I’m fine. Sarah started dating some prick she works with. So the fuck what. It is what it fucking is. If everyone would leave methe fuck alone and stop asking how I’m doing, I’d be able to stop thinking about her.
The phone stops ringing, then immediately starts again.
“You gonna answer that?” Reign asks, not taking his eyes off the last night’s game highlights.
“It’s Killer.” The persistent bastard doesn’t know when to quit.
Sliding the bar across the screen, I put the phone to my ear. “Yo.”
“About fucking time you answered your phone,” Killer grunts in my ear, his deep voice reverberating through the line.
I walk to the opening of my garage, leaning against the frame. “I’m busy.”
Killer snorts. “Yeah. Busy jacking off.”
A grin tugs at my lips as I stare at the minivan next door. “Motherfucker, I don’t gotta jack off. Bitches line up to ride my dick.”
Reign snorts from behind me, and I lift my hand, flipping him off without turning around.
Killer’s deep laugh rumbles through the line. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, brother.” There’s a pause. “You coming to the Christmas party this weekend?”
“Maybe.” Maybe not. I haven’t decided yet.
Killer growls. “You better fucking be there. The ol’ ladies have been worried about your grumpy ass. Especially Mac. She feels responsible for you being a sad fucking sack?—“
“I ain’t no sad fucking sack,” I cut him off. “I’m fine.”
Another snort comes from behind me, and I turn my narrowed eyes on Reign as he climbs out of the chair and heads for the door, beer bottle dangling from his fingers.
“Fine is something bitches say, motherfucker,” Killer chuckles.
“Whatever,” I mutter as Reign tosses his empty into the trash and gives me a half-assed wave over his shoulder as he heads for his bike parked in the driveway.
Reign fires up his Harley and then proceeds to cut across my perfectly manicured lawn as he leaves.
Asshole rode on my fucking grass.
As I watch him turn off my street, the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. That unmistakable feeling of being watched is hella’ strong, and my shoulders stiffen.
“Gotta go. Someone’s watching me.” I push the button, ending the call before Killer can ask me a hundred fucking questions.
I move casually back over to my workbench, eyes scanning the yard through the open garage door. There isn’t a soul in sight, but the feeling persists. Grabbing my gun, I chamber a round just in case as I scan the road again.
I’m fucking losing it.
Tucking my gun into the waistband of my jeans at the small of my back, I move back over to the stool beside my bike and sit down. I grab the wrench off the floor, and again my hackles stand on end.
What the fuck?
I turn my head slightly, looking out of the corner of my eye, and that’s when I see them.
Two little boys peeking around the corner of my garage.
One looks about eight or nine, and the other five or six, both with reddish-brown hair and big blue eyes.
Where the fuck are your parents?
I scan the area behind them, but don’t see any adults.
