Yeah. He knew where she was tanned.
Maile wasn't ashamed of her body.
She didn't flaunt it, but she wore bikini suits under her clothes when she worked in the yard, and she liked to help Kawehi in her yard.
And he?
Well, he liked to watch.
Picking up Maile hadn't seemed like a problem until he got there and saw her cozying up to some hot Hawaiian guy that looked too much like a young Jason Momoa for his peace of mind.
Not that he'd seen anything Momoa had been in when he was young, but you know. Didn't everyone know what he looked like?
Still, Mister Hot Guy with the highlights in his hair wasn't fooling him.
He was after Maile.
Getting all handsy.
Putting his arms around her.
Well, he needed to keep his grubby, suntanned hands off of her.
Maile was Kawehi's cousin. The two were almost inseparable.
And while part of what Maile had said was right, it wasn't the full story.
Pallas was being trained as the leader of their Raider group so he could take over when Wolf stepped down. So... in a way, Pallas was his boss.
Not that he'd make it easy for him.
The best kind of leader was one who learned through adversity.
Wolf liked putting posters up on the wall of their training room. The one that he liked the best but wasn't about to tell any damn person about it, was a quote from Nelson Mandela. He'd been through some serious shit.
The quote on the poster seemed simple, but the message got under his skin.
“Do not judge me by my success. Judge me by how many times I fell down and got back up again."
The one from Walt Disney was cool, too.
But he didn't want to take advice from a man who put pants on a mouse and made money off of making him look like he was dancing around.
Axl shuddered at the idea.
Dancing mice.
What the fuck was that about?
He stopped walking and let go of the suitcase handle to get his keys from his hip pocket, but whoever made the parking lothad done a shit job of leveling and the bag that he'd let go started to roll away and into the path of a car.
Axl took a step to the side and grabbed the handle of the suitcase before it ended up under the bumper of the car.
The curse he let loose echoed off of the concrete posts and walls.
For a second, he froze waiting to see if there were people around who would complain.
He didn't care about swearing normally, but his truck had a sticker that identified it as having base access to KBAY and he didn't want to be reported.
