before eight.”
He might’ve apologized, but the content grin on his face said he wasn’t actually sorry. It also answered the unasked question of why he didn’t go without the mysterious O.
The man turned his attention to me and stuck out his tattooed hand. “Judge.”
I shook it. “Lo.”
Unlike when his brother introduced himself, I was expecting the unusual name. And I knew it was his brother even without that confirmation. The two men looked alike, had matching body language, and even dressed in similar plain tees and worn jeans.
The biggest difference was Judge had an easy smile whereas Jury’s default was an intense, stony expression.
Usually.
There was a hint of amusement in that broodiness when he caught me looking between him and his brother. “I know what you’re thinking. He’s older, but I got all the good looks.”
That wasn’t exactly the truth. They were both blessed in the looks department.
“What’s happening?” Rhys cut in, getting down to business.
Glitch finally pulled his focus from whatever he’d been doing with his tablet and the hole in the wall. “You ever fuck around over here?”
“And mess with your handiwork?”
“Take it apart, throw something at it to stop it from beeping, anything?” At Rhys’s headshake, he continued. “Have you had an electrician in here lately?”
“No. Why?”
Glitch tensed. It was so subtle, it was almost imperceptible.
But I caught it.
“A few wonky wires,” he answered, keeping it simple rather than overexplaining or playing dumb the way most people did when they were lying.
Finally, a convincing actor.
That didn’t change the fact he was hiding something.