Connor
Texting sucked.
If someone had something to say before text messaging, would they have written it down and mailed it? Or would they have gotten on the phone and said it? Or, better yet, would they have met in person and said it?
And yet…and yet, all the same, I didn’t much feel like seeing Katie in person and having this dialogue. I needed the space to deal with everything. I had to make my point in as short a manner as possible. So I chose the least personable, least friendly form of messaging possible.
Also, I had a huge work project on my hands.
I stood outside SMAR, sitting by the construction truck, sipping on a beer at about ten in the morning. Brock had hired the firm I worked for to fortify the clubhouse, and it was hard fucking work. Granted, any blue-collar work in New Mexico was bound to be difficult; the weather and the desert were not exactly a merciful combination when it came to providing ideal circumstances for working. But this was especially hard work because we had to tear down the exterior walls, reinforce it with thicker material, and then put the walls back up.
We were basically doing two jobs for one. And if not for the fact that I thought Cole was bankrolling this addition, I would have just told Brock to put the defenses on the outside, camouflage be damned.
And there was another reason I thought this project sucked.
It wasn’t fucking ideal.
From inside the shop, Mason emerged. He walked over to me, gruffly nodded, and took a seat on the truck next to me. Only employees of the firm were supposed to sit on the truck, but half the guys in the company were also Black Reapers; only the owner of the company would give a fuck, and that dude almost never came on-site.
“What’s up, lover boy?” he said.
“Don’t even fucking start,” I said, refusing to acknowledge the fact that I was still keeping it ongoing. “My personal life is my personal business.”
“And you’re a Black Reaper, which by definition entitles you to ballbusting.”
“That’s fine, as long as you can take it back.”
“Try me.”
“Your sister married the biggest lover boy of all in the club, how about that?”
Mason sucked in a deep breath and laughed. Yeah, he knew if I wanted to, I could drive the fucking stake into the heart.
“Still not over that?” I said a little sarcastically.
“How would you feel if a club brother—not just a club brother, but the dude who probably will have an STD named after him some day—is the dad of your nephew?”
I shrugged.
“I don’t have any siblings. It’s not anything I have to worry about.”
“Damn lucky point,” Mason said.
“Besides, you know Garrett’s been a good father,” I said. “He’s not a deadbeat.”
“Cuz I’d beat his ass to death if he was.”
I nodded to that.
“Anyway, I didn’t come out here for a love story,” Mason said. “I came out to talk about plans.”
“For?”
He looked at me like I already knew the answer. I did. I just needed a second.
“To kill Damian or Eduardo.”
“Yes,” Mason said. “We’re over here trying to build bullet-proof armor when what we really need to be doing is building new guns.”
